by Joan Vincent
On they plodded through constant, endless white.
CHAPTER 4
Lady Juliane snuggled deeper. It was so warm. Her hands and feet tingled painfully but, oh, the warmth! She had thought never to thaw again.
Warm again?
If she was warm something was seriously wrong. Alarmed, Lady Juliane opened her eyes. Slowly taking in the surroundings, questions mushroomed. The last thing she could recall was following Mallatt and the dulling awareness of the cold. Had he found them shelter?
Struggling to sit upright, Lady Juliane saw she wore her own nightdress, newly bought at Portsmouth. Why did she not remember getting into it? She surveyed the room once more and froze in locked fascination on the opposite side of the large featherbed.
It could not be? she thought in protest. Gingerly, Juliane reached out to touch the pale, beard-stubbled cheek. It was rough to her touch. She snatched her hand back. What else had she expected?
The face turned toward her. The eyelids raised, revealed cool grey eyes. She stared down as the lips curled into a smile, making the man more handsome; then the eyes closed.
Well, truly, she thought, how dare he smile at me in so intimate a fashion? Not even Lord Dennerly had ever done so and he had “kept company” with her for almost six months. But then, she mentally added, I never did wake up to find myself a bed with Lord Dennerly.
That thought sinking in, she gasped and struggled to throw back the heavy coverlets.
At this moment a large, brisk woman came into the room. Seeing Juliane struggling with the bedding, she came to the bedside, pushed her back down with one hand, and neatly arranged the coverlets with the other. “Now, m'lady, ye'll only do yourself harm in trying to be about. Nasty time ye've had of it. Back to sleep with ye."
"But you do not understand,” Juliane said agitatedly as she strove to rise.
"Oh, ye be worried about the mites,” soothed the woman. “They be fine."
"But, I must..."
"Ye must rest and regain yer strength. Ye'll need it what with a fine man ye ‘ave for a husband and the two lovely children. Yer lord'll want tending soon enough. He's a lump bigger'n a duck egg on his noggin besides a nasty cut. I doubt it'll put him in good fettle for awhile. Ye know what I mean,” she added with a knowing wink.
Juliane stared at her open-mouthed.
The woman ducked her head. “Now, I be sorry, m'lady. I be forgettin’ ye gentry ain't so open with yer speakin', ye ladies, I mean."
This made little sense to Juliane. What was clear was that the woman had some misbegotten notion. Perhaps if I explained. “We had this accident..."
"That's what I was tellin’ Jove—m'man. But what could bring ye out on a day like it was, is beside me. We couldn't get much from yer man. He was near froze through, as were ye all. But we found yer lord's card, m'lady.
"T'was only God's blessin’ ye didn't lose the children."
Lady Juliane sat up again and started to get out of bed.
"None of that. The wee babe is sleepin'—had to pry her from yer arm. So ‘tis the lad. Ye stay abed till breakfast is ready.
"Ye'll need your strength to cope with ‘im,” she nodded toward the earl, “or m’ name ain't Meg. Nothin’ fussier than a pained man. Now stay to bed till I bring ye some porridge—not what yer used to by m’ guess, but plenty fillin’ and fortifyin.’”
Juliane lay back down under the command of a pair of piercing eyes. As Meg disappeared behind the closing door, her thoughts milled turbulently. She closed her eyes.
This was a dream; it was not happening. I am much too sensible for this. I will open my eyes and find myself in a small chamber at a posting inn with Leora and André, she told herself. Letting out a deep breath, she slowly opened her eyes.
It was futile. The earl was still abed with her.
Cautiously, she pried back the many coverlets and stretched her feet to the floor. “Brrrrr.” She quickly drew them up but then planted them down firmly once more. The cold was not to be escaped and she must get out of this bed.
Spying her wrap lying across the end of the bed, she quickly pulled it on and wrapped the shawl that she found under it around her. When she spied her slippers, she scooped them up and tugged then on.
Much better, Juliane thought. Now what do I do? She tentatively approached the bed.
"Obviously Meg thinks we are married, my lord,” she said softly to the unconscious figure. “To undo that contention would do me more harm than good, at the moment—or ever unfortunately. If you will remain unconscious, my lord, you will find me a most dutiful wife.” She bobbed a deft curtsy.
