Tuesday's Child

by Jeanette Baker

"Papa," Constance's soft voice interrupted the strained silence. "It's a boy."

  "How is Tess?" Her father's haggard face gave testimony to his long hours of worry. Childbirth was never easy, but for a small woman like Tess, it could be fatal.

  "She's tired, but well." Constance hesitated and walked over to stand before her sister's husband. "You'll be able to see her soon." She spoke firmly. "Tess needs you, Daniel. She's had a difficult time. Don't make it worse for her."

  Nathanial Harrington held his breath and waited. He could read nothing in the wooden expression of the man he had once heartily approved of as a husband for his daughter. The room was suddenly very hot. He waited, in tense silence, as if Tess's entire future would be told in Daniel Bradford's reply.

  "Please," Constance whispered, placing her hand on his sleeve. "This is Tess we're speaking of. You've been friends since before she could walk."

  Was there a flicker in the golden eyes? She couldn't be sure.

  Suddenly he smiled. "When can I see her?"

  Constance breathed a sigh of relief. "Now, if you like." Reaching for his hand, she led him down the hall. Knocking on Tess's door, she opened it without waiting for a response.

  "Clara," she called out, peering around the door. "Daniel is here to see Tess. Come into the kitchen and I'll make some tea."

  Daniel watched Clara and Constance leave and then turned to look at Tess. There was an odd expression on his face. The picture of Tess holding a baby in her arms was difficult to reconcile. He had never thought of her as a mother. She was different from most women, more vital, less restrained, intelligent, not, he thought, the least bit maternal. In marrying his closest friend and confidante, Daniel thought his happiness was secure.

  Tess was undeniably beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful girl he had ever known, but she was little more than a child. He desired her, as a healthy young animal is drawn to another, but not once had he taken it a step further. He had never considered children. Now, here she was, mothering another man's child, looking as content as if she had always held a baby close to her heart.

  "Are you well?" he asked, moving closer to the bed.

  She tightened her arms protectively around the child. "Yes."

  The infant, protesting the tightness of his mother's grip, began to cry. Startled, Tess stared down at him.

  Daniel sat down on the bed and looked, for the first time, at the tiny, red face of James Devereaux's son.

  "He's very small," he volunteered.

  "Constance said he was a good-sized baby."

  "What will you call him?"

  "Justin," she replied.

  "He looks nothing like you."

  "No," Tess agreed, her voice low.

  The baby chewed on his fist and whimpered.

  Daniel held out his arms. "May I hold him?"

  Tess hesitated and bit her lip. Slowly, she handed the blanketed bundle to Daniel.

  "He certainly isn't a Harrington," said Daniel, thinking of the silver-and-rose coloring of the Harrington girls.

  "No, he isn't a Harrington." Tess's eyes, a wide clear grey, were filled with resolve. "He's a Devereaux."

  Something flashed in his eyes and then disappeared. "Are you going back to him?"

  "No." Tess shook her head. "I'm going home."

  "You've decided then? There is no changing your mind?"

  She lifted her hand in a quick, frustrated gesture. "We don't have a marriage, Daniel. Too much has happened." She looked down at her fingers, thin and long, the nails pale and delicately rounded. "I know about Anne Matthews. Did you think such a thing could be kept a secret?"

  His cheeks darkened. Handing her the baby, he walked to the window and stared out at the stark November landscape.

  "The widow Matthews and I have done nothing to be ashamed of." He dropped his eyes, unable to meet her steady, reproachful gaze. "Do you think to judge me, after what you've done?" he demanded.

  "The circumstances are not the same," she said simply.

  He whirled around, his expression defiant. "I suppose James Devereaux would have been faithful were he in my place?"

  Tess closed her eyes, remembering a firm-lipped mouth and blue eyes, warming to a heart-shattering tenderness. She heard the low, amused voice muffled against her throat and saw, as clearly as if she stood before her, the predatory gaze of a red-haired beauty. Jealousy seared through her. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She took deep, calming breaths until she could speak again.

