by Merry Farmer
Memories flooded in on her. She’d been in the speeding carriage, kissing Alex and contemplating doing much more. She’d been about to tell him she was pregnant. Then came the crash, the blackness. All she remembered after that were flashes of pain, a bedroom that wasn’t her own, and someone forcing her to drink what felt like a gallon of foul-tasting medicine. Then came the fog and darkness.
“I remember the carriage.” She tried to move, to sit up, but could barely manage to shift a few inches.
“Don’t try to move,” Alex said, setting James on the floor and scooting closer to her. He stroked her face, caught her hand and kissed it again. “You’ve been through a lot. The doctor…he had to…and then…and…infection set in.”
Marigold blinked, not sure whether something was still wrong with her and she wasn’t catching everything he was saying or whether he was choking up and unable to speak. Her body felt as though it had been trampled by horses and dragged halfway through Wiltshire. She wanted to sleep again.
“It’s been over a week,” Alex choked out with a combination of relief and sorrow. “Dr. Miller didn’t think you would last through the fever.”
Marigold wasn’t so weak that she didn’t note the rush of fury in his words. He was so angry that she blinked and tried to move instead of relaxing back into sleep.
“I’ll have his license revoked,” Alex went on, fuming. “I’ll have him strung up as the quack he is.” He glanced to her, and his demeanor instantly changed. “I’m sorry, my darling. There will be time for that later. All that matters for now is that you made it through the fever. You’re here, you’re alive, and Mrs. Canny believes you won’t relapse. You’re here to stay. So rest now.”
He kissed her hand again, holding it to his cheek. Marigold stared at him, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. She’d never witnessed any man, let alone Alex, so overly emotional. She must have skated all the way to the doors of Hades and back for him to be weeping openly in front of her. That’s all that mattered to her. The rest would have to wait.
She closed her eyes, and within seconds had fallen into a heavy, dreamless sleep. There was no telling how long it lasted or what was going on around her, but unlike her previous sleep, it was restful, healing.
When she awoke again, the window was still open and the curtains still billowed, but the sunlight was dimmer, as if it were morning instead of afternoon and cloudy. Alex was gone, and so was James. A maid was busy arranging something on a small table on the other side of the window, but Marigold couldn’t make out who she was until she turned to face her.
“Ruby?” She blinked the sleep away, pushing herself up a few inches on the pillows.
“Mrs. Croydon.” Ruby’s face lit up, and she left was she was doing to rush to Marigold’s side. “You’re looking so much better, ma’am,” she smiled.
Marigold gaped at the young woman. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Ruby smile. The sight was as welcome as the breeze blowing through the window.
Ruby bent to help Marigold sit, piling pillows behind her and adjusting the bedcovers as she did. “It’s so good to see you awake, ma’am,” she said as she worked, fussing over Marigold like, well, like she had nearly died. “Everyone’s been so worried. Not a living soul could convince Mr. Croydon to leave your side for an entire week. And Mr. Edward has visited every day. Rev. and Mrs. Fallon have come every day as well, and the village children all made cards to wish you well. They said they’re learning a song to sing to you once you get better. And Gilbert, that is, Mr. Phillips, has been running back and forth between Winterberry Park and Chippenham and London every few days in his efforts to catch the man who did it.”
Marigold blinked and shook her head, which ached after the onslaught of information. “I…what…how….”
She couldn’t form her thoughts into a single question. Too many questions rattled in her brain. But it felt good to sit up, strangely enough. Even though her entire middle ached and she was so weak she felt in danger of sliding and falling over at any moment.
“Could I have some water?” she asked instead, her thirst suddenly overwhelming.
“Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am. Then I’ll fetch Mr. Croydon right away.” Ruby skipped to the table where she’d been working before and poured water into an infant’s porcelain cup with a spout. “Your father and sisters have been telegraphing like mad,” she went on. “And Lady Lavinia, and Lady Stanhope too. I’ve never seen so many messages flying around.”
