The Unraveling of Lady Fury

by Shehanne Moore

  Why did Susan bite her lip?

  “Yes. For money. So, you mustn’t…you mustn’t.” She clawed in several puffs of air. “Face Lady Margaret and tell her the Beaumont heir has been stolen by him? I can’t do it. It would mean giving him Storm. And I can’t do that either. Douse the light. The light, Susan. And go—go. Hurry.”

  Oh, God, Susan would, wouldn’t she? Fury sank down again, clutching her stomach. They had been friends for so long.

  Susan would never betray her to Flint.

  Never.

  Fury jerked her head up. So what the hell did Susan think she was doing leading him over the head of the sand dune? No. Definitely she was, exhorting, this way, this way. A horrific proposition. And definitely it was him. Not a hallucination. Or nightmare of the screaming wind. But James Flint Blackmoore. His lips compressed. His eyes like ice-slits. Sand spraying up to his knees as he skidded down to the bottom of the dune and thrust his lantern at the man just behind him.

  “Here.”

  Clutching her stomach, Fury staggered to her feet.

  “Madam. No wait—”

  Susan need have no fear of it. To be dragged back to the Palerna? Locked in chains till she gave Flint one child or the other? No. If it was possible for a man to be controlled yet livid, Flint was it. But while it was a waste of energy, Fury still failed to desist from struggling as he grabbed hold of her wrist.

  “Nice to see you too, sweetheart. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been walking up and down this damned beach looking for you?”

  She didn’t. She was too busy trying to stay upright and stop the groan from issuing from her frozen lips. The awful one she neither wanted him to see or hear. That would be to say this was happening. It wasn’t.

  “No. I mean… I don’t care that you were.”

  Certainly, it wasn’t happening in front of him. The matter was of too much delicacy. Why, when she had had Storm, she couldn’t have cared less where she had dropped her, so long as she dropped her. Women got to that stage. She had not reached it yet. Nor anywhere near it.

  “No?” He glared. “Don’t stop now. Get to that scream you’re longing to give.”

  “I’m not… I…”

  Her apprehension returned in full force as another spasm fisted her spine. This time as if it might snap it in two. Although she wanted to pretend it was nothing, she both tensed and sagged, her lips parting in a silent scream. As they did he caught her. Or maybe she caught him. Whoever caught who, she breathed the fresh, cold smell of his coat, and felt him tremble. And what seemed unwise a second ago, seemed right now, because she knew she would have fallen down otherwise.

  “All right. I’ve got you.”

  “A false alarm.” She gasped to feel him lower her onto her knees. “That’s all. Is it any wonder? After what you did?”

  “You can berate me for that after. Susan…”

  He jerked his head at Susan and Fury shrieked to feel his hand edge down her gown, as if he were trying to untangle her skirt from around her knees. Or worse. She gulped. She didn’t want him touching her. Susan either. Especially when she wasn’t having this baby. Anyway, how would he know, just because his mother had been a midwife? Fortunately seawater had welded her skirt to her legs.

  “All right, you want to play coy. I’m going to try and get you to the houses back there.”

  The houses were good. The houses still offered the chance of escape. Except she feared she might not reach them.

  “You think you can put an arm round my neck?”

  Another agonizing bolt shot through her. “No—oh God, Flint, I can’t.” She screeched, releasing him. “Please. I just…need a minute…”

  This—this was bad, wasn’t it? She had wanted this baby because of money. And then she hadn’t because of him. But if she lost it, if she lost it now…she would, wouldn’t she? The thought made her moan.

  She knelt there, on the soft sand, the waves frothing several yards away, and a second became a minute as his gaze slid over her, as if in calculation. Then it became an hour. At least it seemed an hour passed before he peeled off his coat. In reality, it probably lasted no more than a moment.

  “Here.” He tucked the coat around her. He had to kneel closer to do it. So close she almost leaned against him.

  Sweet relief flooded her. Somehow he was going to get her up the cliff path to the houses. Then this might stop.

