Midnight My Love

by Anne Marie Novark

  Alex appreciated his enthusiasm, but protested. "Theses and dissertations are written by candidates up for academic degrees. The Royal Society won't accept such a serious hypothesis from a mere woman."

  "You're forgetting Caroline Herschel," he reminded her. "Hasn't she made some important discoveries of her own? Outside her assistance to her famous brother, I mean? I thought Mr. Herschel said she had submitted several papers to the Royal Society."

  "You've worked with Mr. Herschel?" Alex asked.

  "No, I'm only an amateur astronomer--not like your father, or you for that matter. Mr. Herschel was kind enough to answer some of my questions by letter."

  Alex straightened the stack of journals. "I seem to recall . . . yes, I remember now. Caroline Herschel has submitted several papers to the Royal Society. She presented a catalogue of five hundred and sixty-one stars that were accidentally omitted from the British Catalogue about fifteen years ago. Papa could talk of nothing else for weeks." She smiled at the memory of her father's elation when he'd heard the news. "But Rochdale, I could never presume to be in the same exalted company as Miss Herschel."

  "Nonsense," he said. "Your father was a well-known astronomer. He was with Herschel when he discovered the George. You've been trained by the best and are extremely knowledgeable in the field. You must write a thesis, my dear."

  "It's quite an undertaking. Do you truly think I have enough evidence?" she asked.

  "Definitely. And I would be happy to assist you in anyway I can. You write the paper and I'll go over the work with you." Rochdale waited expectantly.

  Alex looked at him, a sharp side glance. Would they be able to work together again after all that had passed between them? She had forgotten how this abominable man could match her enthusiasm about the stars. He was brilliant, of course. The viscount was a different person when he talked about astronomy. Different, and dangerously attractive.

  He was looking at her with a strange tenderness. Alex felt the bond strengthening between them again. There was a treacherous warmth spreading inside her. Rochdale's concern and unstinting care of her brother had already breached her defenses.

  And Rochdale understood all those lonely nights at the telescope, all the tedious calculations. He was confident she could write a thesis and had also offered to help. He was still waiting for her answer.

  "Yes," she said. "I would like to work with you--the way we used to when Papa was alive." She took a deep breath. "I really wish you would quit calling me Miss Turlington. You used to call me by my first name."

  Rochdale seemed to hesitate as he went back to reposition the telescope. "Very well, but only if you do the same, Alexandra."

  She nodded and bent her head to her work, trying to ignore the pleasure she felt when he called her by her familiar name once again.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A week later, Robert sat on the sofa in the back parlor and stared listlessly out the window at the morning sun. Aunt Haygood napped in a nearby chair, her tatting forgotten on her lap. Miss Sedgewicke read more of Southey's poem aloud, her voice low and melodious.

  Robert swung his booted feet to the floor. For the past week, Jenny had coaxed him downstairs to the sofa every day. Mrs. Abernathy's good cooking had been tasty and filling, and he could feel his energy returning. He was becoming adept at eating with his left hand. But would he ever feel whole again?

  Jenny closed the book and looked at him. "Would you like to start practicing writing today? I know you're feeling blue-devilled, but you must find the strength to go on. You cannot live out the rest of your days on the sofa."

  He saw the clear gray eyes regarding him with mild reproof. Robert knew she was right. He needed to pull himself out of the quagmire of self-pity he was drowning in.

  "Go get paper and pen, then. I'll give it a try." He was rewarded with a warm smile.

  Jenny ran to the desk where the writing materials lay. "I don't mean to come the tyrant over you. It scares me to see you so melancholy. You've always been strong and vital--alive and vibrant." She caught his interested gaze and busied herself with positioning the paper and ink on the small table near the sofa.

  He seized her hand, holding it tightly in his own. "You're not a tyrant," he said softly. "Never that. You're a ministering angel, helping me on the path to recovery." Robert was pleased to see her cheeks turn pink.

  Gently retrieving her hand, Jenny continued, "Before you begin writing, remember how awkward you felt when you first started using your fork. Your left hand is unaccustomed to doing these tasks, and it will take practice in order to become proficient again."

  "Yes, yes," he said impatiently. "Hand me the pen."

