by Mary Nichols
‘I have done all that can be done,’ the doctor said. ‘Now all we can do is pray.’
‘But he will live?’ Maryanne asked.
‘With careful nursing.’ He turned to address two menservants who had arrived with a stretcher. ‘I think it is safe to move His Grace now.’
It was a moment or two before she realised he was referring to Adam and not Mark. She smiled and reluctantly released Adam’s hand, so that he could be put on the stretcher and taken upstairs to one of the few rooms which were still properly furnished. She followed and stood waiting as the men put him to bed and left the room.
‘Adam,’ she whispered, taking his hand and raising it to her cheek. ‘Everything is going to be all right. You are going to get well.’ She thought she felt his grip tighten and went on, ‘Adam, can you hear me?’
She watched his face, almost afraid to hope, then she let her breath out in a long sigh of relief when his brown eyes opened and a quirk of a smile appeared.
‘I hear,’ he whispered. He was in a great deal of pain and the morphia the doctor had given him was making him drowsy, but he had the strength to tug on her hand and draw her towards him. ‘I do not suppose you will ever be a dutiful wife,’ he added.
‘Would you love me half as much if I were?’
‘Now, there’s a question!’
Outside, they could hear the sound of cheering, as the estate workers, the villagers and a now redundant troop of militia crowded on the drive in front of the house below the bedroom. ‘Tell them they can have their grazing land,’ he went on, though speaking was an effort. ‘And find Robert...’
‘He is here. So is Caroline. There is nothing for you to worry about, nothing at all.’
‘Come nearer.’
She bent over to kiss him. It was the gentlest of kisses, a foretaste of all the joy to come, and she was overwhelmed with happiness. It would, she knew, be a slow process, his return to full health, but there was no doubt in her mind that it would happen, because they had so much to look forward to, so much to do, so many friends wishing them well. Now instead of following him she would be beside him, always.
A fire burned in the bedroom grate, casting a pink glow over the polished furniture and the silk-draped cradle. Beside it, Adam shifted his gaze from the study of the little miracle it contained to his wife. Motherhood had made her even more beautiful; she glowed with contentment. But inside she was just the same as she had always been: a girl in love, a girl prepared to go through fire and water to stay at the side of the man she adored. And now she had been doubly blessed.
She smiled. ‘Pick him up, he is not made of eggshells.’
‘Him?’
‘James, Marquis of Beckford.’
He laughed and lifted the child, ignoring the nurse twittering in the background. ‘James.’ He smiled as he laid the child in her arms and watched as she prepared to feed him. ‘James Louis.’
It was a little over three months since the library at Beckford Hall had been the scene of so much greed and hate, and yet out of it had come an unshakeable love, a love which had spread to everyone around them.
From his sick-bed, Adam had been able to direct his representatives to repair the ravages his half-brother had caused on the estate, to restore the villagers’ grazing land and to make sure their wages were sufficient to support them. Since his recovery he had refurnished Beckford Hall for Madame Saint-Pierre, and she lived there now, adored by the servants and the villagers. The law had taken care of Mark’s crime; Adam had spoken on his behalf and he had not paid the ultimate penalty. Instead he had been sent to one of the penal colonies and would never return.
‘Thank you, Betty,’ Maryanne said, trying not to smile in the face of the girl’s disapproval that she was feeding her infant herself. ‘I will send for you when I need you.’
Betty, who could not accustom herself to the unconventional ways of the Duke and Duchess, looked as though she was about to protest, but changed her mind and, clucking disapproval at parents who employed nursemaids and then looked after the children themselves, bobbed a curtsy and left.
Maryanne reached across the baby’s head and put her hand into Adam’s. He smiled as he put her palm to his lips.
Outside, the old house, reflecting the light of the setting sun, seemed to glow with a life of its own, as if the happiness of its inmates extended to the bricks and mortar. The ancient cedars, tall and strong, cast long shadows across a home no scandal could touch because inside there was trust and hope and an abiding love.
