Rescued by a Duke

by Ruth J. Hartman

  Dr. Fremont's forehead was slick with sweat. He gulped down air as his breathing came in quick bursts. "I-I'm afraid I just can't answer your question, your grace." He widened his eyes and then pivoted and fled, bolting down the steps, almost stumbling in his haste.

  Garrett dropped his lower jaw. The man had run away! A respected medical professional had skittered down the steps like a frightened rabbit being pursued by a hungry fox. What in the world was going on? He would find out. He would! Stepping closer to the door, he leaned forward, listening for any signs of distress in his wife's room. Would she be crying? Had the doctor given her some terrible news? He should be with her to comfort her.

  He reached for the doorknob, turned it, wincing when it squeaked. Slowly, he edged it open. Sasha lay in bed, her hair spread across her pillow, several dark strands curling at the ends. With her eyes closed, she seemed quite serene. Maryann sat in the chair next to the bed, watching her mistresses' face. Was she checking for signs of illness?

  Garrett stepped into the room and sighed, taking a moment to admire his beautiful wife before he spoke. How he missed her and longed to hold her. Every part of the last few days had been empty and meaningless without her by his side. Nothing seemed right. He even missed their silly conversations about Douglas the cat.

  What if something terrible had happened to her? What had the physician discovered? Garrett swallowed hard. This wasn't how it was supposed to be between a husband and wife. Not how it should be between them.

  Taking another step closer, he paused when Sasha opened her eyes and spotted him, a frown on her face. But he'd come here for a reason, and he wouldn't leave until he'd had his say. "Darling, I just observed Dr. Fremont in the hallway. I'm frantic with worry. Are you ill?" He decided not to admit that he'd tried to get the information from the physician himself, nearly threatening the man with bodily harm and causing him to run away.

  Sasha sat up, moving a wayward strand of hair from her cheek. Her face was flushed a pretty pink hue. "It's nothing to concern yourself with, Garrett."

  "How can you say such a thing?"

  "I'm fine. Please… go." Her words came out as a whisper. Not as strong as they'd been when she'd previously told him to leave her alone.

  Garrett studied her face. Her eyes appeared to be on the verge of tears. Surely she'd not gotten positive news from the physician, then?

  He took another tentative step toward her. "Please, I must know what he said." He grasped the end bedpost and waited, willing her to tell him what ailed her.

  Sasha sighed. Glancing at her maid, she gave her a slight smile. "Thank you, Maryann. I'll be fine."

  Maryann leaned toward Sasha. "Are you certain, your grace?"

  Sasha nodded.

  Maryann stood, smoothed the wrinkles from her day dress, and edged past Garrett. Once the door closed, he hurried to sit in the vacated chair.

  He reached for his wife's hand. "Please, Sasha, are you well? Please tell me nothing is amiss."

  "I assure you, I'm fine."

  "Can't you tell me the reason for Dr. Fremont paying you a visit?"

  "Garrett, I realize you could demand I tell you and I would have to. Please… don't. I… I'm not ready to…" She angled her head away, brushing back a tear. Would she come to trust him once more? His heart warmed with the tiny bit of hope.

  "I won't demand it of you, Sasha, even though I have every right to do so. I love you, darling. Please tell me…"

  She glanced at him, giving a slight smile. "I've never stopped loving you, Garrett. I… couldn't. But… I need more time."

  He pressed his hands to his thighs as he leaned forward. "Time for what?"

  "I'm still so hurt about you not telling me the truth." She fingered the coverlet draped across her lap.

  "I've apologized time and time again, Sasha. I'm not sure what more I can do?"

  She shrugged. "It seems as if you don't truly understand how important Samuel was to me. How much it hurt me when you kept such important information from me, his only living relative."

  Garrett spread his hands. "I know it was wrong of me not to tell you. And I know I went about my apology in the wrong light when I had all of those gifts delivered. I guess I'm still learning what it means to be a husband. But know this, Sasha. I love you more than life itself, and I will love you thus, until I die."