Turning her back on the bed, Juliane went to warm her hands before the meagre fire. What to do? Lord. No sense in being missish about this. Must keep my head clear. Yes. Must find out where we are before I make any decisions.
She looked around. This did not have the look of a posting inn—even a modest one—and Meg did not talk as one accustomed to dealing with the “Quality.” They must have somehow stumbled onto a farmer's cottage.
This must be Meg and her ... this must be their room, she thought, as she took in the smallish wardrobe and scarred but clean washstand.
"Ah, m'lady,” Meg growled as she bustled back into the bedchamber. “I says to Jove as he was leavin’ the house, ‘she'll be up and about when I get back’ and here ye are. Come, sit here and eat. How ye be feelin?’”
"I am ... I am fine, thank you. I would like to see the children. How is Mallatt?"
"One thing at a time. Ye eat this,” she said, sticking the bowl of porridge beneath Juliane's nose. “Then we be gettin’ to the others."
Juliane thought if she closed her eyes tight enough, she would have little trouble believing she was a child back in the nursery. No one had ordered her about since that time in her life. She sighed and took the bowl. Meg was of an age to be her mother, she guessed. Kind and motherly despite her rough ways. Right at this moment, Juliane decided, she could use a little mothering.
While Lady Juliane ate, Meg tossed more wood on the fire. “We wouldn't want yer lord any more grumpy than need be,” she laughed over her shoulder. “Ye'll be glad to be knowin’ the snow has stopped. Me lads think it will be a fine day. In a day or two they'll be able to ferret out yer coach."
Juliane dropped her spoon. In a day or two? The delay in time had not occurred to her.
"Now, see,” grumbled Meg kindly, “I knew ye be gettin’ up too soon.” She handed Juliane the spoon, wiping it first on the apron that covered her ample bosom.
"No. I am fine. I must see the children,” stuttered Juliane as she tried to cover her consternation.
"How be it ye be travellin’ without a nurse or nanny and a maid? Yer lord looks plump enough in the pocket for that,” questioned Meg.
Juliane couldn't believe it when she heard herself twitter. “That is my doing, I am afraid. We are travelling to Lord Tretain's estates and wished for privacy.” Heat rose across her cheeks. “Besides, there are those at the estate to do those duties,” she added in a hurried afterthought.
What questions would arise when the phaeton was found?
Meg cackled. “I think ye'd be havin’ more privacy with a nurse along, but then one never knows."
Juliane lowered her head over her bowl and ate fiercely to hide her features which she knew must be crimson.
"I'll be back in a moment with yer gown. It needed dryin’ and pressin',” Meg smiled from the doorway. “Tsk, tsk,” she said to herself as she wagged down the stairs. “One would think the girl a newlywed, or perhaps m'lord was getting’ too cosy with the nurse.
"Oh, the gentry. But the girl does seem a good sort,” Meg reasoned. She's concerned about the children and all—not like some we hear of.
* * * *
Mallatt swung his feet off the narrow cot and looked around the room. Ah, yes, he had been placed in with the farmer's sons. He shook his head. He could not recall their names nor the farmer's. Neither could he recall the past night's events.
Thank God we stumbled in here. We'd be frozen solid by now. He looked around and spied his neatly folded clothing.
Wonder what they did with Lord Adrian? he mused. Must check on him. And yes, that Lady Juliane and the two children. I'd best be looking in on them all.
The sons’ room was on the lower level of the farm cottage. Mallatt had little trouble finding the kitchen, which seemed to take up most of that floor.
"And good morn to ye,” Meg greeted him as he cautiously entered. “Ye don't look like ye've taken a chill."
"Of course not, my good woman. But I fear Lady Juliane and the wee tykes were not dressed for such an outing. How do they fare?"
"Don't ye go ‘good womanin’ me. M'name be Meg,” she chided him.
"And I am Mallatt,” he bowed stiffly. “Lord Tretain's valet."
"A real valet, ye don't say now,” chuckled Meg.
"Pardon, ma'am,” Mallatt chose his words carefully. “Lady Juliane and the children—are they well? What of my lord? He was injured in the accident."
