Keeping Katerina (The Victorians Book 1)

by Simone Beaudelaire

  “I'm sorry, dear. Some people are just evil,” Mrs. Turner replied.

  “How do I know I'm not? I'm his daughter.” Katerina swallowed. I don't think I'm evil… but Father doesn't think he is either. What does evil feel like?

  “Have you harmed others?” Mrs. Turner asked, cutting off Katerina's spiraling thoughts.

  She shook her head. “No. I've had no opportunity, but I didn't hesitate to take advantage of Christopher's offer for help, even though I knew I wouldn't be good for him.”

  “Katerina, stop,” Julia said gently. “You were in desperate need of help. And I disagree with the idea you've been bad to him. Don't you love him?”

  “Yes,” Katerina replied firmly. But that doesn't mean I'm good for him.

  “And he loves you. He's not stupid. He wouldn't love you if you were a violent, evil monster.”

  Put that way, Julia's point made perfect sense. Katerina smiled a little. “Perhaps not.”

  Mrs. Turner took over the conversation again. “Rest assured, despite your difficult circumstances, you are capable of being a good mother if you decide you want to be. How far along are you?”

  “The doctor on the ship estimated about three months. I think closer to four now.”

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, turning toward the professional side.

  “Pardon?” Katerina replied, not exactly sure what she was asking.

  “Nausea? Fatigue? Soreness?”

  Oh, that. “Fatigue, definitely. It's hard to get up in the morning. I'm only sore in… two places.”

  “I know what you mean,” Mrs. Turner said, taking in Katerina's pink cheeks. “That's normal. Don't let it worry you. Oh, and here's one other thing that shouldn't concern you. You may be… close to your husband as often as you would like. There's no harm in it.”

  “Good to know.” Katerina put her hands on her burning face.

  The midwife chuckled. “Unfortunately, there's no modesty allowed for expectant mothers, Katerina. You'll cope. Do you understand the delivery process?”

  “Um, no. I didn't even understand the conception process until Christopher explained it to me on our wedding night.”

  Mrs. Turner made a sound that resembled a laugh choked down.

  She must have been imagining how that conversation went. I think I might have to hide under the sofa.

  But even if Katerina's ignorance had amused her, all the midwife said was, “Ah. Well, there are some things you should know about what's coming. Oh, and I'll be happy to deliver your baby if you would like. Doctors are becoming more popular, and if you prefer I can recommend a good one, but most of the time they're not necessary.”

  The last thing I want is a strange man looking at me at such an intimate moment. “Oh, no. I would rather have you. It's better. Childbearing is women's business.”

  “Yes. That's how I felt too.” Julia agreed.

  “Well we're all in agreement then,” Mrs. Turner said, smiling. “And I'll be happy to answer any questions you have in the meanwhile. Just come and see me or send a note any time.”

  “I'll do that. Thank you.”

  * * *

  The visit proved to be a turning point for Katerina. Although the idea of motherhood still terrified her, she was willing to trust her friends to help her through it. In the privacy of her mind, she admitted to herself she would rather not be doing this, but it was too late. Now she just had to do the best she could for her little one.

  By the end of April, her lower belly had a visible curve. As she watched her body change, the reality of the little person inside her dawned more clearly every day. She also began to experience strange sensations in her innards. Curious what it might mean, she invited Mrs. Turner over for tea.

  “Well, look at you, dear,” the midwife said. “You're starting to show nicely.”

  “I'm supposed to have a birthday party next month,” Katerina fretted. “I hope I'm not too big. I don't want to be uncouth, putting my belly on display.”

  “I think, with the right dress, you might just be able to get away with it,” Mrs. Turner replied. ” I'm not sure why pregnancy is considered rude. A woman with child is a beautiful thing.”

  So Christopher keeps telling me. “I'll have to talk to Mme Olivier about it. She's a genius. She'll be able to create something suitable, I'm sure.”

  “No doubt,” Mrs. Turner agreed. “Now then, I can see you have something on your mind. What's worrying you?”

  “I have a funny feeling in my belly,” Katerina said. “I hope it doesn't mean anything is wrong.”