She brought the cup to Marigold and held it to her mouth. Marigold was about to insist she could manage on her own, but when she lifted her arms, it was a shock to realize she would likely drop the cup if she tried to hold it. A simple porcelain cup.
“Master James has been as eager to wait on you as Mr. Croydon has,” Ruby said as Marigold finished drinking. “He’s such a darling. Thank you so much for thinking to send for me to mind him.” Her cheeks were rosy with delight. “I’ll fetch Mr. Croydon now.”
With a short curtsy, she sped out of the room, leaving Marigold alone. Marigold blew out a breath, shaking her head in bewilderment. They’d barely managed to get Ruby to say three words together in London. Alex could hardly be bothered to spend an hour on end with her, let alone sit by her side for days when she wasn’t even conscious. The Fallons barely knew her, and for all she knew, the village children hadn’t even heard of her. She felt as though she’d gone to bed in one world and awakened in an entirely different one.
Footsteps charging up the hall alerted her to Alex’s arrival before he burst through the bedroom door. “You’re awake,” he said, his voice heavy with relief as he rushed to sit on the side of the bed. His left arm was still secured in a splint and sling.
“For the time being,” she said, using all of her effort to raise her hand.
He took it, kissing it as he had the last time she woke up. He seemed rested and well put together at first glance, but the more she studied him, the easier it was to see the lines in his face, the grey at his temples, and the exhaustion in his eyes.
“How long was I asleep this time?” she asked, already tempted to return to sleep.
“Just since yesterday afternoon,” he said. “It’s late morning now.” He paused, then added, “Do you feel up to trying some broth or tea? I’ve been worried sick that you wouldn’t get enough nourishment these last ten days.”
Marigold blinked at him, wondering how on earth she’d been nourished at all in that time. That explained the cup with the spout, at least. “I could eat something,” she said.
Alex turned to Ruby, who was standing in the doorway. “Tell Mrs. Carlisle to send up broth, soup, anything.”
“Yes, sir.” Ruby curtsied, then rushed off.
Marigold wriggled against the pillows, trying to find a more comfortable position. Her back was in agony, and every way she turned brought a new wave of aches. “I never thought I’d look forward to eating so much,” she laughed weakly. Alex leaned forward to help with her pillows, eventually giving up and twisting on the bed so that he could hold her against his side with his good arm. “I suppose I should keep my strength up,” she went on, “since….” A flush of excitement and guilt splashed through her. “Alex, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“No,” he said with a surprising catch in his voice. His arm tightened around her. “There’s something I should tell you.”
She turned her face slowly to him. There was so much pity and anger in his expression that dread trickled through her, making her dizzy. “What?” she whispered.
He drew in a long, shaky breath. “The impact of the crash,” he started, then stopped and swallowed. Marigold’s dread grew, as did the horrible suspicion that she knew what he was about to say. “You were very badly injured,” he went on, barely able to get the words out. “Even before Dr. Miller got ahold of you.”
An icy chill joined the gnawing dread filling her, as if she were drowning from the inside. “Just tell me,” she whispered.
A
lex swallowed again, licked his lips, blinked rapidly. “You lost the baby,” he said in a hoarse rush.
Marigold gasped, her eyes instantly stinging with bitter sorrow. If he hadn’t been holding her up, she would have collapsed and not been able to right herself. Too many things made sense—the aches and soreness all through her stomach and hips, the dream that she had lost something, the hollowness.
“We’ll…we’ll try again,” she said, working to swallow her tears. “As soon as I’m recovered, we’ll have another one.”
Alex shook his head, looking downright ashen. “No,” he whispered. “Not after what….”
Between his words and his expression, Marigold went numb. “It can’t be that bad,” she whispered. “I made it through the fever. I’ll work hard to get well again. Surely we can—”
He pressed his fingers to his mouth, then took a deep breath. “When Dr. Miller saw you’d miscarried, he attempted an examination to be certain everything was expelled.”
Marigold frowned in confusion and mounting fear. “Why?”
