The Anatomist's Wife

by Anna Lee Huber

  Greer sniffled and reached up to swipe at her nose, rubbing her already raw cheek. She began to fuss, and Alana tipped her forward to croon to her softly.

  “Her teething rag was on the floor,” I told her. “Let me clean it off and wet it.”

  “Thank you,” she replied absentmindedly as she tried to clear Greer’s nose.

  Malcolm and Philipa looked up as their baby sister let out a howl. They were remarkably well behaved today, and I wondered if they sensed their mother’s exhaustion.

  I tightened the string holding the sugar inside one end of the rag before handing it to my sister. Greer immediately chomped down on it, lapsing into a whimper as she turned into her mother’s chest for comfort. Sighing in relief, Alana tipped her head back against the chair and closed her eyes.

  “Alana, are you certain you’re feeling all right?” I asked, worried by the drawn appearance of her face. The last time I had seen her look so poorly was the morning after she nursed Malcolm through his fever. Her haggard countenance scared me.

  She must have sensed this, for her head fell sideways toward her shoulder in defeat. “I’m expecting again,” she admitted.

  I couldn’t stop my eyes from flaring wide in surprise. “Does Philip know?”

  “I think so, though I haven’t told him.”

  I nodded, suddenly better understanding the flares of temper between them in the past few days. It had been from anxiety as much as anger. Alana had difficulty during Greer’s birth, much more so than with the other two, and the physician had suggested they seriously reconsider having any more children. From my sister’s tone of voice, I didn’t think they had been trying for another one.

  “How far along are you?”

  “A month, six weeks. Not long.” Greer sobbed, and Alana adjusted her position.

  “Do you want me to take her?”

  Alana shook her head, stubborn as always.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “How do you think?” she snapped. She took a deep breath and rested her head back against the seat again. “Sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

  “It’s all right,” I told her automatically. Then I broached a topic I knew she was going to dislike even more. “You’re exhausted. Why don’t you leave the children with me and lie down and take a nap.”

  “I’m fine,” she replied woodenly.

  “Alana.”

  “I promise you I’m fine.”

  “No you’re not.”

  Her gaze met mine, and I could see the fear holding her in its grip. “I can’t leave the children,” she replied, knowing what I was really hinting at. “I just can’t. Not yet. Maybe when the man from Inverness arrives, but not yet.”

  I ached for her. The knowledge of what had happened to Lady Godwin’s unborn child clearly distressed my sister. Especially now knowing she carried another little one inside her—one she probably had not wished for. Her instinctive reaction was to protect her own babies, and the only way she could do that was by keeping them in her sight.

  “Would you lie down on one of the children’s beds and take a nap if I took care of the children?” I asked, sensing it would take physical force to pull my sister away from the nursery. Neither Philip nor I wanted to go down that road.

  “You have to finish your investigation,” she protested. “Besides, I need you to take my place as hostess at dinner this evening.”

  I balked. “Do they really need a hostess? I mean, surely they could get by without one.”

  “Kiera, please.”

  “I should think Philip’s aunt, Lady Hollingsworth, would do a much better job.”

  “Kiera,” she begged. “I need you to do this for me. I know it is a lot to ask of you, but I need you to do it, nonetheless.”

  I groaned, hating the way her tone made me feel guilty. This wasn’t a lot to ask of me. I was her sister and she had taken me in sixteen months ago without a single hesitation. “Fine. But only if you do something for me in return.”

  Alana’s gaze turned wary.

  “I’m going to recall the nursery maid, and when she arrives, I want you to take a nap—right over there on Philipa’s bed.” I pointed toward the pink-frilled bed in the corner. “Will you do that?”

  Sensing my determination to be just as stubborn as she could be, she nodded in defeat. I hopped up to pull the tasseled cord that would ring for Molly before she could change her mind. Planting my hands on my hips, I turned back to find my sister watching me with a small smile playing across her lips.

  “It’s not often, but once in a while you manage to do something conniving enough to assure me you have our St. Mawr family blood flowing through your veins after all.”

  I pursed my lips. “Yes, well as conniving as that was, I’m quite certain you got the better end of the bargain.”

  Her smile brightened, and I whirled around to leave the room.

  “Enjoy your dinner, dear,” she called after me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Dinner that evening went far better than I expected, though by no means did I actually enjoy it. How could I when no one would stop talking about Lady Stratford’s detainment? Many of the guests claimed they had suspected the countess all along, but, of course, none of them found it necessary to apologize for condemning me instead. Only Lord Westlock, who was positioned on my right, now that I sat in Alana’s place, had the grace to appear uncomfortable and embarrassed in my presence. And well he should, for I still sported a lump on the back of my head that was tender to the touch.

  Gage was lauded and fussed over for uncovering the murderer, while I watched in frustration as glass after glass of wine was lifted to toast his name. More than once, I was forced to bite my tongue, lest I say something inappropriate or, worse, reveal my involvement in the investigation. Perhaps I should merely have been content to have the attention and suspicion removed from me, but I couldn’t help feeling dissatisfied and even a little angry.

