The Earl Claims His Wife

by Cathy Maxwell

  But at that moment, if he’d asked her to walk through fire for him, she would have done it.

  Wrapping her arms around his waist, she said, “The size of the house is unimportant to me, Brian. You know my circumstances growing up were modest. What matters is that our marriage means something to both of us. Whatever we do, let us work together.”

  “We will,” he said, and sealed that vow with a kiss that grew heated. Within minutes, they were making love again.

  There were other questions Gillian could have asked, but at this moment, they didn’t matter.

  And when they were done, when Brian had once more turned her inside out, she didn’t care.

  They reached the outskirts of London shortly after two in the afternoon. Gillian and Brian had to finally let go of each other and dress. She didn’t think they looked too bad. Brian helped her with finding her hair pins and redressing her hair.

  Before they went further into the city, Brian had them stop for lunch. They shared their basket with the drivers. If James or George had heard any of what was going on in the coach, they didn’t give an indication, and for that, Gillian was thankful.

  She had mixed emotions about returning to the city. She preferred the clean air and the open countryside of the country. However, now, she had a purpose for returning to London. She thought about Brian’s prediction that they could become a powerful couple in society and felt ready to face her future. She was a politician’s wife. She’d sat at her parents’ table enough evenings when they had entertained their political friends to know what it entailed…and she wasn’t frightened of it. Not any longer. Her goal was to help her husband in any way possible. Her fears and doubts were secondary.

  The coach headed into an older part of the city. Brian leaned out the window, directing James’s driving. “We are almost there,” he told her, his voice surprisingly subdued.

  The neighborhood was respectable but not the best area for a man with Brian’s aspirations. Gillian decided she would find a new house for them once he had secured a position with Liverpool.

  They turned onto a charming street with a small park in the center of the circle. Gillian waited, excited about her new home.

  “This is it,” Brian shouted up to James, and Gillian had to sit back for a moment before she trusted herself to speak.

  The row house they’d stopped in front of was the last one she would have chosen. It was of a drab brown stone with black shutters and a light blue door desperately in need of painting.

  Brian helped Gillian out of the coach. He seemed anxious for her opinion…which she thought best to withhold for a moment.

  Giving the house a critical eye, she noticed a cracked pane in one of the windows above the door. Even the simple things, such as sweeping off the front walk, had not been done.

  She wondered what the new housekeeper was thinking. If she’d known the mistress of the house would be showing up any day, everything would be in order, even down to polishing the brass on the knocker.

  Nor could she understand Hammond letting such details slide. The fastidious valet usually had his nose in every matter that involved Brian. Or so it had seemed years ago. Perhaps war had changed Hammond, too?

  While George and James saw to her luggage, Brian took her hand. “Welcome to your new home, my lady.”

  Immediately, Gillian was ashamed of her critical assessment.

  Brian looked to the servants. “There is a stable around the corner where I have an account. You can take the horses and vehicle there.”

  From the top of the coach, James said, “If it is as well with you and Lady Wright, my lord, we’ll be driving back. Harris’s wedding is on the morrow and we’d like to be there.”

  Harris was the head gardener at Huntleigh. In all the rush and surprise of seeing her husband, Gillian had forgotten the young man was marrying on the morrow.

  “Please give him my good wishes,” she said.

  James nodded. “That we will, my lady.”

  She turned to her husband. “Shall we?” she asked.

  But Brian didn’t move. Instead, he said in a low voice, “Don’t forget your promise to trust me, Gillian. Things aren’t always as we’d like them to be but I’m working to make them right.”

  “I do trust you,” she said quietly…while old suspicions reared their ugly heads. A baby cried in the distance and it added to her sense of disquiet.

  “Right then,” Brian said and led her to the front door. James and George followed with her trunk and valise.

  The muffled sound of the baby crying was stronger here.

  Brian opened the door.

  The crying—no, shrieking—grew louder.

  Gillian stepped inside. The foyer was the size of a stamp with a staircase and narrow hallway off of it. There was a sitting room to her right and a dining room to her left. The drapes in both rooms were still closed, making them seem dark and the sparse furnishings shabby in the hazy light.

