The Fallen Woman (A Regency Romance)

by K. L. O'Keefe

  Andrew gave a firm nod. “Of course. You don’t even need to ask.”

  Leona let go of Tristan’s hand and buried her face in her palms, sobbing. He made it sound as if he’d resigned himself to dying. She couldn’t stand it.

  “And… Andrew,” said Tristan. “Will you lean closer to me?”

  Andrew somehow managed to rise to his feet in the moving carriage. Holding onto the hangstrap, he leaned over to his friend.

  Tristan tilted his head toward Andrew’s ear and whispered, “She’s with child. Please take care of her.”

  Andrew’s eyes were wide with shock for a few seconds, but he tried to wipe the surprise from his face when he returned to his seat. “Of course,” he said again.

  Tristan’s eyes flitted to each face in the carriage. He looked at Mary and Andrew, and was comforted to know Leona would be in good hands if he died. He looked over at Leona, who continued to sob for him. He was as consumed by her sorrow as he was by her love for him. “Finally,” Tristan whispered, “I feel lucky.”

  Everyone turned to him with wide eyes, waiting for him to explain himself. At the moment, he looked anything but lucky.

  “I’ve been blessed with a great friend and a wonderful wife.” Tristan looked down at his blood-soaked shoulder, which wasn’t bleeding anymore, but was causing him as much pain as ever. With a slight smile, he said, “And it doesn’t look so bad, actually.”

  Those were the last words he spoke before he closed his eyes.

  * * *

  He lost consciousness three times on the way to Randall Hall. Every time he closed his eyes, his companions collectively held their breath.

  But Tristan’s will to live was incredibly strong. By the time the carriage stopped in front of Randall Hall, his fever was higher than ever; his face was clammy and dripping with perspiration.

  Tristan tried to pretend he was on the mend. He descended from the carriage on his own, and he walked to his bedchamber on his own. He hated to have anyone worrying about him. If it wasn’t bad enough to have Leona and Andrew fussing over him, Dubois and Nell started trailing after him as soon as he stepped in the door. Everyone followed him to his room and watched him fall into his bed with an enormous sigh.

  “I should prepare a cool bath!” Nell suggested. “We need to do something to lower your fever!”

  “Do you need anything, my lord?” Dubois asked, wiping a tear from the tip of his beak-like nose. “If you do, I will geet it for vous.”

  “Do you want me to remove your shoes, m’lord?” John asked, having just arrived on the scene. Concern for his master etched a deep crease in the middle of the valet’s sharp forehead.

  “Everyone, please… don’t worry about me,” Tristan grumbled. “Everyone seems to think I’m on the verge of dying, which probably isn’t far from the truth, but… for the moment, I feel perfectly fine. Although, that bath might be a good idea.”

  Nell was out of the room in a flash.

  Andrew, sensing his friend’s waning patience, went over and gave Tristan’s hand a squeeze. “I bet you’d like a moment with your wife, wouldn’t you?”

  When he nodded, Tristan’s head throbbed. He was touched by his staff’s concern for him, but he hated to be the center of attention.

  “The man wants some time with his lady love, and who could blame him? We should clear out of here.” Andrew walked over to the door and opened it, ushering everyone out. Leona was the only visitor who stayed.

  As she sat down beside him, Leona shook her head. “I know you’re not perfectly fine. I’m sure you’re in a great deal of pain. I wish you would tell us the truth.”

  “Ah… it could be worse. What would be more painful than anything is never getting to see your beautiful face again.” He reached up to smooth away the worry line between her eyes.

  Leona captured his hand and kissed it. “You’re not going to die, Tristan. You can’t die! You have to promise me you’ll fight this…”

  “Of course I will.”

  “We’ve hardly had any time together,” she whimpered. “That’s all I want. I just want more time.”

  Leona bent down and covered his face with kisses. She kissed his eyes, his nose, his lips—she was trying to get all the kisses she could, to stock up for however many years she might not have him in her life. As he stroked her hair, he kept wishing he could take away her sadness. He didn’t care about himself. Tristan wanted to live for her.