  Philip caught my eye and smiled sympathetically as yet another round of wine was poured for Gage. I nodded in acknowledgment and raised my glass along with everyone else, choking down another sip of the burgundy while most of the others drained their goblets.

  “It must be difficult sitting there holding your tongue,” Lord Marsdale leaned toward me to drawl, irritating me with the reminder of his presence.

  I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised that, as acting hostess, I would be stuck sitting between Marsdale and Westlock, a marquess and baron, respectively. Lord Stratford had declined to join us for dinner; otherwise, he would be seated in Westlock’s place. I couldn’t say I would have liked that arrangement any better. At least Lord Westlock was quiet. Though, Lord Marsdale more than made up for his silence.

  “What?” I asked, having more and more difficulty hiding my annoyance with the man.

  He ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “Well, after all, didn’t you have a great deal to do with catching Lady Stratford?”

  I looked him squarely in the eye for the first time that night. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He chuckled. “Come now, Lady Darby. There’s no need to lie to me. Mr. Gage is intelligent and clever, but I’m quite convinced you had more to do with this than anyone is letting on.”

  I contemplated the surge of pride that welled up inside me and made me want to confirm his statement, to announce to the entire table what I’d done. It seemed unfair that Gage should receive all the credit. I had to remind myself that I hadn’t assisted with the investigation for the accolades. I had done it to protect my sister, my nieces and nephew, and to clear my own name. Admitting I had taken part in the autopsy and uncovering the child’s grave would only cast more scandal on my name, and that of the family I defended. The guests might be comfortabl
e with Gage in the role of hero, but my participation would only arouse more suspicion. It was better this way, no matter what my pride thought.

  “Poor man,” Lady Hollingsworth murmured into her empty wineglass from the seat next to Marsdale, distracting me from his bold stare. “Lord Stratford must be beside himself.” Her arm wobbled as she raised the glass overhead to signal to the footman passing behind her. How much had Philip’s aunt had to drink?

  “I would be horrified,” Lady Bethel bleated from across the table, pressing a hand to her rather substantial bosom. “Why, if Bethel ever did such a thing, I . . . I . . . I don’t know what I would do.”

  I hoped she would contact the authorities.

  “He must have had some clue as to what kind of woman she was.” The marchioness sipped from her refilled glass. “I mean, I could see it. Lady Stratford was always so cold. It’s no surprise her husband found another woman to warm his bed.”

  Lady Bethel tittered, and I blushed. Stuffy Lady Hollingsworth had definitely consumed too much wine if she was willing to discuss such intimate matters at the dinner table.

  She leaned forward as if to impart some juicy secret; however, her whisper emerged loud enough for half the table to hear. “Or that she was crazy enough to kill his mistress because of it.”

  I frowned, not liking the woman’s suppositions. It was exactly the same kind of cruel speculation that swirled around my reputation after I was dragged before the magistrate. I set my fork aside with an audible clink, unable to palate another bite of the cook’s delicious beef tenderloin. The ladies glanced at me distractedly but were too caught up in their conversation to pay me much notice. I stared across the distance of the table, trying to capture Philip’s attention. If his aunt was this sotted, I was certain he would want to be warned about it.

  “At least now the earl will be able to find a new bride,” Lady Hollingsworth declared, her words beginning to slur. “This time, one who can give him an heir.” She nodded rather conspicuously toward her daughter Caroline, who smiled at whatever the gentleman next to her was saying, blissfully unaware of her mother’s plans. I inwardly cringed. A match between Caroline and the earl would be a disaster—for Caroline. I could not care less how Lord Stratford fared.

  “Oh, yes,” Lady Bethel nearly cooed. “I hear he’s desperate for an heir. If he dies now, the title and entailed property goes to some distant French cousin.” She pronounced the man’s nationality as if it carried the plague.

  “Oh, how horrid!” Lady Hollingsworth commiserated.

  Lady Bethel nodded and then leaned forward over the table. I worried the contents of her bodice would spill out over her plate. “But do you really think they’ll hang her? A countess?” Such a prospect seemed to appall the baroness more than anything else.

  Her friend was not similarly afflicted. “But of course. As well they should. She killed another gentlewoman. If Lord Stratford’s tart had been some demirep or a servant girl, perhaps it would be a different matter. But one can’t simply go around killing gentlewomen, even if you are one yourself.”

  I opened my mouth to scold the women for their extreme insensitivity when I felt a subtle pressure against my leg under the table. My gaze flicked to Marsdale, whom, in the intensity of my anger, I had forgotten. He shook his head subtly, cautioning me against speaking. Reluctantly, I swallowed the heated words, feeling them scald the back of my throat like a drink of too-hot tea.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t made any witty rejoinders,” I bit out through clenched teeth, wondering at his uncharacteristic silence during the ladies’ ridiculous conversation.

  He smiled sadly. “Some conversations do not deserve wit.” He glanced at the two women still deep in conversation, and when he looked back at me, there was a twinkle in his eyes. “Especially when they lack good taste.”