  "I can't be sure," she admitted. "But I know this. I would wish the woman dead." The rage died from her eyes, leaving only sympathy. "I don't wish that for Anne. I want you to be happy."

  "I see." He swallowed and turned away. "There is something you should know."

  Tess waited.

  "In Dartmoor Prison, I took a man's life. He was dying of lung inflammation. The prison was overcrowded and he was one of several scheduled for release. I didn't think he would last the night, but it wouldn't have mattered. I covered his face with my jacket knowing he was too weak to remove it. In the morning he was dead. When a guard asked his name, I gave him mine and took his." Taking a deep breath, he turned back to Tess prepared for the horror he was certain would show in her eyes. "Devereaux didn't lie to you, Tess. He truly believed I was dead."

  Her face was unreadable.

  "Do you despise me?" he asked, looking down at her with an expression she couldn't identify.

  All at once it came to her. It was the look he wore as a child when his pet hound was mauled under an angry stallion's hooves.

  Placing the baby beside her, Tess held out her arms. He stumbled into them. "Oh, Daniel," she murmured, cradling his head on her chest. "It will all be over soon. Perhaps, someday, we can even be friends again."

  He clutched her, bruising the flesh of her arms. Harsh, wrenching sobs shook his body. She held him to her, soothing him with her voice and the cool comfort of her arms, until the storm had spent itself. Finally, he raised his head.

  "There is no one else in the world I would allow to see that humiliation," he confessed.

  She smiled saying nothing.

  "What will I do without you, Tess?"

  "You've been without me for a long time," she replied, keeping her voice gentle. "You must go on with your life. Perhaps Anne Matthews can help you."

  He had a sudden vision of Anne, a rosy-cheeked woman with lush curves. He looked at his wife, delicate and fine-boned, her hair pale as moonlight, drawn back from her brow. The ache in his chest was so great it threatened to eat out his heart. He was surprised at the normal sound of his voice.

  "Shall I start annulment proceedings?"

  "Yes, please," she replied.

  He rose to leave.

  "Daniel," her voice stopped him.

  "Yes?" Hope rose in his heart.

  "Send my father in."

  Nodding, Daniel closed the door behind him.

  Chapter 26

  Leonie Devereaux watched with grateful relief as her son handed over the reins of his horse to the groom. Two short months ago he had been so weakened by loss of blood that he couldn't lift his head from the pillow. He was still thinner than he should be but the unhealthy pallor of his skin had since been replaced by a healthy bronze.

  Her eyes followed him as he crossed the wide, pristine lawn, past the garden and the tool shed before disappearing into the house. Soon he would stand before her, his shoulders filling the doorway, the lean masculine strength of him out of place in her dainty, flower-filled sitting room. Litton would deliver her message and then, she must face him. It was past time. Leonie knew she should have done it months ago, but she had been afraid.

  When Nathanial Harrington's letter came, James was with Wellington. She had decided to wait until he returned. When he did not, she felt it was not a thing to explain in a letter. Then he was wounded and she feared the shock would hinder his recovery. Now, there was no longer a reason to delay.

  Georgiana entered the room and joined her at the w
indow.

  "What are you looking at?" she asked.

  "I was enjoying the picture of James on a horse again," her mother replied.

  Georgiana frowned. "Have you noticed something different about him?"

  "What do you mean?"

  Georgiana hesitated. "I don't know. I can't explain it, really. He's always pleasant and courteous, but he's not really the same."

  Leonie knew exactly what she meant although she had no intention of admitting it to her daughter. James had resumed his duties at Langley and on the surface he appeared unchanged. But there was a shadowed strain around his eyes and a grim set to his mouth. He never laughed, even with Lizzie, and he would spend hours silently staring at the same page of whatever he happened to be reading. It made his mother very uneasy, especially considering the secret she harbored.

  "Did you want something, Georgiana?" she asked.

  "I'm going to call on Lady Caldwell. Would you like to come with me?"

  "No, thank you, dear," Leonie answered. "There is something I must discuss with James."