  He rose, pivoted toward the door, and left the room.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sasha rose with the birds the next morning. Doubt plagued her about sending Garrett away again. When he'd come into her room looking so forlorn, her heart had actually ached for him. Would she be able to completely forgive him? Now she knew it was what she truly wanted. His saddened countenance and Maryann's own tale of heartache and forgiveness convinced Sasha to search her heart once more. How must he have felt when she'd refused to talk to him? Or tell him why the physician had visited her room? She'd hurt him just as she'd been hurt. Shame washed over her.

  But wanting to forgive and being able to weren't always the same thing. If only there were some way she could trust that he understood her love of her brother. With Garrett having lost a sister, it stood to reason he would have a notion of what it meant. Could they reach an understanding and regain what they'd lost? Having been without him even such a short time, she didn't want to waste another moment apart.

  Rising from the bed, she was relieved the queasiness in her stomach now seemed much better. She'd been able to eat without a problem, actually enjoying her meal for the first time in days. Her hunger was such she couldn't get enough to eat. Now, of course, it all made sense. The upset stomach, the tiredness, and possibly even her moodiness toward her husband. When she told him her news, would he understand? Forgive her?

  Thinking of how she'd spoken to him, how she'd treated him as not only her husband but as a duke, she was ashamed. Because a wonderful man had saved her life, loved her and married her, and she'd treated him as low as the mud caught beneath her fingernails when she'd been trapped in the well.

  Maryann helped her into her favorite pink dress. After lacing her boots, Sasha was ready to find her husband. Praying with everything in her, she hoped Garrett would accept her explanation of why she'd been so contrary with him. And that he'd be excited about her news. Their news.

  Sasha donned her shawl and hat, taking her time down the main stairway. Her ankle had healed, but she was still careful. Even more so now, with the precious bundle she carried within.

  Maryann had told Sasha that Garrett was last outside by the stables. Determined to find him, Sasha walked toward the front door. As she reached for the doorknob, something brushed against her skirt.

  She glanced down, much as Garrett had done the first time in the garden. "Hello, Douglas." Picking up the cat, she nuzzled his head under her chin. "Would you like to help me find Garrett? You could help me tell him the news. I may need your sweet purr to help convince him that I'm sorry for the way I treated him."

  Holding Douglas close to her chest, she went outside. Glancing to the left, she grinned. The swing. Memories washed over her, of her and Garrett drinking lemonade, and of Lord Phillbush paying a visit and subsequently rolling across the lawn. Sasha lowered her head. "Thanks again, Douglas for your help in the matter that day. It's as if you knew the bumbling man was sensitive to you, and it was the very reason you came."

  Douglas rumbled out a purr, kneading Sasha's arm with his paws.

  She carried him down the steps and then set him on the ground when he squirmed in her arms. She headed toward the stables, and Douglas trotted after her. Sasha watched her step, avoiding mud puddles on the path after last night's rain. The air smelled of wet grass and earthworms, which stirred a memory of working in the garden with her mother those long years ago.

  Pressing her hand to her belly, Sasha lifted the corners of her mouth into a smile. In several months, she too would be a mother. It was her heart's desire to make the babe know he was loved, as her own mother had done for her. She laughed wh
en Douglas pounced on a bug sitting at the foot of a fence post. "You and your fascination with beetles, Douglas. Perhaps you'll also enjoy entertaining my baby someday with your antics."

  Her baby. Their baby. Not wanting to waste another moment to tell Garrett the news, she hastened her steps toward the stables. Nearly out of breath by the time she reached them, she was disappointed when she couldn't find him.

  A pounding noise from around the corner of the nearest stable caught her attention. One of the stablemen was making adjustments to a horseshoe. He stopped and bowed his head at a slight angle.

  Sasha tipped her head as well. "Good day. I'm looking for his grace and was told he was last here, but I cannot find him."

  "Good day, your grace. His grace headed up the hill several minutes ago. I haven't seen him come back, so I'm certain you'll find him there."

  "Thank you." She and Douglas went past the stable, across a brief expanse of grass, and headed toward the small hill.

  As she held her skirts up a bit so she wouldn't trip on her way up the shallow incline, the breeze picked up, blowing tendrils of hair out of the pins holding it in place. She drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders, wishing the sun would come out of its hiding place behind the clouds.