  She gave it to him, then stepped back.

  "What shall I write?" he asked, wishing she'd stayed close by.

  "Start with your name. Your signature will be different now. You should strive to make it bold and distinctive." She watched anxiously as he put pen to paper.

  The first attempt was unsuccessful. The nib cracked, and ink splattered across the page.

  "Damn it!" Robert said. "And how am I supposed to repair the pen now? With one hand?" He glared at Jenny.

  "I'll repair it for you," she said. Taking up the quill, she quickly sharpened the point and handed it back to him. Robert scratched his name on the vellum and laid the pen aside. "It's worse than a child's scribblings," he said with disgust.

  "It's only your first attempt. Try again." Jenny held the pen toward him. Robert hesitated.

  "Here," she said, placing the quill in his hand. "Let me guide you. Your left hand is unused to the motions." With gentle patience, Jenny gripped his large hand and helped spell out his name.

  Robert felt the small warm hand guide him through the motions. A wave of desire washed over him. He watched Jenny as she bent over the page. She'd grown to be quite pretty, he thought. He found himself wanting to kiss the brown curls so near his mouth. Closing his eyes, he inhaled her unique fragrance and suddenly yearned to sweep Jenny into a passionate embrace.

  Robert jerked open his eyes. The pen slid across the paper. What was he about, thinking of Jenny in that way?

  "Is something wrong?" she asked him. "We were doing so well."

  Glancing at the jagged letters of his name, he reached for the pen. "Let me try myself."

  Carefully, Robert scrawled the letters. Just as he came to the end, the nib broke again. A large blotch of ink smeared the page.

  "It's no use!" He threw the pen down. "I'm sorry, Jenny. Even rudimentary things are beyond me now."

  "That's nonsense, and you know it." She placed her hand on his arm.

  Robert shrugged it off. He didn't want her pity. He wanted to kiss her, which was nonsense. His sharp-edged hunger for Jenny made him stand abruptly. He turned away and clumsily swept everything onto the floor.

  Catching the ink bottle before it fell, Jenny watched Robert stalk toward the door, suddenly afraid of the frightful light in his eyes.

  Aunt Haygood awoke with a start. "What's the matter with you, dear boy?" she asked. "Shall I brew a restorative tea for you this afternoon?"

  Robert turned a twisted face on his aunt. "I don't want any more of your goddamned teas!" His voice sounded constricted, a low savage growl.

  Aunt Haygood's face crumpled, and she sobbed into her tatting. Jenny hurried to the old woman's side, patted her shoulder and handed her a handkerchief. Then she ran after Robert, passed him and stood in the doorway, barring the way.

  "Wait!" Jenny cried. "Where are you going? What are you going to do?"

  Robert stopped inches from her. "Please, allow me to pass," he said through gritted teeth.

  "Promise me, you won't do something dreadful," she pleaded.

  "I don't make promises, I can't keep." He pushed her aside and strode quickly toward the front door, which was opened wide.

  Jenny quickly followed, terrified at the thought of Robert's desperate attitude, not knowing what to do or how to help. He'd seemed to be getting along so well. Wh
at in the world had happened?

  "Robert! Please!"

  Ignoring her anguished plea, Robert quickly walked out the door.

  ****

  Standing at the top of the stairs, Damien watched as Robert made his escape. Never had he witnessed such a look of torment on his friend's face.

  Miss Sedgewicke stopped at the bottom of the staircase and gripped the banister. "Stop him! Someone, please stop him!" she cried, a sob catching in her throat.

  Damien quickly descended the stairs. "What happened?"

  Alexandra rushed into the hall from the back of the house. "Good God, Jenny. What's wrong? What's the matter with Robert?"

  "Someone must follow him. I fear he might . . . he shouldn't be alone." Jenny grabbed Rochdale's sleeve. "My lord, please go after him," she urged. "He's in a dangerous mood and I'm afraid of what he might do."

  "What happened?" Damien asked again, holding Alex's gaze for one pregnant moment.

  "There's no time . . . just go after him." Jenny pushed him toward the door. She turned frightened eyes on Alex.