  Georgiana looked at her curiously. The expression on her mother's face did not encourage the question hovering on the edge of her tongue. She smiled. "I'll be home before dark."

  Leonie nodded, waiting for her to leave. When the sound of her footsteps had disappeared, she walked to the desk. Opening a small drawer on the side, she pulled out two letters.

  "You wanted to see me, Mother?"

  The quiet voice startled her. She turned around quickly, her smile nervous.

  "Yes, James." She motioned toward the flowered sofa. "Please sit down."

  Crossing the room at a leisurely pace, he seated himself, fixing his gaze upon her.

  Leonie looked down at his upturned face. Sunlight from the window fell on the thick, black hair, the same silky darkness she had brushed back from his brow in childhood. The sharp, lean angle of his chin and jaw had long since lost its youthful softness. She longed to press her cheek against his and make everything all right as she had done so very long ago. Obeying an unusually maternal instinct, she walked to the couch and bent over to kiss him.

  His eyes narrowed. "What was that for?"

  "Can't a mother kiss her own son, on occasion?" she asked, offended.

  "Of course." His smile did not reach his eyes. "But I believe there is more to it than that."

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "There is," she admitted. "I'm sorry for the delay in telling you, but at the time I felt it was best." She handed him the letters. "Please forgive me, James. I didn't intend to keep it from you for so very long."

  He took the letters from her extended hand. With a sense of deja vu, he recognized the bold scrawl of Nathanial Harrington. Unfolding the thin sheets, he began to read.

  The silence was oppressive. Leonie could tell nothing from the dark, implacable face beside her. Finally, he looked up. She shrank from the white-hot rage coloring his eyes a deep, angry blue.

  "Damn her to bloody hell!"

  The ominous voice chilled her bones. Leonie understood anger. She could deal with frustration and shouting. It was this quiet, dangerous fury that terrified her. She looked into the ice of her son's eyes. Swallowing, she attempted to defend Tess.

  "The child was born in November. Perhaps she didn't know."

  The white line around his mouth deepened. "She knew."

  He stood and walked to the door.

  Leonie did not question his logic. "What are you going to do?"

  He turned, tight-lipped fury still evident on his face. "First I shall visit my solicitor," the clipped voice replied. "Then I leave for America to bring home my son."

  "Without his mother?"

  His eyes blazed at her from across the room. Without answering, he was gone.

  * * *

  "You can't be serious?" Tess's eyes were huge and disbelieving.

  The solicitor smiled regretfully. "I'm afraid it's true. Because of the nature of the," he paused delicately, "circumstances, your marriage to the duke takes precedence over your marriage to Mr. Bradford."

  "Do you mean I am still the duchess of Langley?"

  "I'm afraid so." Mr. Key would have gone to great lengths to be able to remove the look of dismay from the face of the lovely young woman who sat in his office.

  When Daniel Bradford came to him, explaining his situation and requesting that his marriage be annulled, Key had sympathized with him. The young man was in obvious pain and it was clear that none of the events leading up to their meeting had been of his doing. That was before he had met Tess.

  No one looking into those clear eyes could doubt her character or her sincerity. She had also been a victim of circumstance, and because society's rules judged a woman more harshly than a man, she would be the one to suffer most of all. The agonized expression on her face when she learned she was still married to the Englishman smote Mr. Key to the heart. For one rash moment he considered offering to take her burdens on to his own shoulders. Reason claimed him before he made a fool of himself.

  Tess stood. "Thank you, Mr. Key," she said. "I appreciate your time."

  "Not at all." He smiled and held out his hand. "I'm sorry you had to come such a long way. I don't understand why Mr. Bradford didn't seek out someone in Annapolis."

  She flushed and pulled her hand away. "Daniel thought it would cause less of a scandal. We know everyone in Annapolis."

  "I see." He smiled gently. "I'm glad to have made your acquaintance, Your Grace."

  "Please," her voice was harsh, "don't call me that." She smiled, taking the sting from her words. "You may call me Tess."