  He turned and called over his shoulder. “Nathan.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  “Comb the beach. Get a fire going.”

  “Aye, Cap’n. On it.”

  “Flint, no. I can manage. I can get to the houses. Please.” She clutched his wrist.

  “And get someone up to the houses.”

  “No, Flint. I can walk… It’s only over there.”

  “All right, sweetheart. Listen to me.” He dragged her face up, so she squinted at him in the lantern light. “Listen.”

  “No. Not here. I can’t have it out here. No.”

  A beach. A darkened, windswept beach was not the place for her to produce the Beaumont heir. She scanned his face in the hope of seeing so. But another spasm left her breathless. Were he not holding her against him, she’d have collapsed.

  “It’s early, all right?”

  “No. I can’t…”

  “Look, Fury, when a baby’s on its way, even you can’t tell it to turn around and go back in again. And there’s no point blaming you and there’s no point blaming me. We got that fire going yet?” He yelled over his shoulder.

  “Doing our best, Cap’n.”

  “Susan will help you. Now, isn’t that so, Susan?”

  “Absolutely, madam.” Susan dropped down beside her. “I will do anything. I’m right here.”

  Fury bit her lip. Heaven help her, she was lost. Didn’t Flint know? Susan didn’t have a bloody clue. Even if the baby wasn’t going to survive anyway.

  “She can’t. She can’t do it.” A terrifying prescience filled Fury. She tried to move, only she couldn’t. “Please… Next you’ll be telling me there’s nothing to this.”

  Perhaps it was because he’d been angry. Perhaps it was because she was scared. Perhaps it was just his close proximity. But everything seemed to retreat. All she saw were his eyes intent on her and his lips curved in a faint smile.

  “Well, there ain’t. It’s just a little hard pushing, that’s all.”

  Actually, it was more than that. Her stomach tightened. It was bad enough he was here at all. Bad enough that she was being forced to deliver a baby in a sand dune, with the wind whipping about her ears. She, who enjoyed a certain dignity and control, was not going to do it in front of him, who was already behaving in ways not expected of a man, especially not a man like him. It didn’t matter that she found his shoulder comforting to lean her forehead on.

  Help must come soon, so he could go away and do the things men did at moments like this. Pacing the floor. Getting blind drunk. Collapsing in a heap. He would, of course. Because the most overwhelming desire to push overtook her. It was negated by the cramp clamping the base of her spine.

  She cast a horrified glance sideways. “I’ll do it. With Susan. If you’d just get help.”

  She clamped her lips shut before another howl escaped her. He traced the pad of his thumb over her mouth, the touch sending a tiny ripple of calmness through her blood, so the pain, just for that second, died away.

  “It isn’t going to happen. I’m not leaving you. Not this time.”

  “Yes, you are. You can’t… I’m not doing this with you here…”

  “There’s nothing that happens here that’s going to put me off. I love you, Fury.”

  She froze. The things he had done did not seem as if he did. Only, she was forced to admit, terror inspired her to think so. So that, even now, she feared to lose what glistened in her eyes. She had covered herself in frost, so every part of her grew cold and would not feel, because of that single part that longed to hear that word, yet had never kn
own the hope, or expectation, that it would. When she’d loved him. Loved him so much.

  “But…earlier. Earlier…”

  Maybe it was the curve of his lips. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, as he leaned a little closer. But his lips brushed hers. If only for that instant. Something opened like a tiny flower inside her. Dazed and shaking, she stared at him.

  “I was cranky, was all. But I swear to you, you get through this, the Beaumont heir gets through this, I won’t ever be cranky again.”

  Pain surged up and overwhelmed her. He wrapped his arms around her and held her so close, she heard the terrified hammer of his heart in his chest.

  “Ma always set store by kneeling. All right?”

  She nodded. What other choice did she have? She felt crippled. And he was so strong to hold onto.

  “She also set store by screaming as much as you want to.”

  “But did she set store by men being present?”