  Once she reached the top of the hill, she glanced around, hoping for a glimpse of Garrett. Where is he?

  A movement beneath the branches of a large tree caught her eye. It was Ashe. And wherever Ashe was, there she would find his owner. Sasha hurried toward the horse, but Garrett wasn't there. But he had to be here, didn't he? Somewhere? She stopped, nearly to the horse. Wait. Why would Garrett be way up here? There wasn't anything to speak of around, just a large expanse of field and a few trees. What could be his possible purpose?

  Ashe lifted his head, eyed her, and whinnied. Sasha grinned. "Yes, my friend, I remember you, too. You were a big part in my rescue from the well that day, weren't you?" She patted the large horse on the neck, his hair coarse beneath her fingers.

  A rustling to her left startled her. Garrett stood. Why had he been kneeling on the ground?

  "Sasha?" Garrett hurried toward her, his arms out, stopping just short of embracing her. He relaxed his arms to his sides and his previous joyful expression drooped. Would Sasha be able to restore his smile with her wonderful news?

  Garrett tilted his head. "I'm surprised you're here." He angled a glance behind him and then back at her. "Is something amiss? You must be feeling better after Dr. Fremont's visit. Are you well?"

  The weight of remorse crushed Sasha. Oh how she had treated him! This man meant her no harm. He loved her. It was obvious from the light in his eyes as he searched her face for answers. "I am well, Garrett."

  Her husband's facial muscles relaxed, as if he could collapse with relief. "I'm so pleased to hear it. I was quite worried." He swallowed. "And… again, I'm sorry for—"

  Sasha held up a hand. "No. You don't need to be sorry any longer. You apologized. I should have taken you at your word. I'm the one who's sorry."

  Garrett stepped closer. He reached his hands toward hers, but didn't touch her. "May I?"

  Sasha nodded. It reminded her of when he'd rescued her, when he'd come to the bedroom days later and requested to hold her hand. Memories of their time together rushed back, flooding her heart with joy. As his warm hands held hers, she sighed. It seemed so long, too long, since she'd been comforted by his touch. Don't wait any longer. Tell him the news! She glanced up, delighted at his smile. She opened her mouth, ready to say the words about to burst from her lips.

  Garrett squeezed her hands, released one, and tugged lightly on the other, pulling her forward. "Come with me, Sasha. I have something to show you."

  Garrett seemed so excited about whatever it was, she didn't have the heart to interrupt him. Hadn't she put him through enough? "All right." He led her a few yards away. They walked around the base of a large tree. There lay a large stone. She hadn't noticed it before from where she'd stood behind the tree trunk. Sasha studied the stone. It was a tombstone. But who—?

  He tugged on her hand again, leading her around to the other side of the stone. Sasha gasped. An inscription on the stone read:

  In memory of Samuel Douglas

  Beloved brother of Her Grace Sasha Cantlebury, Duchess of Ravensworth

  May he rest in peace with God's angels.

  Sasha touched her cheek to find tears. "Oh, Garrett." She dashed them away with her other hand. What her husband had given her was a precious gift. He truly did understand her love for her brother.

  Garrett frowned. "Oh, I didn't mean for you to cry."

  "I'm not upset. I just… it's just so… touching."

  Garrett moved to stand behind her as they gazed at the tombstone. He drew her close against him and wrapped her in an embrace. "I'm so glad it pleases you, darling. I just wanted you to know that I do indeed understand what your brother meant to you. I realize he doesn't actually reside here…"

  "Yes, I know. He's in a pauper's grave."

  "I'm so sorry about that. I wish…"

  "It's all right. You've given me quite a special gift. Now I have someplace where I can come and remember my brother and the love we shared." She twisted around until she faced him. Laying her head on his chest, she hugged him against her as tightly as she could manage. "Thank you."

  His breath whispered across her hair, pushing a few strands around her eyes. Sasha burrowed in his arms. Safe. Protected. Loved.

  "You're welcome. I love you so much."