  The baby’s crying came from up the stairs.

  Gillian knew there was a question she had to ask.

  But before she could, Hammond came charging down the stairs so quickly she stepped back out of fear he would run right over her and almost tripped over a valise that someone had set there. Hammond was without his customary wig and his sparse hair flew out in every direction. He hadn’t shaved and deep, dark circles swooped low under his eyes.

  And in his arms was a red-faced, squalling baby with a head full of dark hair.

  Hammond shoved the child unceremoniously toward Brian. “I can’t take it any longer, my lord. I’ve had enough. My bags are packed and ready right here by the door. I shall not ask for references.”

  “But where is the wet nurse?” Brian asked, awkwardly holding the baby. “What happened to her?”

  “Happened to her?” Hammond repeated incredulously. “What happened is what has happened with every servant you have hired save for that idiotic Mrs. Vickery She quit. Couldn’t calm the child and said she’d had enough of this.” He looked to Gillian and the coachmen. “It makes your ears start to itch after awhile. He never stops, except to sleep and that is only for an hour or two before he starts again. Now excuse me, my lady.” He took his hat and coat from the peg by the door, picked up his valise, and almost fell over James and George in his haste to escape.

  So. Now she knew why Wright had been traveling without his valet.

  The babe had quit screaming but his little body was doubled with pain. He whimpered and began sucking furiously on his fist. Gillian knew colic when she saw it. This baby must have had a terrible case of it because he was frighteningly thin. Or perhaps something else was wrong.

  She’d helped her stepmother with her six babies so she knew a thing or two about them.

  Wright knew she knew too.

  “Whose baby is it?” she asked, suspecting the answer he gave.

  “He’s Jess’s,” Wright said.

  For a second, the world seemed to spin around Gillian. Wright had needed her all right…to help with his mistress’s child.

  Once again, he’d played her for a fool.

  Chapter Ten

  It’s not what you think, Gillian,” Brian insisted quickly.

  She appeared ready to faint. He should have told her sooner, but he’d feared she’d not come through the door with him if she knew.

  Still, having Anthony dumped unceremoniously in his arms was not how he’d planned introducing her to him either and he could curse Hammond to hell for it.

  “James,” Brian ordered, “help her.” As the footman set down his end of the trunk and moved forward, Brian shouldered the squalling baby on his shoulder. Anthony’s belly was tight. His legs kicked with anger. Brian held him close, wishing he could do something, anything to relieve the baby’s obvious pain.

  Gillian held up a hand, warning the coachman back. “I’m not going to swoon. I don’t swoon,” she announced, her voice cold. “James and George, take my trunk back to the coach. I’m returning with y
ou—”

  “No,” Brian said, stepping between her and the door. He couldn’t let her go. Not after he’d worked so hard to bring her here. “Let me explain—”

  “There is nothing you can say I want to hear.” Her voice was tight with tension, her face pale. She wouldn’t look at him and he sensed she was close to tears.

  “It’s not what you think,” he insisted.

  Hard, cold eyes met his. She wasn’t close to tears. She was angry. He’d stared down French bayonets and not made a move but it took all his courage to stand his place in front of his wife now.

  “You don’t know what I think,” she informed him.

  He could have told her he had a better idea than she imagined, but that wouldn’t gain him any ground with his wife. It was far easier to turn his temper on the footmen.

  “Put her luggage inside the door and leave,” he said in a voice that brooked no disapproval.

  To their credit, both did exactly as instructed and beat haste out the door.

  Gillian’s gloved hands curled into fists at her side. She still wore her hat and coat.

  Anthony settled down into a whimper, his only way of begging Brian for release from the pain he was feeling. Brian had never felt more powerless in his life—and of course that was the moment Mrs. Vickery, his housekeeper decided to make her appearance.

  “Oh, I say, Lord Wright, you are home. I hadn’t heard a thing.” She was a plump, cherry-cheeked woman with impossibly blond hair under her mobcap and swabs of cotton stuck in her ears.

