by Sara Portman
“I’ve not examined her yet,” the doctor replied matter-of-factly.
The countess’s eyes grew large and round. “What? Why not?”
“That is enough,” the duke interjected. “Everyone out. The doctor must examine my wife.”
“Fine,” Emma snapped, “but then you will answer my question.”
“What question?” Lady Ridgely asked.
“Later.” The single word from the duke ceased all further discussion on the matter.
Wanting to shout her objection at the delay, Lucy allowed herself to be ushered from the room with the others. Only the duke and Lady Ridgely remained with Emma and the physician.
Her bottom lipped tucked firmly between her teeth, Lucy paced in the hall outside the door. What if the duke answered Emma’s questions before she returned? Lucy knew she could not ask the duke to tell her as well, and could not ask Emma in the middle of childbirth.
Immediately, she felt horrid guilt at her selfishness for putting her own curiosity over her friend’s childbirth. She shook her head in disgust at herself.
“Let’s go have a sit, shall we?” Lady Constance said. Her voice was gentle and soothing as she spoke to Lucy, then clipped as she turned to Agnes. “Could you bring tea and biscuits to the drawing room please? Plenty of biscuits.”
“Yes, my lady.” Agnes nodded and hurried off to follow the instructions of the comtesse.
Lucy did the same, allowing Lady Constance to lead her to the drawing room, where they discovered Lord Ridgely, Emma’s uncle, pacing that room in much the same manner Lucy had been pacing the upstairs hall.
“Is everything all right?” he rushed to ask as they entered the room.
“The doctor is examining her now,” Lady Constance said, her even tone contrasting the earl’s urgent one. “He will gauge her progress.” She walked to the sofa. “Why don’t we all sit. Tea is on the way.”
Lucy started toward the sofa to do as the comtesse suggested, but halted as voices filtered up from the hall below.
“Sir, I do not believe now is a good time,” she heard the butler say as she changed direction and headed to the door instead of the sofa.
“I saw a physician arrive.”
Bex. Her pulse quickened.
“I saw Lady Ridgely nearly fall out of her carriage and run up the steps,” Bex insisted from the foyer below. “She ran, I tell you. The woman ran. I demand to know what is happening.”
“Bex.” Lucy said his name from the landing where she had watched him leave.
His eyes flew to her, and he took the steps two at a time. “Is it the duchess, then? Has the child been born? You are not hurt or unwell?” He reached her and took her hands in his, studying her from head to toe as though assuring himself of her well-being.
“I am fine,” Lucy said. “The baby has not been born yet, but Emma is laboring. The doctor is here. Everything is fine so far.” She bit her lip. “I think. The doctor is examining her now.”
“And you are well?” he asked.
“I am fine.” She was better than fine. He was worried for her. Had he come back for her? Why? Why had he left? There were too many questions not to voice them. “Why are you here? Why did you leave?”
He shook his head. “I never left. I’ve been sitting in the square across the street.”
Lady Ridgely’s voice echoed through the halls of Worley House. “Lucy,” she called. She found them then, on the landing. She glanced at Bex and at their joined hands before looking to Lucy. “The doctor has finished his examination. Emma would like you to join her now.”
Lucy nodded. “Yes, of course.” She looked at Bex and pulled her hands from his. “I should go to her.”
He nodded in agreement. “Go.”
She left him then, and went to Emma, not knowing why he had come, or if he would be gone when she emerged.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“What did the doctor say?” Lucy asked immediately upon reentering Emma’s bedchamber, now bright with sunlight streaming through pulled-back curtains and opened windows. Her eyes fell on Emma and she knew, of all the questions spinning in her mind, that was the only one that mattered just then.
The duke provided the answer. “She is progressing normally, but he feels it will be some time yet. He prescribes rest to the extent she can be restful.”
As though to belie his words, Emma groaned and curled forward into the pain of another contraction. Struck again by her uselessness, Lucy rushed to her side.
The housekeeper bustled into the room, this time directly to the open windows. She began closing them and pulling the drapes, sending the room back into shadow.
“What are you doing, woman?” the doctor demanded, turning from where he riffled in his bag of implements.
“This room is all wrong,” the housekeeper said indignantly. “It must be warm and dark.”
“Nonsense,” the doctor said. “We do not sweat the child out. It must be clean and fresh. Open the windows.”
The housekeeper placed a hand on each hip and glared at the gray-haired physician.
“Do as he says,” the duke barked, injecting himself into the standoff.
With this order from her master, the housekeeper begrudgingly tied the curtains back again and unlatched the windows, pushing them open to once again saturate the room in sunlight and open air. With a watchful eye on the doctor, however, Lucy saw her move next to the fireplace, stoking up the fire to heat the room. The doctor turned, discovering her intent, and shooed her from the room. She left, grumbling as she went.
Emma released a light laugh and Lucy turned at the sound. She lowered herself to sit on the edge of the bed and spied the perspiration on Emma’s forehead. She reached for a cloth and wiped her friend’s brow, thinking the doctor was right to demand the cool air. “Has the pain passed for now, Emma?” she asked gently.
Emma nodded.