  Alexandra picked up her gloves from the hall table. "I'm going too!" she said, following Rochdale.

  "You'll stay here, my girl," he ordered, his voice sharp. "I'll take care of this."

  "He's my brother. I'll come if I want to. I was preparing to leave anyway, to visit a couple of sick tenants. We'll take the gig. Robert can't have gone far." She met his brooding eyes squarely, her chin raised slightly.

  "As you wish." Damien turned on his heel and went outside.

  A groom was bringing Alex's gig from the stables. Robert pushed the servant away, flung himself up on the seat, and whipped the reins across the mare's haunches. The gig lurched forward, then began picking up speed.

  "Robert! Wait!" Damien called. "You're in no condition to drive!"

  "Don't try to stop me, Demon! I know what I'm about."

  "Damned fool!" Damien watched as the gig and Robert sped down the willow-lined lane, soon lost in a cloud of dust.

  Alex clutched Damien's arm. He looked down into the wide green eyes and pressed her hand reassuringly.

  "My God, he'll kill himself," she whispered. "Go after him, Damien. Hurry! Please, hurry!"

  Damien ran to the stables. The head groom had a horse already saddled and handed the reins to the viscount.

  "See to your mistress," Damien said. "She'll want to follow. Stall her for at least ten minutes, then escort her yourself." He vaulted onto the animal's sleek back and raced after the runaway gig.

  ****

  Robert's arm ached as he held onto the reins in a death grip. When he'd jumped in the gig, all he'd wanted to do was escape the house and the torment he'd lived with for the last several months. Vague thoughts of ending it all swirled about his brain.

  But with the reality of impending death looming over him as the gig sped out of control, life suddenly seemed sweet. He thought of Jenny, who'd been his lifeline since he'd come home. He remembered her gray eyes and low laughter. He thought about his response to her nearness. For the first time in months, he felt like a man again. Narrowing his eyes, he remembered he had a fiancée also.

  Robert directed all of his energy toward keeping the horse and gig from overturning. If he could come out of this alive, he would thank God he was spared and get on with living. He'd have to find the patience to learn to do everything with one hand. With Jenny's support, Robert thought he could make it. If he came out of this alive . . .

  The horse seemed impervious to Robert's signals, no matter how hard he pulled on the reins. He decided to give the mare her head and let her tire herself out. He concentrated on keeping the gig on the narrow road. Robert prayed he wouldn't meet anyone coming from the opposite direction.

  He heard Damien calling his name, but dared not glance back. Thank God, Demon had followed him. He'd always been there for him. He was glad he was here now, because he was going to need his help.

  Suddenly, a rabbit shot across the road. The horse swerved to miss it, grazing the wheels of the gig along the embankment. The old mare's ears flattened, then she reared up and bolted down the road with renewed energy. Robert felt the left wheel leave the ground as the gig rounded a bend.

  He was determined to stop the carriage himself. Demon was too far behind to help. Robert looped the reins around his arm. Bracing his feet on the floor of the gig, he hauled with all his might. The taut reins wrenched his arm, almost pulling it from the socket. After an interminable amount of time, he felt the mare slow her pace; her ears resumed their normal position.

  From the corner of his eye, Robert saw Demon grab the horse's bridle. In a few seconds, the gig stood safely by the side of the road.

  "What the hell were you trying to do? Break your damned neck?" Damien shouted.

  Robert hesitated as he stared at the infuriated face glaring at him. "The thought had crossed my mind."

  "I never knew you were such a coward," Damien cut in bitingly. "Of all the selfish, inconsiderate starts."

  Robert rubbed his throbbing shoulder with his chin. "I said it crossed my mind. All I really wanted to do was ride out my anger. The gig was there. I didn't think--I simply acted."

  "Acted foolishly, you mean," Damien snapped. "You've always been cow handed, even before your accident, and you know it."

  "All of us can't be members of the Four-In-Hand Club, sporting spotted neckerchiefs and driving coaches up Salt Hill," Robert said. "Besides, old Betsy was slowing down. Before you took hold of the bridle, I mean."

  Dismounting, Damien tied his horse to the back of the gig and jumped in beside his friend. "You gave me one hell of a scare, Rob," he said. "Alexandra will be here shortly. We must concoct some sort of a story to tell her."