  “What does it feel like?” The midwife asked.

  “It's hard to describe. It tickles.”

  “Does it feel like bubbles?”

  “It did for a while. Now it's more like soft thumping, as though someone were tapping a finger. Oh, there it goes again.”

  “Where?” She placed her hand on Katerina's belly. Katerina guided her to the spot where a rhythmic little impact was repeating.

  The midwife giggled. “Oh, how lovely.”

  “What is it?” Katerina asked.

  “Your baby has hiccoughs!” she exclaimed.

  Katerina gasped. “What? That's the baby?”

  “Yes, dear. You're well into your fourth month. It's not surprising you can feel it.”

  Katerina placed her hand on the spot. “Goodness.”

  She was still in awe when Mrs. Turner left. Alone in her parlor, she experienced a growing awareness of a sensation she hadn't expected this time a month ago. It was a feeling of… excitement. The little bump in my belly is my child, mine and Christopher's. Soon, only a few months from now, I will deliver this little person and it will be ours, our son, or our daughter. She would experience the joy of watching Christopher be a father. He'll be wonderful at it.

  As though her thoughts had summoned him, Christopher arrived, his dark hair rumpled by the spring breeze. “Hello, love,” he said, kissing her forehead.

  She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close for a much longer kiss, mashing her lips to his and squeezing him tight.

  “Well, well,” he said, “it seems you're feeling all right.”

  “Yes, wonderful. Here, give me your hand.” She pressed his fingers to her belly.

  “What, Kat?”

  “Hush. Just wait.”

  He waited. Long moments later, a little squirming sensation fluttered under his fingers. His eyes widened. “What was that?”

  “Our baby.”

  “Oh, Lord.”

  “I know. Isn't it amazing?”

  His smile grew huge and beautiful. “Yes. I can't believe it. Oh, love, you should see yourself. So happy. Are you happy, Katerina?”

  “Yes. I think I finally am. There's a baby here.” She pressed her hand over his. “A baby who is part of you and part of me.”

  “Yes. I love that.” He lowered his lips to her forehead.

  “Has there ever been such love?”

  “Not that I know of,” he replied. “Well, every couple probably feels this way, but it's special because it's us.”

  “Yes.”

  He cupped her cheek with the fingers of his free hand and lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her again. “I love you so much, Kat.”

  “And I love you, Christopher.”

  “And you're not so worried anymore?” he asked.

  She looked away. “You knew about that? I didn't think you noticed.”

  He cupped her chin and drew her back into his gaze. “Do you think there's anything about you I don't notice?”

  “Weren't you upset?” She bit her lip. I didn't want to upset him.

  “No. I understood. I'm just glad you're accepting it now.”

  She smiled. “You know, I think I am.”

  Chapter 21

  The evening of Katerina's twentieth birthday party began well. The special dress she had ordered for the event fit like a glove from the rib cage up and floated away from the swell of her belly below, disguising the fact
that she was past half-way through her pregnancy.

  After this party, Katerina would enter her confinement, and not attend any other public events until she recovered from the delivery. It sounded rather boring, all in all, though her mother-in-law promised to keep her company. Several of the young matrons with whom she had made friends over the last few months would likely do the same. In particular, she had become close to Eliza Cary, née Carlisle, the pouting girl who liked pretty poetry. She and James had wed during the Bennetts' honeymoon. The vicar had apparently kissed the young lady on the balcony a little too long. When those leaving the party looked up, the passionate embrace became a public display and caused quite a scandal. Nothing truly untoward had happened, but a vicar must be above reproach, and being married helped. Eliza still teased her husband mercilessly, but the gleam in his eyes told everyone he didn't mind one bit. Her pink cheeks and shy smile spoke clearly as well of the young clergyman's prowess. Now she only used the pout for effect.

  They had been invited to the party tonight, which was held at the elder Bennetts' home, rather than Katerina and Christopher's little townhouse. Also invited were Christopher's younger brother Devin, down for a visit from the university, Collin and his mother and stepfather, the Wilders, and the Reardons. The cozy group might have seemed small compared to some gatherings, but that was what Katerina preferred. There would be music (she had auditioned the performers herself) and food, and silly party games. It promised to be a lovely evening.