  “I’m so sorry, Leona.”

  “Stop apologizing…” She lay beside him and rested her head on his chest, hoping some of her own strength would flow into him.

  “I can’t even apologize for getting blood in your hair?” He tried to chuckle, but his laugh turned into a cough.

  “But you’re not bleeding anymore!” Leona exclaimed. “Thank Heavens you’re not. I’d be terrified if you were.”

  “You’re not terrified right now? Because I am.”

  “Of course I’m terrified. I’m beyond terrified.” Leona closed her eyes and held her breath, trapping a fresh wave of tears behind her eyes. She knew he didn’t want to see her cry anymore. “I don’t think you realize how much you’ve changed my life, Tristan. I don’t want to live without you…”

  “And believe me,” he added, “I don’t want you to live without me, either.”

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Andrew lay on his bed with his eyes closed, his right arm draped across his forehead. He wanted to give Leona a moment alone with Tristan, but the truth was, he wanted his moment with Tristan, too. He was on the verge of losing someone he’d known all his life. Tristan was his best friend; he was like a brother to Andrew. He was the only person in the world who knew him inside and out. Tristan was the only person in the world who knew all his flaws, but cared for him regardless.

  Andrew wondered how many people would be surprised to see him crying. Now that he was alone in his room, he’d wiped away at least forty tears. He was used to keeping up a brave front in the presence of others. In all his life, he couldn’t remember a time when he was ever caught crying. It was much easier for him to joke about things that troubled him, rather than show any kind of weakness.

  What were the odds of Tristan’s survival, he wondered. The wound itself didn’t look too terrible, although the shot probably hit close enough to graze his heart—a heart which wasn’t in the best condition. All the doctors said the same thing: Tristan had a bad heart. With the wound, the fever, the loss of blood and a poor heart, death seemed a frightening certainty. Andrew wanted to cry for his friend, even more than he wanted to cry for himself. He knew he would be lonely without his friend, but Tristan’s tragedy was far worse. As soon as Tristan found his reason to live, his life would be ripped away from him. It was heart-wrenchingly tragic.

  A knock on the door made Andrew sit up, rigid and gasping. He held his breath for several seconds, fearing the worst. Had someone come to tell him some bad news? Was he morbid for coming to that conclusion?

  “Come in,” he said, as loudly as he could. Nevertheless, his voice sounded small. All his crying must have had some effect on him, if his voice sounded so weak. He wondered if the person behind the door would be able to see and hear the evidence of the tears he shed.

  As luck would happen, the person on the other side of the door happened to be the person he would least like to reveal his weakness to. It was Mary.

  She stepped into the room as coy as a kitten, eyes lowered. “I’m… sorry to bother you, Mr. Lamb.”

  “What is it, Mary?” He hoped the question didn’t sound too cold. For some reason, the sight of Mary’s face made him awash with bitterness. “Please don’t tell me it’s… you haven’t come to tell me something about Tristan, have you?”

  “No, Mr. Lamb,” Mary answered with a shake of her head. “I wish I had some good news, but his condition is the same as ever.”

  “I was thinking it was bad news,” Andrew said. “Until recently, I’ve always been optimistic and confident. I think you’ve
made a pessimistic man out of me, Mary. And call me Andrew, by the way.”

  “I’ve made you a pessimistic man? How is that possible?” she asked. “It’s not fair to blame me for something like that.”

  “Ever since you rejected me, I’ve started to fear the worst in all aspects of my life,” Andrew explained. “It’s a result of my broken heart.”

  “Perhaps if you’d acted more like a gentleman, I might not have rejected you.” Her eyes rolled to the ceiling as she spoke. “In light of the circumstances, I don’t think this is a topic we should discuss!”

  “Sorry,” he apologized half-heartedly. “I just wish I had some happiness in my life. Everything seems so wrong lately.”

  “The same could be said for all of us. At the moment, I’m sure Leona and Tristan are faring far worse than we are.”