  Francis Key smiled a shy smile. For the first time she realized how young he was.

  "I'd like that." He hesitated. "I'll be in Annapolis at the end of the month. May I call on you?"

  "Of course," she assured him. "My father and I will look forward to your visit. Good day, Mr. Key."

  Francis stared at the door for a long time after she left.

  * * *

  Devereaux turned down the long avenue leading to Harrington House. Holding the reins tightly, he pulled in the high-strung bay and stared at the impressive home. His mouth turned down in a self-deprecating grin. If only his mother could see this. She would have second thoughts about American provincials.

  It was late afternoon in August and unbearably hot. The coolness of the shaded veranda beckoned Devereaux. A figure appeared on the porch. James walked his horse up the magnolia-lined lane to greet the man he knew must be Tess's father. Swinging his leg over the pommel, he dismounted.

  Holding out his hand to Nathanial Harrington, he said, "Good afternoon. I'm Langley."

  Harrington ignored the outstretched hand. For an endless moment, he stared into James Devereaux's dark face. For the first time he understood why Tess refused to consider marriage to Daniel. What he saw in the brilliant blue eyes satisfied him. He reached out to clasp the extended hand.

  "What took you so long?" he asked bluntly.

  Devereaux's eyes glinted. "I beg your pardon?"

  "I wrote you over a year ago," the gruff voice persisted. "Why are you here after such a length of time?"

  James was amused. With such a father, it was no wonder that Tess was out of the common way.

  "I was in Spain until November and never received your letter," he answered. "Then I was wounded. I came as soon as I knew."

  Nathanial wasn't convinced. "Why did you allow her to leave in the first place?"

  Devereaux could feel a muscle leap along his jaw. "Shouldn't I be explaining this to Tess?" There was a hint of ice beneath the polite words.

  "I'll not have my daughter hurt any more."

  A red fog clouded Devereaux's brain. Politeness was forgotten. "Your daughter kept me from my own son!"

  "Who told her Daniel Bradford was dead?" Harrington countered.

  Devereaux's rage died away. "Please, Mr. Harrington," he said, "I've come a long way. May I see my wife and child?"

  Nathania
l threw a piercing glance at the man before him. "So, you know."

  James nodded. "As soon as I read the letters, I saw my solicitor. Our marriage is legally binding." His gaze met Harrington's without flinching. "I've come for my son. Nothing, short of death, will stop me."

  "What about his mother?"

  Devereaux's hands clenched into fists. "That depends on Tess."

  "Do you love my daughter?" the gruff voice demanded.

  James stared into the probing eyes. Damn, the man was perceptive. So much for British reserve.

  "Yes," he replied quietly. It was a relief to admit it to someone. "I've loved her from the first moment I saw her."

  They faced one another. The chirping of the cicadas was the only sound in the stillness. Finally, Nathanial stepped aside.

  "Come in, lad," he said. "You must be thirsty after your long ride. Tess is visiting her sister in Washington, but the boy is here." He ushered James into the parlor. "Sit down. I've a great deal to tell you."

  Chapter 27

  Even the red Virginia soil looked thirsty. Devereaux would have liked to move faster, but out of consideration for his horse and the aging Nathanial Harrington, he suffered the pace in irritated silence. The longing to see Tess was now so strong it was a painful ache in the pit of his stomach.

  To James, accustomed to the cool green of the English countryside, the heat was suffocating, so relentless and all-consuming that it became a personal challenge to remain in his saddle and plod ever forward. The weather alone would defeat the British, he thought ruefully. Wellington's battle-toughened soldiers would shrivel and die in the face of this dripping hot wetness.

  As they entered the outskirts of Washington they found entire families fleeing the city. Carts overflowing with children, household belongings, food and farm animals crowded the dusty, nearly impassable roads.

  After speaking to one of the refugees, Nathanial learned that General Winder, Commander of the Washington regiments, was riding the length of Virginia and Maryland mustering soldiers to protect the capital. Legions of British soldiers had disembarked at the Patuxent River and were marching toward the city.