Willoughby 01 - Something About Her

by Jeannie Ruesch

  “Milady, go. You look awfully pale,” Susan whispered. She grasped her shoulders and turned her toward the door, and with an unsubtle push, shoved Blythe out of the room.

  The door promptly closed behind her, and Blythe stared unseeing into the room before her. Mabel had been in so much pain. Was that normal?

  “Blythe.”

  Blythe looked up and Michael was there. He pulled the basin from her hands and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

  “Are you alright? Is everything alright?”

  He led her toward the fire and pushed her into a chair.

  She shook her head and tried to get back up. “No, I need to fill the basin and take it back inside.”

  He pushed gently on her shoulder to keep her in place. “No, you need to sit. You look as pale as if you’d seen a ghost.” He took a breath. “Is Mabel alright?”

  “So much pain,” Blythe murmured. “She was in so much pain, Michael.”

  He frowned. “What complications are there?”

  The fog lifted slightly from Blythe’s head, and she realized that Michael didn’t need to be there. He had agreed to marry her, but this wasn’t expected of him.

  She stared at him. “You don’t have to stay.”

  “You need me.” He set the basin down on a nearby table and knelt next to her. “You looked so afraid when you walked out here. Tell me what happened. Let me help you.”

  A loud scream erupted from behind the closed bedroom door. She should go in there. She was the lady of the manor, and she should be strong enough to be whatever Mabel needed her to be.

  And yet the idea made her legs go weak. She was so afraid of what she’d seen, although logically she knew that women bore children every day of every year and had since the beginning of time. Yet seeing a friend in so much pain was a lot harder to see in a logical light.

  Blythe heard a faint, small cry. Then it seemed to gather wind, and the cry became loud, lusty. She gasped. The baby. The baby was born.

  She jumped up from her seat and without hesitation opened the bedroom door and hurried to Mabel’s side. She lay back against Arthur, still held tightly in his arms. Sweat dripped from her hair, her face was red from exertion. Blythe knelt beside her, and Mabel met her gaze briefly.

  “My friend,” Blythe said softly. “We were so worried.”

  Mabel offered a small smile, but the effort seemed to tire her more. “The baby is all that matters. Isn’t he beautiful?”

  The midwife placed the baby on Mabel’s stomach, red, splotchy and still covered in blood and muck. But Blythe had never seen anything more beautiful.

  “Mabel, he’s just perfect.”

  Mabel’s eyes shone through her exhaustion, and she slowly lifted a hand to touch the baby’s head. “Little Ian.”

  Her eyes fluttered shut, and Arthur grasped her tightly against him. The midwife quickly grabbed Ian from his mother’s stomach and bundled him in a blanket.

  “Milady,” the midwife said to Blythe. “You might want to wait outside.” She turned and dunked her hands into a basin of water.

  “What is happening?”

  Susan stepped forward and again propelled her out of the room, but this time she followed her and closed the door behind both of them. Worry and resignation painted her face, and she sighed.

  “Susan, what happened?” Fear had leapt into her chest.

  Susan’s eyes filled. “There was a lot of blood during the birth. She was still bleeding after little Ian was born.”

  “But…she is going to be fine.” Blythe barely registered that Michael had come to stand behind her until he placed a gentle hand on the small of her back.

  “I hope so,” Susan replied, but her tone belied any thought of hope.

  “She will be just fine. She has a new baby to care for.”

  “Of course she will,” Michael said in her ear. He moved his hand up to rub her back, squeeze a shoulder. “Have faith, Blythe.”

  “Where is Adam?” she asked. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than her brother by her side. He would understand. He would feel the silent fear as she did.

  “He’s outside,” Michael said quietly. He shifted his hand to her side and turned her around to face him. “Blythe, lean on me. I’m here for you.”

  Blythe shook her head. “I am the lady of the manor. I need to be strong for Mabel. For Arthur.” A choked sob escaped. “For Ian.”