“You should close your eyes and rest between the pains as the doctor said,” Lucy told her.
“First you must hear from John,” Emma said, squeezing Lucy’s hand. “I am too tired to recount the tale. Tell her, please, John.” Emma lay back and closed her eyes then, trusting her husband to do as she asked.
The duke sighed and looked down at his wife with so much love and exasperation. “She will not rest until I’ve explained,” he said, his eyes still on Emma.
“I am listening,” Lucy prompted, trepidation rising at what she would hear.
“Mr. Brantwood came to discuss a business arrangement,” the duke said, finally looking up to meet Lucy’s gaze. “He has decided to use the funds after all.”
Her anxiety dissipated as she digested this news. Her heart swelled. “He has an idea?” she asked. He hadn’t given up on himself, she realized. He was going to do something.
“He claims it is your idea.”
That gave Lucy pause. “My idea?’
“Mr. Brantwood is going to use the funds to sponsor an entire shipment of raw cotton from America to arrive in London harbor instead of Liverpool.”
Involuntarily, Lucy’s mouth widened to a foolish grin. “Raw cotton,” she repeated, bemused. “Brilliant.” It was brilliant. It was perfect. What a perfectly clever plan. “So he will profit from his venture and save the weaving shed from failure.” How ridiculously simple—so brilliantly obvious.
She shook her head. He had done it. He had found his purpose and begun to forge his future. In a small way, she had helped. Joy filled her heart at his success, for surely he would have it. His future. His purpose.
And then Lucy recalled his face as he had left. He had not looked up at her with triumph, but regret. He had not run to her to tell her of his plan or declare his feelings or ask her to be a part of this new future he forged.
She felt the tears stinging behind her eyes again and was not sure that she could keep them at
bay this time. She closed her eyes and exhaled. When she spoke, she knew her voice was revealingly unsteady. “That is wonderful news for Mr. Brantwood.”
Emma’s eyes fluttered open. “Tell her all of it, John. Don’t torture her.”
Lucy looked to the duke, and she knew he could see the desperate hopefulness in her expression. She had no way of hiding it.
The duke sighed. “Mr. Brantwood has decided he will wait until the shipment is a success to ask for your hand. He did not want to ask you to wait for him when he could not be assured of succeeding. If it fails, he will have nothing to offer.”
Lucy stared at the duke. Her hand? Wait for him? She closed her eyes and let this revelation settle into her. He intended to ask her to marry him. She waited for the joy, the relief, the bliss of certainty to overtake her.
Only it didn’t come. Suspicion came instead. She shook her head and looked at the duke in accusation. “Why did he come to you with his plan?” she asked.
“He wanted an introduction to the shipping company in Boston and I am able to provide it.”
“Does he need it?” she asked. “To proceed with his plan?”
“He does,” the duke said.
Her heart fell once more. She looked down at her friend, peaceful in rest, with no outward sign of the excruciating pain that had gripped her moments before, nor the one that would come again any moment. What a falsehood her peace was. How tempting it would be to accept it for what it appeared to be, but it would be false. How tempting to accept Bex’s plan to offer for her, when that was a falsehood as well. Her eyes rose to the duke. “What was the price for your aid?”
The duke shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Lucy sighed heavily, exhaustion settling onto her in a way it had not ever before that she could remember. She was tired of this city, of life in society. She was equally tired of fantasies and practical plans. She was tired of trying so hard to make sense of anything and everything. She was tired of when life did make sense—so much sense—as this did. Her smile for the duke was wan and there was no happiness behind it. “You love your wife, Your Grace, and I am her dearest friend. And I am ruined. You were only thinking of her happiness, as you should, because you love her.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“Was the part about asking for my hand your condition for the bargain?”
The duke’s brow furrowed. “What?” But his attention was drawn away just as quickly when Emma groaned again and clutched her belly, seized by another pain. She would have gone to her, but the duke was already there, taking her hands in his and whispering calming words. Lucy watched the tableau and, once again, found herself envious of her friend’s discomfort. She did not like the feeling. It was borne of her selfishness and disappointment and her own poor decisions. She did not blame the duke for the bargain he had struck. Of course he would do whatever was necessary to bring peace and comfort to his Emma.
She left them then, husband and wife.
* * * *
Bex paced the drawing room in the wake of Lord Ridgely, who was unable to remain seated despite the regular requests to do so by both his wife and Lady Constance.
“I am better when I am up and about,” Ridgely had insisted, and Bex had agreed. He was too anxious to remain still. He hadn’t spoken to Lucy yet. He hadn’t explained. He had realized the second he walked out the door that his decision to wait had been a mistake. He had convinced the duke it was the right thing, but it had been wrong. He had thought it was a kindness not to ask her to wait for him, but it was worse to leave her with no assurances at all. He was the worst kind of cad.
And then she was there. She appeared in the doorway, her eyes settling immediately on his. There was hurt and exhaustion in her sad blue eyes and he was impatient to clear it away. He crossed the distance between them with long strides. “Lucy,” he breathed, reaching to take her hands.
She let him, but her hands lay limply in his and her expression remained unchanged.