  “If they knew their stuff. Just hang onto me. Till help gets here. I won’t look, if it makes you feel any better.”

  He couldn’t know. It wasn’t possible. But she did hang on. The man at her side reeked of practicality and strength. Although far from expected, and his actual physical presence here far from wanted, it comforted her to know she could rely on him. That Susan could too. Because Fury had never seen such conflicting fear and determination on the face of any woman.

  And help, as the next wave of pain demonstrated, even if it ever arrived, wasn’t going to come in time.

  * * *

  “It’s all right. Come on, sweetheart. You can do this.”

  Could she? A cacophony of shouts erupted, and lights rode down the cliff face. Help was here. At last. But he feared it might be too late. And if it was, he would have killed her. Those stupid words he had spoken this afternoon. Not clever. Not nice. Not anything but the fault of his damned stupid worthless pride.

  Love, as he’d come to understand it, didn’t have room for things like that.

  “Another push, madam, that’s it.” Susan’s voice rang shrill. “It’s here!”

  But Fury had grown so weak and so cold in his arms, Flint feared she’d nothing left to give. She was even past screaming now, and she was bleeding.

  “You hear that, sweetheart?” He buried his mouth in her hair. “Help’s here too.”

  “F-f-fortuitous.”

  “We’ll have you off this beach in no time.” He spoke with a courage he did not feel. He felt another limp spasm grip her body. Inside his mind he did one thing he never did and another he did lots of. Prayed and swore.

  If she got through this, he’d never be proud again.

  If she got through this, he’d give her everything she wanted.

  And that was when he heard something he knew everyone gathered on this beach wanted most to hear. A baby’s cry.

  * * *

  Gray light fingered the ceiling. Fury stared at it for several seconds. Then closed her eyes. She’d thought she understood need. Had experienced it as a driving force in her life. But she began to understand her own ignorance, when the needs were so simple. Cotton sheets. A fresh nightdress. No rolling waves.

  When she thought about that nightmare of screaming midwifery, of Flint holding her to the end, tears scalded her. It was such a thing to give thanks for. He amazed her. Even now she remembered his voice piercing what had remained of her consciousness. The terrible grimness of his face. She was glad those in the party who arrived at the beach had been kind to him. Her last conscious thought was that he deserved it.

  She would have died without him. So would Fortune.

  Who would ever have thought Flint could take care of a baby? Her lips twitched. All right, brandy soaked rags were not ideal, for heaven’s sake. And, as she’d suspected, he wasn’t any good at some of the other things. It required Susan to wash and change.

  But love was not about perfection. It was an all-compassing thing that found adjustment. That forgave. That looked and saw and knew. And without which there was nothing.

  She loved him.

  Of being stretchered off the beach in a homespun blanket, she remembered little. Of the first few nights and days spent here, she remembered little, except perhaps what she did remember of him, and she remembered for a reason.

  Not at all a sensible thing, to find perfection in so small a place as this room, in this cottage. But there. Because they were a family. Or they would be, when she sent for Storm. Love gave. Love received. She did not doubt for one second he could not return hers. Not now.

  And when she heard his footsteps cross the floor and she imagined him lifting their baby daughter from the cradle, she smiled, knowing one thing. She could not live without him. She had before. And it had killed her.

  She flicked her eyes open. But what she saw there, bending over the cradle, wasn’t from her dreams.

  It was from her worst nightmare.

  “Lady Margaret.”

  Fury’s heart pounded. She had no idea how long she sprawled there, her head foolishly raised, while a tumult sounded in her ears and her sense of being in paradise, a paradise that was false, dripped away. Although to be fair, probably no more than a few minutes passed. Shock held her immobile.

  When awareness returned, she realized she hadn’t even asked herself what Lady Margaret was doing here. Or how she even knew Fury was here.

  It could not be simple chance. Stupidly the thought flashed: had she been on the Palerna too?

  But that didn’t seem any more likely than the notion Lady Margaret had search parties scouring the countryside looking for her. So? Disquiet stirred.