  I couldn’t stop the small twitch of a smile from curling my lips at his implied insult to the ladies, who were completely unaware that they had just been reproached, and by one of society’s most notorious scoundrels, no less. Marsdale grinned over his wineglass, clearly pleased to have amused me.

  Feeling someone’s gaze upon me, I glanced up the table to find Gage watching us. Even annoyed as I was by all the praise he was receiving, I couldn’t help but be struck by his good looks—made all the more arresting by his black evening kit. I wanted to blame it on my artist’s eye, but I knew I would only be lying to myself. Gage was attractive to me as more than just a portrait subject.

  Gage nodded, just a slight dip of his head so as not to draw the others’ attention. I nodded back, wondering if the gesture was a dismissal. Now that the killer seemed to be caught, did he no longer see a use for me? An ache began to form beneath my breastbone.

  “So that’s how it is.”

  I turned distractedly to Marsdale, whose eyes shone with devilry. “That’s how what is?”

  His head tilted to the side, a sly smile playing over his mouth. “There’s no need to play naive with me. All you had to tell me was that you preferred light . . .” he nodded toward Gage “. . . to dark.”

  A flush of heat raced up my neck and into my cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t prefer anything.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “I don’t,” I insisted, reassuring myself that it was the truth. I truly didn’t care what color a man’s hair was.

  “Well, then,” he drawled, wagging his eyebrows and adopting his customary lazy grin. I knew it was aimed to disarm me. “There’s still hope for me yet.”

  I sighed and shook my head at the man, but he refused to be deterred, and I unexpectedly welcomed his outrageous flirting and inappropriate commentary, grateful for the distraction it provided from the rest of the table.

  After dinner, I accompanied the ladies to the parlor for tea. I anticipated that I would have to endure their gossip and small talk for at least a half an hour before the gentlemen deigned to join us, so when they began to wander in no more than five minutes later, I thought perhaps Philip had taken pity on me. However, it swiftly became clear from the men’s excited talk that was not the case. Philip’s mare, Freya, was foaling. It was very late in the season for such a thing, but I knew my brother-in-law had been expecting the horse to give birth for days now. He and Mr. Abingdon had rushed directly to the stables from the dinner table, and several of the other men were talking of joining them. Not wishing to remain any longer than necessary, I decided my favor to Alana had been fulfilled and slipped out of the room before anyone could detain me.

  The fire in my hearth snapped merrily, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The firelight winked and flashed in the stained glass propped atop the mantel. When I was a little girl, I had taken the two pieces from a broken window being replaced in the village church near my father’s estate, loving the way the colors merged and swirled, changing with the light. I brushed my fingers over the cool, smooth glass, watching as the shadows cast by my fingers deepened the colors almost to flat black. In stark comparison, the surface away from my fingers seemed to ripple in the firelight like water, like a living thing.

  I turned away, feeling oddly hollow inside. I stared at my bed, the fatigue from so many sleepless nights pulling at my bones, but I knew my head would never rest. Not with this pit growing in my stomach and the fear and doubt coalescing in my mind. I knelt to light a pair of candles from the flames to brighten the room. Then I dragged my tired feet across the carpet and slipped off my shoes to curl up in the window seat. Hugging a pillow to my chest, I parted the curtains and peered out at the carriage house below.

  It sat, quiet and unobtrusive, next to the stables, which bustled with activity. Gentlemen milled outside in the carriage yard with the coachmen and stable hands, all waiting for the foal’s birth. Even the footman who stood guard at the door to the carriage house was drawn to th
e excitement, though he was careful to maintain his post. I wondered if Lady Stratford and Celeste could hear the men, and whether they worried they were there for them instead of a horse.

  There was a knock on my door, and thinking it was my maid, I called out. “Come in.”

  “I thought you were locking your door,” a deep voice replied.

  I looked up to find Gage lounging against the doorjamb, one hand cradling a bottle of champagne, and the other a pair of glasses. My heart tripped in my chest.

  “What are you doing here?” Hearing the breathless quality of my voice, I swallowed and added, “I thought you would be joining the other men down in the stables.” I nodded toward the window.

  “I have seen enough foalings . . .” he closed the door with his foot “. . . to last a lifetime. I have no need to see another.”

  I had not pegged him for a man who cared much for horseflesh. “How many foalings have you witnessed?”

  “Two. One when I was an adolescent still trying to figure out a woman’s body, and another years later, while I was deep in my cups. I did not enjoy either experience.”

  A smile tugged at my lips. “You thought to learn about a woman’s body from a horse?”

  He grinned wryly. “Silly, I know.”

  “Do many boys do that?”

  He shrugged. “I haven’t the foggiest.”

  I tilted my head to the side. “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing young ladies are not allowed to view such things, or else we might never let any of you gentlemen near us.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Better the foaling than the conception.”

  I threw the pillow at him and turned toward the window to hide my amusement, continuing to watch him out of the corner of my eye.