Bex was keenly aware of their audience, but he did not care. What he needed to say to Lucy could not wait. “Lucy,” he said, “Love, I am so sorry for not speaking earlier.”
“No.” She pulled her hands away. Fire lit in her blue eyes, replacing the sadness. “Don’t call me that. Not now. We’ve never been false with each other.”
“Lucy, no, you don’t understand. I am not here to lie to you. I am here to explain.”
Her chin lifted. “I’ve had the explanation from the duke. I’m fully apprised of the arrangement.”
“Then you know?” he asked, studying her face for some reason behind her coolness. “And you’re not pleased? It’s what you wanted. I’m going to use the money to build a future.” He reached for her hands again. “For us, if you’ll have me.” He smiled down at her, waiting for her to realize everything it meant.
She snatched her hands back again. “I won’t do it. I won’t allow the duke’s aid to be my dowry, nor will I marry a man who does so for his financial security. I will speak with the duke. I will ask him not to rescind his commitment to help you, but I will not marry you.”
Bex stepped back, stricken at her words. She would not marry him. “What do you mean the duke’s aid is your dowry?” He could feel his voice rise, even as he tried to stop it. “What the devil does that mean?”
She advanced on him, the light in her blue eyes becoming darker, more fierce. “Do you think I don’t understand the arrangement you have with the duke? You need his help and he has a ruined woman living in his house. Did you think I would not understand how both problems managed to be resolved in one happy conversation?”
Bex gaped at her, finally comprehending what she believed.
No.
No. No. No. No.
How could he ever convince her that wasn’t the way it happened? He had to try. “Lucy, I swear to you, you are wrong. The duke never asked me to marry you. I told him I intended to marry you. It was my idea to wait until my literal ship had come in, but it was a stupid, stupid idea. I hated the way you looked at me when I left earlier today. So much so that I couldn’t go home. I crossed the street and sat in the square, berating myself for a fool. When I saw everyone, I came back. I was worried you were hurt.” He shook his head. “I should have known it was the child, I just…I wasn’t thinking sensibly.”
Lucy’s voice was small but unwavering. “I wasn’t thinking sensibly earlier, either, but I am now. I know that you do not want to marry me.”
“That is the falsehood,” Bex insisted, determined to make her believe. “I would have offered for you a thousand times before now if I’d been able to offer you any kind of security or future. You have to believe me. I love you, Lucy.” His eyes closed and he knew he begged, but he did not care. “Darling, please, you have to believe this.”
He looked down at her and saw the liquid begin to pool at the rims of her clear, bright eyes. He desperately hoped the emotion there was a sign of her faith in him. He knew she loved him. He knew it. She had gone to such lengths. She had wanted everything for him, when she had nothing left for herself. “Please, Lucy,” he said again, his fingers spearing through his hair.
The tears never fell. Her expression hardened. “Mr. Brantwood, you should go. We are in the midst of a family event and you are intruding.”
Bex reeled. She didn’t believe him. She wasn’t going to believe him. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to marry him. God, he’d done worse than take her virtue. He’d destroyed her trust in him.
All of a sudden, he felt like a prize fool. He looked at the others in the room, at the quiet shock on their faces. He was, indeed, intruding. With a curt nod for the onlookers, he turned and walked out.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Come and sit, ma petite.”
Lucy did as Lady Constance directed, tearing her eyes from the door through which Be
x had walked away. She would choose ruin over marriage to a man who had been forced to offer for her.
“Well, that was unexpected,” Lady Constance said.
“Quite,” Lord Ridgely agreed.
Lucy sighed. “I should have expected it,” she said. “Of course the duke would feel honor bound to intervene in some way. He is good to help his cousin, but compelling him to marry me… I just wish he had considered my feelings before doing so. You may all think me romantic and irresponsible, but I do not wish to marry a man who does not love me.”
Lady Constance patted her arm. “Do you recall, ma petite, what I told you this afternoon about my niece?”
Lucy looked up at her. “That you still hope to change her mind?”
The comtesse nodded. “Precisely, dear. We cannot give up on the people we care about simply because they behave foolishly.”
Lucy sighed. “You are right, of course. I know the duke’s intentions were good and on top of that, he may not have been at his most sensible, given his heightened concern for Emma.” She would forgive him, of course. She would not be forced into marriage, but she would forgive him.
Lady Constance smoothed her skirts and straightened her shoulders. “The duke is not the foolish one in this scenario, ma petite.”
Lucy looked up then. “What are you saying? Are you referring to Bex…I mean, Mr. Brantwood?”
Lady Constance shook her head. “No. As I said this afternoon, sometimes, for their own good, we must force wisdom upon those who cannot seem to find it. You, my girl, are being a fool.”
Lucy stared at her. “What?”
“That boy,” Lady Constance said, indicating with a nod the door through which Bex had left, “has been in love with you since the first time I met you both.” She clasped her hands together in her lap. “If there is one thing the French know best, it is love.”
* * * *
Bex should have hurried away. He should have put as much distance between himself and Worley House as quickly as he could, because the farther away he got, the less likely he would be to turn around and make more of a fool of himself than he already had.