  "Yes," he agreed. "Jenny will be worried, too. I'm afraid I've behaved like a cad. I even cursed poor Aunt Haygood."

  "Don't castigate yourself. You've had a rough time of it," Damien said. "I know you've been suffering. Something was bound to happen. Just be glad it wasn't anything worse."

  "I won't lie to you, Demon. I've thought of death--even prayed for it," Robert admitted. "Yet when the gig was out of control, I realized I didn't want to die."

  "Welcome back, my friend. Now, here comes your sister. Think of a plausible tale while I turn this gig around. Unless you'd like to do the honors?"

  Robert grinned and shook his head. "I've had enough driving for today, thank you.

  Alexandra pulled up beside the gig, astride Cosmos, out of breath. Jem Thomson, the head groom, trailed behind.

  "Thank God, you're safe," Alex said, her face deathly pale. "Are you all right, Robert?"

  "I'm fine."

  "What were you about?" she scolded. "To take off in such a fashion?"

  Searching his sister's lovely face, he shrugged. "Let's just say I was trying my hand at the reins. Obviously, I'm not ready yet."

  "I should think not," she said. "You've just risen from your sick bed. This is no time to test your skill with the ribbons."

  Damien started the gig toward Willowmede. "I was telling Robert that I admire his spirit. But perhaps he should learn to do simpler tasks first before tackling the more difficult ones."

  His eyes dropped to the well-turned ankle peeping from beneath Alexandra's hiked-up skirt. She caught his gaze and tried to adjust her position. This proved to be impossible--the skirt was not made for riding astride. She tried to stare him out of countenance. He merely lifted an eyebrow in return.

  After watching this by-play, Robert smiled. "You have no one to blame but yourself, dear sister. If you refuse to ride side-saddle, you must pay the price." Before Alex could reply, he threw up his hand. "Let's go home. I must apologize to Jenny and Aunt Haygood for my monstrous behavior."

  "Aunt Haygood?" she asked, puzzled.

  "I'm afraid I told her I didn't want anymore of her teas," Robert admitted sheepishly. "And I didn't say it very nicely."

  Alex gasped, then laughed. "You didn't! That's worse than taking off in the gig."


  He nodded in agreement, sweeping his black hair back from his forehead with his good hand. "I know, Alex. I know."

  ****

  Robert found Jenny in the Music Room, sitting at the piano. She played a sad, mournful tune. He leaned against the door frame and listened until she finished the piece.

  Jenny turned when she heard his approach. He saw the worry and something else he couldn't name in her lovely gray eyes. Her hand went to her throat--she stood abruptly. "You're safe! Thank goodness, you're safe!"

  Looking down at her, Robert felt an unaccountable longing to crush her to him. He must be going mad. He reminded himself he was engaged to be married. "I owe you an apology, my dear. I don't know what possessed me to act like an ogre to you, of all people. All I can say is--I'm sorry."

  He idly picked out a tune on the ivory keys and grimaced when he struck a wrong chord. "I guess there will be many things I can never do again."

  Jenny stared at him, biting her lip. A tear trickled down her cheek.

  "Don't cry," he said softly. "I've decided you're right. I can't live the rest of my days on that damned sofa." He brushed the tear away. "If you can find it in your heart to forgive my boorish behavior, I'd like to continue my lesson in penmanship."

  Half laughing, half sobbing, Jenny smiled up at him. "I'll get the pen and ink." She hesitated, a frown marred her smooth brow.

  "What's wrong?" he asked.

  "I was thinking about Aunt Haygood," she said.

  "I've already apologized to my aunt," he said. "I begged her forgiveness. Then I asked her to brew a cup of her special restorative tea for me. I also asked her to prepare something for these blisters." He showed her the two red welts which streaked across his palm where the reins had rubbed his hand raw. "Serves me right. I should have known better than to jump in that gig."

  "Perhaps we should postpone the writing lesson," Jenny suggested.

  Robert nodded. "Yes, that might be best. Would you play for me, Jenny? I haven't heard anyone play for ages. You used to play when you visited Willowmede. Quite prettily, in fact."