  “Then unplug your ears,” he said from between clenched teeth.

  “The what?” she asked in her high reedy voice. “Oh, the cotton.” She pulled it out of one ear. “I’m so sorry, my lord, but I can’t hear myself think what with our little Lord Anthony carrying on the way he does. Did Mr. Hammond tell you? The wet nurse I hired yesterday morning up and quit. I tried to stop her. Told her you’d paid good wages for a week but she was out the door first thing before breakfast. Said she couldn’t take screaming and the child’s too weak to nurse. Said Lord Anthony’s crying was drying up her milk.” She looked to Gillian. “I don’t know what is wrong with folks today. No one wants to work.”

  Again, Brian found it easier to confront a servant than his wife. “Why was Hammond minding this child? I hired you to oversee this matter.”

  “Good heavens, my lord. I can’t be seeing to the cooking and the cleaning and minding the baby. I thought the nurse would be seeing to him and when she walked out, I didn’t know what to do. It is hard for me to think with all that crying going on.” She looked to Gillian. With a nod to the baby, she said, “He never lets up.”

  Brian looked down at the child he held in his arms and felt helpless. Anthony was going to die. Brian knew next to nothing about babies but he’d seen men die and already this child had faced more than most. He was skinny, his skin thin, loose, and pasty, and his poor little frame was wracked with pain. Brian’s eyes burned with his frustration. To have worked so hard to save him, to have given up so much and then to lose him anyway—

  “What are you feeding him?” Gillian asked.

  “Whatever the wet nurse has,” Mrs. Vickery said. “We’ve tried a pap feeder on him. He screams all the louder.”

  Brian nodded that was true.

  “It’s the colic,” Mrs. Vickery said. “There’s naught you can do for it. Some babies grow out of it. Some don’t. If he can’t eat, he’ll waste away.”

  Anthony raised his fist to his mouth and began sucking furiously.

  “Except he is a fighter,” Brian said. “He’s suffered like this almost since birth and he hasn’t given up yet. There has to be a way to save him, Gillian. I’ve had doctors in. They don’t give a lot of hope. You are my last chance. Please, can you help me?”

  Gillian stood in indecision. He sensed she wanted to go running out the door. He had no doubt she was furious with him. She probably thought he’d used sex to trick her into staying.

  Later, he would explain his initial intention for coming for her had been to help Anthony…but making love to her had been for him.

  They would work it all out. He would see that they did if he had to tie her up and make her listen to him, but first Anthony needed her help.

  The baby started crying again. He looked pitiful, like a hatchling thrown out too soon from the nest. Every day he grew weaker.

  Gillian bent down and pulled her trunk forward three inches so that she could close the door. “Now, Mrs. Vickery, I shall ask again. What have you been feeding this child?” She started taking off her gloves and hat.

  The housekeeper scratched her head. “Well, if there is no wet nurse, and there hasn’t been because they have been hard to find this time of year. The spring is the best time for finding a wet nurse and that’s what I told his lordship here—”

  “What have you been feeding this child?”

  Gillian’s sharp voice cut through the air.

  Mrs. Vickery glanced at Brian as if she felt he should do something. “I’d answer her if I were you,” he suggested.

  “Milk,” Mrs. Vickery said, folding her hands against the apron tied at her waist.

  “Cow’s milk?” Gillian asked. She’d slipped off her coat and hung it on the peg by the door.

  “Yes, my lady. But I always made certain it was fresh. Well, at least not more than a day or two old.”

  Gillian ignored her and stepped toward Brian. She held out her hands. “Let me see the child.” He noticed she didn’t look at him. He placed Anthony in her outstretched hands. Gillian walked into the sitting room, moving toward the window. “Please open the drapes,” she ordered.

  Brian hurried to do her bidding. Mrs. Vickery hung back in the hallway. “It’s the colic,” she repeated. “There’s nothing you can do with the colic.”

