“I feel guilty,” Brook confessed. “Like we ran the man out of his own house.”
As Tipton had orchestrated it, they had both played out their parts for the public. He had explained that because the families had not spoken of the circumstances surrounding Lyon Meylan, Lord A’Court’s death to anyone, most of what the
ton
knew was speculation. Seeing the two women together should quell any rumors that there was discord between them. Several hours later Brook was sitting in the very house in which her husband had died.
“No. I think for Keanan, our visit was just the excuse he needed to prompt him to check on his brother. Besides, he understood we needed to speak privately.”
It was something her family had not. Ham had been embarrassingly vocal in his discontentment about her leaving with Mr. and Mrs. Milroy. With the exception of her stepfather, she had not been pleased with any of them. Disregarding Lord A’Court’s order had been her pleasure.
They had taken solace in Wynne’s private sitting room upstairs. She explained that she preferred to be close to her twin daughters, Aideen and Anna. The girls had been named in memory of the couple’s mothers. Pretty miniatures of their mother, they had celebrated their first birthday last February. Brook had peeked into the nursery to view the sleeping girls.
She had not been prepared for the wrenching envy she felt in her heart as she had gazed down at them, and it shamed her. Wynne had already been carrying her children in her womb when Lyon had kidnapped her. If he had known, there was no telling what he might have done.
“Does Mr. Milroy blame me?”
Wynne made a small protesting sound. “Why would he? Brook, no one in my family blames you for what happened.”
They had curled up on the sofa and sat facing each other. The intimacy of their positions was not taken for granted by Brook, who had lived too long without the companionship of a genuine friend. “That is highly generous, considering it was my husband who snatched you from a ball and set a trap in this very house to murder your Mr. Milroy,” she said, relieved she was talking to someone with whom she did not have to pick her words carefully.
“Did you know he was coming for me?”
The suggestion that she had betrayed Wynne in such a cruel manner stunned her speechless. “No. He talked. Wild talk, but he was married to me. He could not carry out any of his plans unless …”
Wynne finished the thought she could not bear to speak aloud. “Unless you died. Oh, Brook, was that his intention when he beat you so severely? I saw the blood,” she said; her expression took on a haunted quality. “If it had not been for Tipton’s skills, you would have died from the blood loss. Later, we feared the grief and the fever would kill you.”
“I should never have come that day,” Brook murmured, trying to fit what she had been told with the fragments of her memory.
“Would you have rather perished with your babe?” her friend demanded, surprising her with her vehemence.
“Yes.” She took back the words with a small shake of her head. “When I woke up and realized my babe had died inside of me, I prayed that the fever would claim me.”
Without saying a word, Wynne reached out and clasped Brook’s hand in a gesture of comfort.
“I had failed my son, you see.” She glanced down at their joined hands. “I fell in love with a man who saw you when he touched me.”
Grief swam in the liquid pool of Wynne’s green eyes. “I am so sorry, Brook.”
She pulled out the handkerchief she had absently stuffed into the cuff of her sleeve and gently wiped away all traces of her friend’s tears. Lyon had once convinced Brook that crying was a sign of weakness. Even after his death, she had not indulged in tears, convinced by his mother that keeping the tears within was proving to them all how strong she had become. Watching Wynne cry reminded her that tears also showed compassion. It was a sign that adversity had not destroyed the gentler passions within. If Mallory had not come along and seduced her out of her complacency, she might have continued to cling to her counterfeit strength and let it eat her from the inside out until nothing remained but a brittle, bitter husk.
“I resented you for a while,” Brook admitted, needing to get it all out. “You had so many admirers that you had not even noticed Lyon.”
“I was aware of you. I sensed you were developing an attachment for Lord A’Court. In respect to our friendship, I thought I had nipped any affection he had developed in regard to me.”
While she had simmered in her jealousy Wynne had never wavered in devotion. “Your indifference fed his fervor. He thought to prove himself worthy of your esteem. When you rejected him, he set out to win you through your father—”
“My father laughed at his offer.” Wynne sickened at the notion of her beloved father ridiculing a gentleman who was teetering toward the edge of desperation.
“So he courted me. If he could not have you, he would claim someone who reminded him of you.”
“Someone I loved as a sister.”
It had been the perfect revenge for a sadistic monster.
Wynne used the toe point of one shoe to toy with the tassel decorating the top of her other. “I understood why you stayed away for so long. We spent much of that first year at Holinshead, our estate in the north. Keanan claimed the estate needed work and the country air was good for me while my waist expanded to amazing proportions. Regardless, I knew the truth. He was shielding me from all of the unpleasant talk.”