  “You are surprised to see me, perhaps?” Lady Margaret bristled. She always did.

  Fury just wished Lady Margaret would not bristle in here, standing like a giant shadow across her. Blocking out the sun from her world here. Her very nice world here.

  She struggled to sit up. Lady Margaret was not a person to face lying down. She was, truth to tell, not a person to face at all. But Fury’s bones were like paper.

  She felt a guilty pang, praying that Flint didn’t amble in here. When he had done so very much for her and she owed him her life, it was wrong. If he did, she was at least lying down.

  But it was quite enough Lady Margaret was present. Already, in some queer way Fury could not quantify, she felt at a disadvantage.

  “I wasn’t expecting—” Because she wasn’t and she hated being caught unprepared. What was more, now she thought about it, Lady Margaret made no mention of Fury’s disappearance.

  “That is perfectly obvious, or you would be dressed to greet me, instead of lazing in your bed, resorting to your filthy Italian habits.”

  As ever when she looked at Fury, Lady Margaret’s eyes grew cold. Now the Beaumont heir, heiress rather, something else Fury probably couldn’t do right, lay in the cradle, there was no reason for them to be otherwise.

  “However, as I am here to see my grandchild, not you, you may do as you choose. A little baby girl I believe?”

  “Yes, Mama.” Fury spoke dutifully through her teeth, although it killed her. “Fortune.”

  “A hideous name. Chosen by yourself, no doubt. Well, we will change it. The proper name for a girl in our family is Regina. Although, of course, there is nothing wrong with, and you would be doing me a great courtesy, to call her…Margaret.”

  Fury flinched. Yes it would. But why on earth should she? Even now, as she bent her ample bosom over the cradle, Fury knew the woman wished anyone, anything, the cat even, was the mother, rather than Fury.

  “I like Fortune.”

  “You would, because vulgarly you have had the Beaumont one in your sights since first you met Thomas. There now.” Lady Margaret cooed into the cradle. “Such a darling little face. I will say you’ve done well, Fury. I can see she takes after her father.”

  Yes. Well. Fury refused to rise to Lady Margaret’s vile insinuation about herself because…if only Lady Margaret knew.

  Of course,
to say so…

  Fury lay down. She had not thought, had she, about this moment. About the Beaumonts. The fortune and the inheritance. Not because the last person in the world she expected to see here today was Lady Margaret, although she was. But because in her ill, confused state, this world was perfect, containing everything she had ever wanted.

  “Please tell me Grandmama’s little darling was not born here, in this hovel.”

  It was perfect. “No. Actually, Fortune was born on the beach.”

  “The…what?”

  Again the thought flashed. Didn’t Lady Margaret know anything of this? Where did she think Fury had been for quite a few weeks now?

  “Ben and Kate have been good enough to let us stay.”

  “You mean these dreadful fisher people didn’t arrange for you to go somewhere else?”

  Fury swallowed, feeling very uncomfortable all of a sudden. However Lady Margaret had gotten here, whoever had told her, she was here to take Fury home. If she went, she need be under no illusions about what she went to. Because the hatred would never stop.

  And Flint…

  If she went with Flint she sacrificed Storm’s chances. Not her own. But did she want the hollowness of Lady Margaret’s world for Storm? How could she tell Flint she didn’t love him or take Fortune away when she always had and he was so damned proud of his daughter?

  She thought about him here, in this very room. Pacing the floor. Feeding them both brandy. She thought about him on that beach. The strength of his body. The tenderness of his hands.

  It wasn’t really a choice, was it?

  Flint loved her. He had seen her at her worst and he loved her. She had broken his pride with her fear and he loved her. He was so very proud. And she understood that and why he had said those awful, awful things. The ones that had nearly cost her Fortune. An act she forgave him for because she was as much to blame, not seeing how she was breaking him. Not just with her fear, but her damned obsessive need to have the things she believed he’d cost her.

  So long as she had love, nothing else mattered.

  She closed her eyes. When Lady Margaret went berserk, it was better to lie still.