  First, they dined. Katerina had taught the Bennetts' cook how to prepare Tuscan foods for the event, and she hoped everyone had been feeling adventurous because she knew the garlic would be a challenge to their sensitive palates. No one commented either way, which, she supposed, was better than outright rebellion.

  They proceeded to games and began with a rousing round of charades. The Carys won handily, earning them the right to choose the next game. Eliza proposed hide and seek, and though the two older couples bowed out, everyone else hurried off to hide while Katerina closed her eyes and counted to one hundred. When she looked up, only her in-laws and the Turners remained, sitting by with cups of tea. She flashed them a quick smile before heading out of the parlor to search for her guests. She hoped to find her husband first, perhaps in some dark corner where she could let him steal a kiss before she continued stalking their friends. It felt wonderful to be able to relax and be ridiculous. I'm… having fun, impossible though it would have been six months ago.

  With that thought in mind, she entered the front hallway, where a wide staircase in dark wood with a scarlet runner led to the second floor. I'll begin here.

  “Katerina.” A commanding voice spoke in a lilting Italian accent. She froze like a small prey animal, poised between one step and the next.

  No, I won't cower. I am not a rabbit. I am a woman and a wife, surrounded by friends. No one can hurt me now. With slow deliberation, she straightened her spine and turned. “Father,” she replied coolly in Italian, “what are you doing here?”

  “Obviously there was some mistake,” he drawled, gesturing with his hands. “I heard you were having a party, but my invitation never arrived.”

  She quirked an eyebrow. “There was no mistake. You were not invited. I do not want you here.”

  “I am your father, Katerina. That will never change,” he said darkly.

  “More's the pity,” she replied, sarcasm dripping from her tone, “but no matter. I don't need a father.”

  Giovanni narrowed his eyes into a disapproving glare. Katerina's stomach clenched, and her heart began to pound but she refused to back down, meeting his stern look with one of her own.

  He pressed harder, trying to gain the upper hand. “I can't believe you ran away with that… cotton weaver. Have you no pride, girl?”

  She snorted with derisive laughter. “I can't believe you would be surprised I did. Honestly, Father, I would have run away with a Gypsy if one had appeared at the right moment. How fortunate I was to find Christopher. He's very good to me, though I doubt you're concerned with that.” Her hand fluttered around her belly in a telling though unconscious gesture.

  He noticed. “Are you incinta? Already? What a whore. You're just like your mother.”

  She shook her head. “No, Father. Not a whore, a wife. It's my job to provide children for my husband.” Then she shook her head. “Do you know something? I really don't wish to talk to you anymore. This is not your home and you were not invited. Get out.” She dismissed him with a flamboyant hand gesture.

  “Puttana,” he yelled.

  “Ti odio, bastardo!” Katerina shot back.

  There was no worse thing she could have said to her father. He was sensitive to the fact that he was descended from an illegitimate line, royal though it might be, and she knew it. If she had slapped his face, it would have been no less effective. Turning, she stalked up the stairs away from him, confident she was finally safe from him.

  She was wrong.

  With a cry of rage, Giovanni leaped into the room and landed behind her in a moment. Out of the habit of protecting herself, Katerina took too long to react to the sudden movement, giving him time to grab the heavy coil of hair at the back of her head and pull hard.

  She shrieked as she fell, thudding down three steps and landing on the wooden floor of the entryway. Her head slammed down hard. There was a crunching noise inside her skull and stars bloomed in her field of vision. Unconsciousness threatened. Hold on. Don't succumb. If you pass out, you're dead! Rolling painfully onto her side she curled into a ball, protecting her baby with her arms and legs and back.