Alex shook his head. “It was bloody foolish, unnecessary.” For a moment, he was angry beyond the ability to speak. Marigold felt his body heat around hers. But he gathered himself enough to go on. “No one was in the room with him, and he’d given you laudanum, so there’s no way to know for sure. And then the fever set in. Mrs. Canny, the midwife, says it’s a miracle the infection wasn’t worse, but she….” He drew in a shuddering breath.
Marigold had gone rigid at the story. Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to say, “Please just say it and get it over with.”
Alex shook his head. “It’s a miracle you’re alive,” he said, “but that’s the best miracle we can hope for. Mrs. Canny says the damage is irreparable. There won’t be any more babies. There can’t be.”
Marigold nodded slowly, her gaze losing focus. The numbness had spread through her body and into her heart and mind. She should have been wailing with grief and fury, as angry as she could tell Alex was. She should have been weeping for her lost baby, for all the babies she would never have. Instead, she felt nothing.
She turned her face away from Alex. “I don’t think I can eat after all,” she murmured. Her voice felt a thousand miles away.
“You should at least try to eat something,” Alex said, cradling her tenderly.
She could barely feel his touch. What was the point of eating when there was nothing to eat for? She didn’t make any effort to wriggle out of Alex’s arms, though there didn’t seem to be a point in taking comfort in his embrace either. There wasn’t much point to anything.
The silence between them stretched on, until Ruby arrived with a tray carrying two steaming bowls. “Mrs. Carlisle sends bone broth and chicken soup,” she announced with a smile. That smile vanished as soon as she glanced in Marigold’s direction. “I’ll just put it on the table,” she whispered, depositing her load on the table, then rushing out of the room again.
Alex waited several more seconds before saying, “Please try to eat something.”
Marigold didn’t move, didn’t react at all. Part of her argued that she should at least try, that life wasn’t over yet. A greater part of her wondered if, in fact, it was. She’d all but demanded to marry Alex because she wanted to be the mother of the Prime Minister’s son. She’d failed miserably at that. What was she supposed to do now?
“Here.” Alex set her gently aside, then got up and fetched the bowl of broth and a spoon from the tray. He carried them to her, barely managing with one arm in a sling, then dipped the spoon into the broth. “I have it on good authority that Mrs. Carlisle’s bone broth is infused with magic. She sent bowl after bowl of it up after Violetta died.” His voice flattened on the last two words, as if he hadn’t thought his sentence through and shouldn’t have said it to begin with.
Indeed, his whole countenance sagged so much that Marigold shifted, pushing herself to sit straighter. Damn it all, if she couldn’t have Alex’s children, the least she could do was pay him the respect of not dying the way his mistress had.
“Let me taste it,” she sighed, as if telling him to go ahead and chop her hand off.
Alex perked up a bit, bringing the bowl and a spoonful to her mouth, even though the effort with his broken arm made him grimace in pain. Marigold sipped gingerly, surprised to find the warm, salty liquid actually didn’t taste half bad. She let him feed her another spoonful, then another.
By the time they made it to the sixth spoonful, her mind was beginning to work again. “What did Ruby mean?” she asked. “That Mr. Phillips is trying to catch the man who did it?”
Alex let out a heavy sigh. His shoulders sagged so much that he set the bowl and spoon on the bedside table. “Henry wasn’t driving the carriage that night. An unknown man who infiltrated the party picked us up. The police have done as much investigating as they can, and as near as they can figure, the man hopped down from the carriage just outside of Frogwell.” He hesitated, then pushed on. “Burrs were found under the horses’ harnesses. The local constable believes they were put there to make the horses run mad. He’s surprised that they got as far as they did before the carriage wrecked.”
Marigold’s eyes went wide. “Someone tried to kill us?”
Alex nodded. “Several men at the party saw the driver, but no one has been able to identify him yet. No one has been able to trace how he got to Edward’s house or where he went afterwards. And unless they find him, there’s no way to tell if he was acting alone, what his motives were, or who hired him.” His expression hardened.
It didn’t matter that Marigold had spent the better part of ten days unconscious and on the brink of death. She knew in an instant what he was thinking.