  She raised her head. "I love you, too. I'm so sorry for treating you so poorly. You didn't deserve it. I—"

  He placed his finger on her lips. "Let us speak of it no more. We are together, as we should be. Now the two of us can move forward."

  Sasha bit her lip, trying to hold back a grin. "Oh, I'm not sure it will be at all possible."

  He pulled away. "But—"

  She shrugged, trying to keep a serious expression on her face. "You see, Garrett, quite soon there will be not two of us, but three."

  He shook his head. "I don't—"

  Sasha glanced down pointedly toward her middle. "Remember when Dr. Freemont paid me a visit?"

  Garrett's widened his eyes. "You mean you're…?"

  She nodded. "Yes. You are going to be the best father there ever was or ever could be."

  Garrett's whoop startled Ashe, who neighed.

  Sasha laughed. "I'm glad the news pleases you." She drew him close. "It's the least I can do for you rescuing me."

  He placed a finger beneath her chin, lifting her face toward his. As he lowered his lips to hers, he whispered, "It is you who has rescued me, Sasha, for you have rescued my very heart."

  About the Author

  Ruth J. Hartman spends her days cleaning teeth, and her nights spinning sweet romantic tales that make you giggle, laugh, and all-out guffaw. She, her husband, and their three cats, love to spend time curled up in their recliners watching old Cary Grant movies. Well, the cats, Maxwell, Roxy and Remmie, sit in the people's recliners. Not that the cats couldn't get their own furniture. They just choose to shed on someone else's. You know how selfish those little furry creatures can be.

  Ruth, a left-handed, tooth-scraping, Jeep driving, farmhouse-dwelling romance writer uses her goofy sense of humor as she writes tales of lovable, klutzy women and the men who adore them. Ruth's husband and best friend, Garry, reads her manuscripts, rolls his eyes at her weird story ideas, and loves her in spite of her penchant for insisting all of her books have at least one cat in them. Or twelve. But hey, who's counting?

  Also from Astraea Press:

  Chapter One

  Lady Clara Huckabee trembled. She felt it in her traitorous knees, which threatened to deposit her in an undignified heap on the Grecian Axminster carpet, and in her throat, tightened almost unbearably beneath her morning gown's simple velvet neckline. Disappointing her guardian was bad enough, but since he started this fiasco, surely he'd endeavor to bear it. Shocking her aunt, t
hough — for shocking her response would be — was far worse, because it must necessarily cause a measure of pain and Aunt Helen's sweet soul outweighed her silly, old-fashioned notions. Clara steeled herself. It was their actions, their insistence, which forced her to this miserable necessity. If they refused to consider her wishes in the selection of a husband, her husband, then they must accept some of the blame for the contretemps that ensued.

  Hopefully the housekeeper wasn't listening behind the closed drawing room door.

  A deep breath, and Clara softened her clenched hands into gentler folds. Only then did she trust herself to meet the Viscount Maynard's black eyes, unblinking and glittering. No matter how many times she ordered herself to be meek and affable, he still looked like a possessive lizard.

  "It distresses me to cause grief in anyone, particularly a gentleman as eminent as my Lord Maynard, and I find no pleasure in disappointing my esteemed aunt and uncle." She paused. Those reptilian eyes widened and bulged; perhaps she was the first person to dare cross the arrogant booby. Clara hurried on before she could be interrupted. "However, the selection of a lifetime partner is too delicate an operation to be entrusted to any third party, no matter how revered. Kingdoms will neither rise nor fall on my lineage and therefore I believe my own desires and tastes should be consulted. I am sorry, but I cannot accept my lord's offer of marriage."

  Viscount Maynard's gaze drifted from her face, drifted lower. "The child has an opinion of her own." When he'd asked for her hand, his voice had been courteous and correct; now he drawled his words, taking twice as long to state a simple sentence. His lips curled as if he smelled something unspeakable. "How precocious."

  Her skin crawled. His gaze boasted weight and mass, as if his hand explored her without permission. So much for meek and affable; the viscount was surely more interested in her inheritance, in Papa's money, than in her or her hand. "My lord, your anxiety to change my opinion must be unbounded." She dropped her most formal curtsey and escaped from the drawing room. Let him eat cake; just not hers.