"Tsk, tsk. I shouldn't keep ye worryin’ now, should I? Sit down. A steamin’ mug of m'Jove's brew will do wonders for yer spirits."
Mallatt dubiously eyed the concoction that was presently set before him still bubbling.
Meg stood before him, hands on hips. “Now ye drink it."
Deciding she outweighed him by several stone, he prudently lifted the mug to his lips and sipped. Good. Deeming it safe, swallowed a generous amount.
"Now, Meg, about..."
"Aye, stay in yer breeches. They all be fine. Lady Juliane, ye called her, be as good as new, and the boy child—” she eyed him expectantly.
"Master André."
"André—that's a foreign-soundin’ one. Frog ain't it?” Meg shrugged aside any forthcoming answer. “He be fine enough.” She shook her head.
"Yer lord could well take a fever with that head wound and bein’ in the cold so long. The babe, though, be a greater worry.” Meg stepped to the cradle beside the fire and bent to draw the covers more firmly about the babe. “She sleeps fitfully and has gotten a cough. I'd say a hard time t'wilt be hers. What say ye her name be?"
"Mistress Leora."
"Ah, a pretty name for a pretty babe. It be sad if she take it to the grave so early—but many do this day.” She clucked her tongue.
"Yer master should kno’ better'n to gad about with his family in sech weather,” she said angrily.
Mallatt choked on a swallow of brew. “Family,” he sputtered weakly.
"Him with a fine strong woman and them with two children—he shouldna’ take chances with them."
Her back was to the rough table, so Meg did not see the look of puzzlement, consternation, and worry play on Mallatt's features.
Had Lady Juliane given this woman the idea they were all of a party? But no, he was certain she was in no state to talk when they arrived and Lord Adrian certainly—Lord Adrian?
"Has my lord regained consciousness yet?"
"Nay, he be sleepin’ like a babe yet. Yer mistress can tell ye more. My Alva just took her gown to her and I reckon she'll be down in a trice to check on the babe. Seems that's all she has on her mind."
Mallatt nodded, silent. He was certain Lady Juliane would have that on her mind and more when she learned Meg thought her wed to Lord Tretain.
It was her fault for insisting on coming along. Mallatt sighed. Things would begin a-popping when his lordship came to his senses and learned the state of affairs. I would hate to be in her place—poor thing, he thought.
What about you, his subconscious tweaked him. Lord Adrian will not look kindly on your handling of matters thus far.
Well, I'd best play it mum and see if there wasn't a way to blunder out of this. She mustn't know their thoughts yet, he pondered, or I'd been awakened earlier. Ladies of quality do raise such a fuss at things.
Draining the last from his mug, Mallatt silently commended Meg. She was right, things did look a little better. He certainly felt buoyed. He dug into the steaming porridge she sat before him.
As he finished it, Mallatt heard footsteps. Turning, he saw Lady Juliane. Her worried features eased and she broke into a smile.
"Why, Mallatt, how good to see you are unharmed."
He stood and bowed stiffly. “May I say the same, my lady."
"André is fine also. I just checked on him, but Alva said Leora was here.” She looking at Meg who pointed to the cradle.
Juliane hurried to it and knelt. She laid a hand on the babe and threw a startled glance at Meg.
"Aye, m'lady,” the woman nodded sadly. “She's taken a chill for sure. I'm readyin’ a poultice for her now."
"Hur-rumph,” Mallatt loudly cleared his throat.
Juliane's gaze swung to him. He could see she was shaken by this turn. “I am sorry to bother you, my lady, but how fares Lord Tretain?"
She looked at him blankly.
He came closer and lowered his voice. “How does my lord do?” he asked again. A deep blush replaced Lady Juliane's blank look; she lowered her eyes.
They must have said something to her after all, he concluded. Trying to ease her mind, he whispered, “I understand, the, er, ‘situation’ here. The, uh, conclusion which was drawn. We will find a way out of the toil, never fear."
Lady Juliane threw him such a grateful look Mallatt smiled at her. “That is better. Now, how is Lord Adrian?"