  She swallowed hard to dislodge the painful lump in her throat and took a deep, shaky breath. She would not lean on Michael. She needed to do something, to help somehow. She turned around and headed toward the kitchen.

  Michael quickly followed. “You should sit down. You’ve been here for hours already.”

  Blythe glanced at the small windows. It was dark outside. What time was it? How long had she sat by Mabel’s side?

  “I need to do something.” She stared at the starlight sky. It was a beautiful night to bring a child into the world.

  Then why did she feel such dread, such terror in the pit of her stomach? She reached for a handful of green beans and realized she didn’t know what to do with them.

  “Blythe, you don’t cook,” Michael whispered in her ear, before taking the green beans from her hands. “Please, just come and sit down.”

  She shook her head. “I need to help.”

  “There’s nothing to do but wait.” Michael steered her none too gently into the front room again, just a few steps really in the small, but homey cottage. Blythe looked around the room, at the signs of Mabel everywhere. In the fresh flowers in a glass on a table nearby. In the knitted tapestry that Mabel had worked on for years and hung on the wall with pride. In the clean corners, the dusted surfaces.

  The bedroom door opened and the midwife walked out, the baby in her arms. Her lined face was resolute, sad and weary.

  “Here.” She handed the baby to Susan. “Arthur can’t take care of him right now.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. There was nothing more I could do. The bleeding was too much. She’s gone.”

  Susan grasped the child to her chest and sobbed.

  Blythe stared at Susan and the baby. A baby suddenly, horribly, without a mother. Arthur without a wife.

  And her without her best friend.

  And the pain began deep inside, curling through her stomach, clenching and grasping at her heart. Tears flowed unchecked, and sobs seemed to pull from so deep she felt her soul was on fire.

  Mabel was young, with a family who needed and loved her. A tiny newborn.

  “No,” she said as she tried to suck in air. “It’s not fair.”

  Michael wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. Blythe clung to him, grateful for his strength in this moment when she didn’t have any. All she could feel was the loss of someone she loved, the sadness of realizing the world would continue without her.

  All she felt was pain.

  ****

  Michael leaned back against the wall, his eyes never leaving Blythe as she moved about the room, talking softly with one person and then another. Offering a kiss to a child. Offering a hug to another grieving friend or relative.

  He knew she was in agony inside, and yet, after those first moments had passed, she’d been nothing but a vision of strength.

  She was amazing. He looked upon her with new eyes still, seeing in her everything he’d never believed a woman could be.

  Good. True. Honest.

  Someone he already loved more than he’d ever thought possible.

  Arthur was inconsolable and unable to think clearly about the steps that needed to be taken. So Blythe had stepped in and made decisions. And still she marched on, determined to ease the pain of death as much as possible. In the wake of such loss, Michael’s fears seemed selfish, pointless. But he knew when enough time had passed that grief didn’t have a death grip on her heart, he’d have to tell her the truth. Before she planned their wedding.

  As it was, he faced telling Blythe even more lies when he went to Anne’s house to confr
ont Thomas. Hopefully, he’d get Thomas’s assurance of a quiet annulment and Blythe would be waiting for him.

  She had such a capacity for love. He watched that now, as it touched every person in the room. And yet, she’d been betrayed so thoroughly by Thomas, Michael didn’t know if she’d find it in her heart to forgive him for his deception.

  All he could do was hope. And work at making her love him so completely that she’d choose to stay, even furious at him, rather than lose him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Blythe walked in her front door, the warmth of the room instantly chasing away the chill on her cheeks from her brisk walk. The chatter of her sisters from the parlor down the hallway told her where the rest of the family was, but the last thing she wanted right now was to be social.

  Her heart ached. It had been two days since Mabel had passed away. Blythe loved her sisters, but Mabel…she was different. She was her friend. Her choice.

  They’d buried her that morning. Through her tears, Blythe couldn’t help but watch the babe, held tight in Susan’s arms.