  A heavy boot connected with her spine. She whimpered, and he kicked her again. The thick scars protected her somewhat from the blows, but she was getting badly bruised. More kicks rained out of the growing darkness, colliding with her back, her arms. Stubbornly she clung to her protective posture… and to consciousness. A heavy hand coiled in her hair again, pulling her head back, and a meaty fist connected solidly with her nose. Blood sprayed and again blackness threatened. He dropped her, and her wounded skull collided with the floor. This time there was no escaping the darkness. Her last sight as consciousness faded was that heavy boot descending inexorably towards her unprotected belly…

  * * *

  Christopher had been `hiding' near the top of the stairs. He rather wanted to be found quickly. It was silly, but the potential for more fun pulling his wife into the corner with him proved irresistible. Not that he needed more, of course. They'd kissed for ages before leaving their little house, and he'd nearly made her late to her own party. No one would have been surprised. With Katerina, there's no such thing as too much.

  He heard her soft voice floating up from the parlor. “Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.”

  Good, she's coming soon. He readied himself to pull her into the shadowy angle of the stairwell. It's a risk grabbing her without warning, he thought, but decided she was better enough he had to try it. Where is she? She should be up here by now.

  A low male voice filtered up to him, but he couldn't make out the words. It didn't sound like his father… perhaps Colonel Turner. And then Katerina answered. Had her voice ever sounded hard and cold like this? She would never talk to the Colonel in such a sarcastic tone. I still can't make out the words… wait… they aren't speaking English. The familiar rolling rhythm of Italian rose from the bottom of the stairs.

  Oh God, no!

  Only one person in all of London could speak Italian to his wife and receive such a harsh reply. Christopher hurried to the top of the stairs, horrified by a roar of masculine fury, a feminine shriek, and then a loud thud. Looking down, he could see his wife falling to the floor, her body tightly curled as her father kicked her over and over with his heavy boots.

  “Help!” he shouted but had no idea whether anyone else could hear him. He descended the stairs at reckless speed but was unable to reach them before his father-in-law pulled back Katerina's head to deliver a massive blow to her unprotected fa
ce. As she lost consciousness, he stretched her out, preparing to stomp on her abdomen, on their baby.

  “No!” Christopher roared, shoving the older man in the chest and knocking him backwards onto the floor.

  “Christopher, what on earth?” Julia poked her face out of the parlor.

  “Mother, get Mrs. Turner, quickly!” he shouted.

  “Oh God.” Julia fled.

  Drawn by the noise, the guests poured into the room.

  Giovanni rose to his feet, his rugged face a mask of pure rage. He approached Katerina again, but this time Christopher was ready for him. Stepping over his wife's prone body, he positioned himself between her and her father. Cold anger filled him until his blood flowed like ice in his veins. He moved forward. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mrs. Turner, guarded by her husband, picking her way across the room.

  Christopher stepped forward again, closing the distance between him and Giovanni so he could draw the other man away from Katerina. “Get the hell away from my wife!” he bellowed.

  “She is mine,” the dark-haired man roared.

  “She's not,” Christopher snarled through his teeth.

  “You stole her from me,” Giovanni accused, pointing a finger into Christopher's chest.

  “I saved her from you,” Christopher corrected, crowding even closer to his adversary. He could hear his blood pounding in his head.

  “Why?” Giovanni sneered.

  “Because I love her, you miserable bastard! You could have killed her!” He dared a glance back towards his wife and his stomach clenched. Don't lose control, Christopher. You can't help her if you're not thinking straight. Embrace the cold.

  “I am not a bastard,” Giovanni shrieked, “but she is mine to discipline.”

  “Not anymore. Now she's mine to defend. You hurt my wife. My God, you could have hurt our baby.” Christopher closed in on his adversary again. He didn't say another word. Instead, he drove a furious fist into Giovanni's jaw, quickly followed by another blow, this time to the gut.

  Your wife's brother fought you when he was sixteen and won. He was a child, you fool, strong, but surely untrained and inexperienced. Let's see how you fare now. An experienced fighter from his school days on, Christopher had studied pugilism for sport. He brought every one of those skills to bear now and inflicted on his father-in-law the thrashing of a lifetime. He kept hitting the older man long after he fell to the floor in surrender, submitting in terror to a shower of blows from which he could not escape. Christopher's cold rage had flared into heat, a fire that sought to consume his enemy until his lifeblood drained across the floor. He would undoubtedly have beaten Giovanni to death had not James and Collin finally pulled him back.