  With a sigh, Andrew rose from his bed and took a few steps toward her, his movements languid. “If you didn’t come with bad news, and you didn’t come to discuss the history of our relationship, why are you here?” He punctuated his question with a snort. “As if there’s any history to speak of…”

  “If you’re going to be rude, I’m just going to leave.”

  Before she could turn away, Andrew reached out and grabbed her hand. “No… don’t go. I’m sorry. Please tell me what you came to tell me.”

  Mary looked down at her hand, which looked tiny in comparison to Andrew’s. “Well… I seem to remember a certain gentleman asking me if I would take a walk in the garden with him,” she said. “Although, it was quite a long time ago.”

  “You better be referring to me. I don’t think I could stand to hear you talk about another man.”

  “And you better be joking,” Mary said with a chuckle. “Do you really think another man would be foolish enough to waste his time?”

  “Time with you is time well spent,” he countered. “Anyway, I’d love to take a walk with you… if that’s what you’re asking.”

  When Mary answered his question with a nod, Andrew tucked his arm under hers and led her out of the room. He took her to the rear entrance of Randall Hall, where wide, double-doors led to a garden that was once lush and arrestingly beautiful. Since the master of the house had been in London in recent years, the garden had been neglected. The flowers weren’t as plentiful, but there was still enough color to make it an enchanting place. With autumn approaching, the blossoms on the trees were wilting. Their petals swirled in the crisp breeze.

  He led her down a path of mud and stone, and they stayed silent most of the time, their despondent moods befitting the withering garden. After awhile, his arm dropped away from Mary’s—so he could hold her hand instead.

  “You know,” Mary began, “I find myself… impressed by you.”

  “Really?” An eyebrow shot up. “I thought you hated me.”

  “Of course I don’t hate you. And how could I not be impressed by the concern you show for your friend? I think I’ve misjudged you, Andrew. You really are a kind, caring man,” she looked over at him, smiled, and added, “even if you did act poorly at times… to me, in particular.”

  “You’re right. I didn’t treat you fairly,” Andrew agreed. “Which is why... if there was any justice in the world, it would be me on my deathbed right now, not Tristan. He’s the kind and caring one.”

  “You really shouldn’t say that.”

  “Isn’t it always the best people who die young? Why do you think that is?” Andrew asked, staring straight ahead, eyes vacant. “And a man like me lives on…and for what reason? So I can keep up my wicked ways? Then there’s Tristan. He’s practically a saint, but he’s probably going to die. It’s not fair, is it?”

  “I think you’re a good man, Andrew,” Mary tried to convince him, but he didn’t care to listen.

  “If I could, I’d trade places with him in a second.” Andrew kicked at a stone on the path, and it went careening out of sight. “No one would miss me like Tristan will be missed.”

  “It’s possible he might not die, you know,” said Mary. “Besides… why are you talking such nonsense? You really don’t think you’d be missed? You don’t think I’d miss you? You must be saying all these awful things about yourself in an attempt to lure my feelings out of me. Is that your plan?”

  His head dipped between his shoulders. “I don’t have a plan.”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen you so upset. You’re usually the uplifting one! It’s unnatural to see you like this.”

  “Well… it might surprise you to know I’m not happy, jovial Andrew all the time. I’m not always the cad who chases after women. I have real emotions, just like everyone else.”

  “I know,” Mary agreed. “I know you better than you think.”

  He stopped walking, let go of her hand, and turned her toward him. “Do you? Do you really know me? I don’t think you do.”

  “Maybe I don’t,” Mary said with a shrug. “I’m just the maid. It would be wrong for me to study you so closely.”

  “You’re right. You don’t know me, because if you did, you’d know how much it pains me to hear you belittle yourself. You’d know I haven’t wanted to be with any other woman since I met you,” Andrew said, his eyes piercing her as he spoke. “You’d know how uncharacteristic my feelings are. You’d know how I wish I was a better man… a man who could make you happy…one who could make you love me… one who hadn’t messed up.”