  Her heart twisted when she remembered his cries. He would grow up without knowing the wonderful woman his mother was.

  “You’re back.”

  She turned at the soft sound of Michael’s voice and saw him standing at the edge of the hallway, still dressed in his attire from the funeral.

  “Feel better?” How was it possible that he made everything better just by standing there?

  And immediately, she felt guilty.

  Her dearest friend had just been buried in the ground. And she, Blythe, had been in a room, making love to Michael, getting engaged, when Mabel had been losing her fight for life.

  It was just all so unfair.

  And now she didn’t know quite how to feel.

  Tears filled her eyes. She couldn’t fight them, not now, when she felt so weary, so sad.

  Without a word, he reached out and pulled her into his arms. She laid her head against his broad chest, the hardness of him somehow enveloping her and making the rest of the world disappear.

  She let go—of the tears that fell unchecked, the sadness that had lumped in her throat, and the grief that weighed down her heart.

  “Shhh,” he whispered into her hair. “Everything will be all right.”

  She didn’t know how long they stood there, but the emotions that had threatened to strangle her all day receded.

  She looked up at him, and her heart lurched a tiny bit as he smiled tenderly. “Better?”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  “I am always available to hold you in my arms.” He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss on her lips. “My duchess.”

  “I’m not a duchess.”

  “You will be. And then, as you so pertly told me a while ago, you shall be able to do whatever you want. Including,” he kissed her again, a little deeper, “kissing your husband whenever and wherever he likes.”

  She gave herself to his kiss, let the small caresses of his tongue pull her along for the ride. She grasped at his shoulders, holding him close to her. His hands roamed up her back.

  “Oh!”

  They broke apart, and Blythe whipped around to see her mother standing in the hallway.

  “Mama….”

  Hypatia turned her gaze to Michael.

  Blythe could feel him squirming next to her. Who would have guessed the mighty Duke would fall under the stern gaze of a mother?

  “Is there something amusing about this situation, Blythe?” Her mother looked to Michael. “I had hoped for better from you. And now I have no choice but to marry my daughter to someone who would take such advantage, and I am frankly disappointed.” She walked closer. “What were you thinking, spending the night together?” She pointed at Michael. “You should take care, Your Grace, with a young girl’s heart and reputation.”

  “Mama, you need to know—”

  “I know there will be a wedding. I had hoped for better for you, Blythe.”

  A surprised gurgle erupted from Michael. “Better than a Duke?”

  “Your title means little to me, Your Grace, if it does not bring my daughter happiness. And I don’t see a title being enough.”

  “Mama, I—”

  “Blythe. You have made your choice and now you must make the best of it.”

  “I—”

  “We shall have to plan quickly. The bans will need to be posted at once.” She turned around and paced the foyer. “We’ll need to take a trip to London for your wedding dress. And a new trousseau, you can’t possibly live in London with a country wardrobe. Goodness, so much to do.”

  “Mama!”

  Hypatia stopped pacing and turned an impatient eye. “Yes?”

  “We are getting married—”

  “Of course you are.”

  Blythe sighed. “Mama, let me finish.”

  “Very well.”

  “Michael asked me to marry him while we were away. And I accepted. I love him, Mama.”

  Her mother never missed anything, so she met Blythe’s eyes and stared intently for a minute. “Like you loved Thomas?”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “I just want to make sure you have not been…persuaded by his charm.” Hypatia lifted a hand, palm outward, toward Michael. “I do apologize, Your Grace, if that insults you.”

  “Apology accepted,” Michael replied dryly.

  “I know I was blinded by Thomas before,” Blythe said. “But this is not like that.” She moved toward a bench and sank to it.

  Her mother sat next to her. “Thomas did his best to convince you he was the man you thought him to be. You cannot continue to blame yourself for that, dearest.” She reached out for Blythe’s hand.