“Turpin,” she whispered.
Alex nodded. “Who else? He had the motivation, and heaven knows he has the means.”
“Surely investigators will be able to find a link, to prove he is responsible.”
“We can only hope,” Alex said. “And even if Scotland Yard turns up nothing, Turpin is a marked man.” His face clouded with fury so potent that Marigold felt it down to her weary, broken bones. Alex’s gaze shifted to her, stark with determination. “After what he did to you, if the law doesn’t bring him to justice, I’ll kill him myself.”
Chapter 15
August moved slowly. Marigold could hardly believe she slept through most of it. Her body needed to heal, though, and if she were honest with herself, so did her heart. Even when she reached the point where she could sit up in bed herself and eat increasingly solid food from the tray Ada or Ruby brought to her three times a day, she couldn’t summon the motivation to get up and resume her life. What was there to resume?
As soon as she was no longer experiencing pain every time someone bumped or sat on—or in James’s case, jumped on—the bed, Alex began sharing it with her at night once more. Marigold was ashamed to realize that she hadn’t once stopped to wonder where he was sleeping while she recovered. She hadn’t stopped to wonder what he must think of her, now that she was barren. But as soon as the thought occurred to her, she couldn’t think about anything else.
She lay on her side as Alex slept behind her, his deep, steady breathing a constant reminder of the problem that now faced her. She could never give him what he wanted, what he needed. The room was dark, just the first hints of sunrise creeping through the open windows. She watched the curtains stir in the faint morning breeze. As much as it went against conventional wisdom, she liked having the windows open, especially since the weather had been so warm. She needed the fresh air to settle her thoughts.
All her life, she had dreamed of being a mother. Everywhere she’d turned, from her schoolbooks to the lessons she’d learned in finishing school, a woman’s destiny as a mother had been drilled into her. That was why God had created women, and that was why men married them, especially men of Alex’s importance. The role she’d seen herself playing in his world was gone.
She reached under the sheets
to rest her hand on her stomach, her face pinching in agony. The physical pain had been gone for days, but the bitter sting of failure twisted through her. It wasn’t fair, not to her and not to Alex.
As if he could hear her thoughts, Alex stirred, stretching out of sleep. He inched closer to her, closing his arm around her. It was still in a sling, but healing enough for him to use it to draw her close, her back against his chest. Marigold sucked in a breath, her body going rigid. He couldn’t possibly be interested in making love to her, could he? What would be the point? Besides which, her body was far too fragile for that sort of activity.
But no, he simply held her, settling back against the pillow. At least until she let out a breath of relief.
“Are you awake?” he asked, voice thick with sleep and surprise.
Marigold hesitated, not knowing what he would do if he knew she was. But there was no tension in his body, no suggestion of need, only warmth. “Yes,” she answered at length.
“Good,” he said in a soft hum, cradling her closer. “I’ve wanted to watch the sun rise with you since the day we came home.”
Marigold blinked, holding her breath. That was it? He wanted to watch a sunrise with her? It didn’t make sense. She let out her breath, but had a hard time relaxing into his embrace.
“I’m glad you insisted on keeping the windows open,” he went on groggily. “My nanny believed fresh air was bad for children, which meant I spent my summers stifled and….”
His voice drifted off. Marigold was certain it was because remembering his own childhood only drove home the point that there would be no children for the two of them. She waited, expecting him to push her aside at any moment.
A long, rumbling snore answered her worries instead. She shifted her head slightly, glancing over her shoulder. Alex had fallen back to sleep. She blinked, baffled, and glanced out the window once more. The sky was brightening. From the bed, she could just see the tops of hazy hills, bathed in coral light. The longer she watched, the warmer the light became, and the clearer the countryside appeared. A pang formed in her heart that, for a change, had nothing to do with the loss she couldn’t shake. Alex’s snores continued. Part of her wished he were watching Nature’s brilliant show with her. An even greater part of her knew that even if he was watching, his affection wouldn’t last. Not now. Now, she was alone.