  Mary was silenced by his words. All she could think about was how much she wanted to kiss him, which she couldn’t do. Her confidence wasn’t strong enough to allow her to do such a bold thing. If she kissed him, she was afraid he might think she’d gone mad.

  “I know I’ve upset you in the past. I’ve said some stupid things,” Andrew went on. “Regardless of what I’ve said before, I want you to know how I feel about you now. You’re beautiful to me.”

  “Beautiful?” Mary repeated with a chuckle. “Not quite.”

  “You are beautiful. And you should accept that compliment like a lady.”

  “But I’m not a lady,” she reminded him.

  “Rubbish,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “You’re every bit of a lady. You’re as intelligent and coy and witty as any woman I’ve ever known.”

  “So, you’re surprised to find intelligence where there’s no breeding or education?”

  “I never said that.”

  “Oh, I’m not accusing you of that. It just… saddens me how those of your class will always look at someone like me and assume there’s nothing but ignorance.” She turned her eyes to the sky with a sigh. “I wish I would’ve been born a duke’s daughter… or something like that.” If she had, Mary knew he wouldn’t have asked her to be his mistress—he might have asked her to marry him instead. Of course, she’d have to be beautiful too, to attract a man like Andrew Lamb. And she knew she wasn’t a beauty, regardless of what he said.

  “Or maybe you could’ve been born a princess,” Andrew said with a smile. “And you could’ve gone on to be queen. I’m sure this country would be a better place with someone like you on the throne.”

  “I would’ve hit you over the head with my scepter at least a hundred times by now.”

  Andrew doubled over, chuckling. “Ah, Mary. I can always count on you to distract me from my sadness.”

  “Really?” Mary held her breath for several seconds. She knew what she wanted to say, but she had to summon the courage to say it. “I bet I could think of something else that would distract you.”

  “Oh, really?”

  She could feel the blood rushing in her head, breaking down her walls of reservation as it surged. All of a sudden, she rose to her tiptoes and kissed him, ever-so-lightly, on his mouth. “You know how you asked me to be your mistress?” she asked. “Well, I’ve changed my mind about that.”

  “You… what?” Andrew could hardly believe his ears. He could still feel his lips tingling where her lips had willingly brushed against his. It thrilled him. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?
”

  “I’m saying I want to be your mistress. I want to be with you,” Mary said; her heart drummed beneath her chest, as if trying to beat some logic back in her head.

  “But… would that make you happy?”

  “I know it would. Now that we’ve come so close to seeing death, I think it’s made me realize something. I want to experience life,” she said. “And I want to experience it with you.”

  They were both silent for several seconds, the new development having left them speechless.

  “But we can’t be together right now… not when everything is as terrible as it is. When the master starts to recover, we’ll be together,” Mary said. “I’ll come to your room.”

  “You’ll come to my… you will?” He couldn’t believe he was so stupefied by the prospect of having Mary in his bed. He’d been with countless women, but none of them had left him in so much anticipation. His mind was petrified by temptation.

  “I will.”

  After giving him another little kiss, Mary turned around and sprinted up the garden path in the direction of the house. She looked back at him and smiled—a smile that held so much promise.

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Leona was afraid to fall asleep. She was terrified of what could happen when she slept. She watched Tristan in the dark, forcing her sleepy half-lidded eyes to stay open. The candlelight cast an orange, flickering blanket over his motionless body. His entire face glistened with sweat. Each breath he took was a struggle to sustain life. Leona wanted to watch him as long as she could. If his spirit was going to leave his body, she wanted to be with him when it did.

  She sat in a chair beside his bed, occasionally wiping tears from her flushed face. It was turning out to be the longest, most difficult night of her life. She felt like it would never end—but she didn’t know if she wanted the night to end, because the morning could bring bad news. She clasped her hands together and leaned forward, bending her head in silent prayer. Though her prayers had not been granted in the past, she was willing to try anything, because she couldn’t fathom a life without Tristan. Nothing could ever match the comfort she found in his eyes and arms.