  “I know.” It was a hard won statement. “He deceived me, not the other way around. Thomas was perfect, except in all the ways that really mattered. He played a part. Michael is wonderfully, amazingly flawed. But he’s real.”

  “I am starting to wonder why exactly you agreed to marry me in the first place,” drawled Michael. “Unless you have talked yourself out of marrying me.”

  She offered him a small smile of apology. “I want to marry you.”

  “I certainly do not seem to rate high marks in your eyes.” His tone was light, but as she met his eyes, Blythe thought she saw a bit of uncertainty lurking in them.

  “You rate the highest marks. I don’t love you because you are perfect, Michael. I love you because you’re not.”

  “I will have to continue my lackluster ways, then.”

  Blythe sighed. “I am making a muck out of this, aren’t I?”

  Michael leaned down to press a light kiss on her forehead. “No, you are not. Because, see, you are perfect in my eyes. A far better woman than I likely deserve.” He smiled. “But that shall simply inspire me to be a better man for you.”

  Hypatia sighed happily. “Now, that, Your Grace, is a man I can be happy to wed my daughter to.” She clapped her hands together. “So when do we plan this wedding?”

  “Wedding?” Adam strode into the foyer and stopped a few feet away. “Don’t you suppose it is bad form to be planning a wedding just after Mabel’s death?”

  The rush of sadness hit Blythe. For just a few minutes, she’d allowed herself to get caught up in her own happiness again. Now, it just seemed wrong. Especially with Adam sending off waves of disapproval.

  “Quite the contrary, Adam. I think it’s just the thing,” their mother argued.

  Adam frowned. “I don’t see how.”

  “A wedding is a cheerful event. And I think this home, and the village, needs some cheer at the moment.”

  Emotions warred inside Blythe. “Mama, Adam is right. I won’t flaunt my wedding in the face of their sadness.”

  “Excuse me for my bluntness, darling, but you may not have the luxury of waiting. I assume that your…adventure was a full one, in which case, there is a strong possibility a babe could be on the way.” She turned toward Michael with eyebrows raised.


  Michael didn’t blink an eye. “It is possible.”

  Blythe could feel the warmth rushing to her cheeks. How mortifying.

  “Then waiting is not an option,” Hypatia declared in an unyielding tone. “And I do believe your villagers will celebrate your joy, Blythe. They have all been here for your unhappiness, when you married that scoundrel.” She glanced at Michael. “I ask your pardon, Your Grace, for speaking badly of your cousin.”

  He lifted a shoulder in casual disregard. “As I do not disagree with your sentiment, there is nothing to pardon.”

  “Your people love you, Blythe. They would enjoy seeing you happily married, even it means you leaving Rosemead.”

  Blythe sucked in a breath. She hadn’t thought of that. Marriage to a Duke meant more than her easy, country lifestyle. It meant living in London; it meant society and responsibilities. It meant leaving Rosemead.

  She glanced at Adam. “I suppose you will get your way now. I’ll be leaving Rosemead after all.”

  His face looked carved in stone. “So it appears.”

  “Then we have a wedding to plan. Girls! Girls!” Hypatia turned on her heel and hurried down the hallway. “Blythe, are you coming?”

  Blythe offered Michael a helpless smile. The wheels had been set in motion, and she knew there would be no stopping her mother now. There was nothing Hypatia Merewood loved more than an event to plan.

  “I would ask if you’d like to join us, my lord, but I am certain I already possess that answer.” She allowed her happiness to bubble up and laughed. “And I shall let you off without even an argument.”

  Warmth flashed in his eyes, and it felt as if nothing existed but the two of them. “I’m certain you’ll get much more accomplished if I stay out of the way. Your mother seems to have it well in hand.”

  “Blythe, dearest! Do hurry!” her mother called out just then.

  Michael chuckled. “As I was saying… Be sure to spend all my money appropriately, my love.”

  Her heart bloomed at his words. His love. She fairly floated down the hallway, knowing that she was loved not just by a duke, but by her duke.

  ****