  Gillian didn’t answer but took a seat by the window and examined Anthony. Brian hovered close to her as she folded back the baby’s dress and pinched his legs. She took off his wool knit booties and examined his feet.

  Anthony’s toes curled in the coldness of the room. Without looking up, Gillian said, “Mrs. Vickery, start the fire in this room.”

  “I’d have to go out for coal,” was the answer.

  From his vantage point, Brian could see Gillian’s lips curl in disdain. She was not pleased with his housekeeper.

  His opinion was confirmed when Gillian raised her gaze to the housekeeper and said, “You don’t know very much about babies, do you, Mrs. Vickery?”

  The lady started to say yes, but ended up saying, “No, I do not, never having any of my own.”

  “You told me you had experience,” Brian accused her.

  “I have…but not a great deal. My sister has children.”

  Brian was flabbergasted. He’d hired Mrs. Vickery because of the knowledge she’d claimed to have about babies. Of course, now, seeing the situation through Gillian, he realized he’d been so relieved to find anyone willing to work with a screaming baby, he’d happily overlooked the housekeeper’s shortcomings.

  Obviously Gillian wasn’t going to be so forgiving.

  She put the booties back on Anthony’s feet. He was crying, but his flailing fists and kicking legs didn’t deter her. She moved with cool efficiency. Standing, she turned Anthony over onto his belly and rested him on her arm. She began stroking his back as she paced the floor.

  Her method appeared a very awkward way of holding a baby to Brian, yet Anthony liked it. His sobs grew quieter and farther apart until he fell into an exhausted sleep. Gillian had performed magic and she’d done it in less than five minutes.

  “He will wake shortly,” Gillian said briskly. “At that time, I want to feed him a mixture of very, very thin porridge and goat’s milk.”

  “Goat’s milk?” Mrs. Vickery repeated.

  “Yes,” Gillian said. She looked at Brian. “Your baby has colic but he’s also starving to death. His crying may be his way of telling us he’s hungry. Most babies can’t tolerate co
w’s milk. However, goat’s milk seems to be milder. Perhaps it will work on Anthony. I just pray we aren’t too late.”

  “I’ll fetch the milk myself,” Brian said horrified at the thought the child could starve. He turned to Mrs. Vickery. “Where will I find it?”

  The housekeeper made a face. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t like goats.”

  “Try the dairy barn at Vauxhall Gardens,” Gillian said impatiently. “Where there are dairy cows, there should be goats. Tell them we are nursing a baby and you want far more than the customary cup. They will charge you a pretty penny for it but we have little choice.”

  “The expense is not a concern,” Brian answered. “In fact I’m thankful to finally have a program to help Anthony. If need be, I’ll buy a herd of goats and put them in the back garden and milk them myself.” He reached for the hat he had removed and hung on one of the pegs by the door when they’d first entered the house.

  “But look at the hour, my lady,” Mrs. Vickery said. “There will be no milk now. We’d have to wait until morning.”

  “Vauxhall milks at noon,” Gillian replied. To Brian she said, “Tell them we want milk delivered every day, and we want it fresh.”

  “I will,” Brian said. “I should return in the hour.”

  “You’ll be hard pressed to do that,” Gillian answered, jiggling her arm holding Anthony because he had started to rouse and begin crying again.

  “I’ll be back within the hour,” Brian reiterated and pushed her trunk more out of the way to ease the opening of the door.

  As he was leaving, he overheard Gillian say to the housekeeper, “I need to go to the kitchen and brew a cup of chamomile tea. I’ll feed that to the baby while I wait for Wright to return.”

  “Chamomile tea?” Mrs. Vickery questioned. “Is that not a strange thing for a baby?” Her words echoed Brian’s thoughts.

  “It’s a remedy for colic that sometimes works. Now where is the kitchen?”

  Brian closed the door. He’d hire a hack to reach Vauxhall in all possible haste. But before he took the first step, he had to look heavenward and say a prayer of thanksgiving. His instincts had been right. Gillian with her numerous siblings and who helped with her father’s parish work knew what to do to help Anthony.