Juliane once more looked to Leora. She fiddled with the blankets to hide her blush at the thought of Mallatt learning she and the earl had been placed abed together. “He is still unconscious, although he did open his eyes briefly this morning. He does not seem to have taken a fever yet and may regain his senses at any time. One never knows about blows to the head, however. They are unpredictable, his especially with the cold he endured."
Mallatt waited for more. “Anything else, my lady?"
"Yes,” she said absentmindedly, vaguely recalling what she would order for her brother. “You should shave Lord Tretain. I feel he would not be pleased to awaken untidy. I left Alva watching him. When I can, I will return to the room.” The words spoke dismissal.
Mallatt looked to Meg.
"Top o’ the stairs—door to the left. Ye'll find what ye be need'n there I suppose. The bags were placed in that room.
"Hot water is there.” She pointed to the smaller pot hanging over the fire and then to a large bowl on a nearby shelf.
After dipping the bowl half full, Mallatt proceeded up the stairs. What would he say to Lord Adrian? How could this be logically explained to raise the fault from his shoulders? His lord was such a stickler at times. One never knew what his reaction would be, and he had never been in a situation quite like this before.
"Not meaning to be disloyal, my lord,” he muttered, “but I hope it's a long sleep you have this time."
CHAPTER 5
Meg bustled over to the cradle with the poultice. Lady Juliane moved swiftly to the side and watched closely as she skilfully attended to Leora.
"Ye can leave her to me, m'lady—many a sick child I've nursed. If it's possible, we'll have her well in no time a'tal."
Lady Juliane's hands flew as if to quiet her pounding heart; “if possible” echoed in her mind.
Wrapping the babe tightly, Meg stole a look at Juliane. “Here,” she said gently, holding out the still bundle. “Ye rock her a spell. The boys will be bringin’ milk fresh from the cow soon and we'll see if she'll take some."
Lady Juliane pulled the worn, smoothly polished rocker closer to the warmth of the glowing fire and took Leora gratefully. Smoothing back the corn-silk fine hair, she rocked, unconsciously humming a nursery tune recalled from the depths of the past. Odd, how attached I have become to the children in such a short time, she thought wistfully. It is as if they are my own.
Musing over Leora, she was startled by tramping feet, blustering voices, and the banging and clattering that accompanied the entry of Jove and his sons.
Jove nodded
brusquely at Juliane to acknowledge her presence as he pulled off his warm outer cloak. The larger of the boys shuffled into the centre of the room, setting a large pail on the table. “The milk, Ma,” he managed to stutter out clumsily, staring all the while at Lady Juliane.
"Well, get out o’ them things. The porridge ‘tis a waitin',” she cheerfully rebuked them. “And mind yer manners in front o’ the Quality."
"Pardon their manners, m'lady,” she directed to Lady Juliane, “but we get few visitors here.” She took the pail and began to strain the milk into a large crock. “The big'un be Ned and the other'n Jem,” she added by way of introductions.
Juliane simply stared at the three, not certain what to say or do. Drawing her wits about her, she said, “It is you we need to thank for saving us. If we had not been given shelter we would all have perished. Thank you sincerely."
"Gosh” and “Gee” were the only replies from the sons.
"Just doin’ our Christian duty, ma'am, ah” Jove's eyes swung to his wife's—"m'lady,” he replied gruffly. “Pardon us for eatin’ afore ye, but it been a long, cold mornin'."
"Please, feel free to do so,” smiled Juliane, becoming a little more at ease.
Alva had entered during this brief exchange and had gone about filling the bowls and setting them on the table before her father and brothers. She was a miniature of her mother, being but five and ten and just beginning to show the same tendency toward plumpness.
Lady Juliane watched the scene with interest. She had never before observed family life other than her own and could recall from her youth none of the warmth and closeness apparent in this group. She felt a pang of envy, but her attention was taken up by a coughing fit from Leora. Failing to quiet it, she became alarmed. Meg was at her side in an instant, forcing some warm, dark liquid between the babe's lips. This caused a terrible pucker and much sputtering, but succeeded in stilling the cough.
Juliane looked at the mug suspiciously.
"'Tis but home brew, m'lady. It will not harm the wee one and is best for stoppin’ the cough."
Juliane nodded worriedly as Meg took Leora.