“It must have been difficult,” Brook said, thinking they had both stayed away for the same reason, although she had no one to protect her.
“Harder still when you did not write. Your silence confirmed my darkest fears. I thought you hated me for killing your husband.”
“You did not kill Lyon, Wynne.” The conviction sounded weak even to Brook’s ears.
“Did I deliberately plot his demise as he had Keanan’s? No. Honestly, Brook, now that I have brought up the subject I am not so sure I can discuss what happened, even with you.”
How could Brook tell her friend that the details of her husband’s death had not haunted her, that he had murdered her love months before he had delivered the beating that had killed their child? “I was not seeking an explanation, Wynne. You owe me nothing.”
“Your husband knew he was dying, Brook. We had fallen together through a broken section of the railing on the upper story. I landed on some scaffolding, but he had tumbled over. The only thing preventing him from falling was his hold on my dress.”
Brook’s mouth went dry. “No one said anything.”
“No one but family knows what really happened.” She rubbed her eyes and sighed. “Your husband knew he was dying. The fall was too great. He had no chance of surviving. So he tried to take me with him.”
Brook closed her eyes, but the image of Wynne fighting for her life while dangling several stories in the air did not fade. She was well acquainted with Lyon’s ruthlessness and strength.
“I managed to grab something. A brick? A piece of wood? I cannot recall anymore,” Wynne said wearily. “All my energies were focused on one goal. To break his lethal hold.” Her eyes snapped open and held Brook’s. “Now do you understand why I feel responsible? I killed him.”
Brook had been so consumed with her own guilt that she had not considered how Lyon’s death had affected her friend. “Did you expect me to be angry with you for surviving such a horror? I am not. I am glad he is dead. My only regret is that he had not perished by my hand. Does that make me a monster, Wynne?”
“No. It means you survived the horror, too.”
They settled into silence, each thinking of what the other had said. Brook was the first to speak. “There is one matter we have not addressed. We both know Lyon was a dead man the minute he kidnapped you. Either your Mr. Milroy or your family would have seen to it.”
Her friend had no rebuttal because it was the truth. Lyon Meylan, Lord A’Court’s crimes were too numerous. He would not have escaped with his life.
A mournful wail had Brook jumping up. Wynne grabbed her side and fell against the cushion laughing. “It is one of the girls. I wager it is Aideen.”
Feeling foolish, Brook said faintly, “Does she always wake up thusly?” In the life she had dreamed up about her son, she had not imagined him producing a raging cry fierce enough to awaken half of London.
“Often. We blame Papa for her ornery temper.” Wynne stood and hooked her arm around Brook. A quavering cry blended with the hysterical wailing. “Ah, that is my Anna. Come along and truly meet my daughters.”
The nursery maid was changing the soiled diaper of one of the girls. The other stood in her crib, her tiny face red with misery. Her crying intensified when she saw her mother.
“I tried to get them changed before we disturbed you, madam,” the woman said apologetically.
“No need to apologize, Mary.” Wynne touched her tender bosom swelling with the breast milk the girls’ cries stimulated. “They slept longer than I had expected.” She scooped up the toddler reaching for her in the crib. “Poor Aideen. Have you waited long for your mama?” she cooed. Brook was fascinated when the child, all business, grasped the edge of Wynne’s bodice and nuzzled her breast, questing for a ripe nipple.
“Shall I mix up some barley gruel for the wee ones?”
Finished with Anna, Wynne pulled down her nightdress and picked the fussing child up. Anna popped a finger into her mouth and rested her cheek on the nursery maid’s shoulder.
“A small amount. I will feed them just enough to ease my discomfort.” Moving to a nearby chair, Brook’s friend glanced up from her daughter’s face. “We are in the process of weaning them. None of us seem to want to give up the night feeding. You are welcome to remain if you like. This has become such a big part of my life I sometimes forget that not everyone is thrilled to share every aspect of our routine.”
The nursery maid smiled ruefully. “Here now, you have the look of someone who has held a babe a time or two.” She reached for the blanket, missing the spasm of pain crossing Brook’s face. “I will leave Miss Anna in your care, my lady, and see to the gruel.”
Hungry to witness the life she had lost, Brook said, “Is it all right if I hold her, Wynne?”
“Do not be afraid. They are quite sturdy despite their size.”
The servant with practiced efficiency placed Anna Milroy into Brook’s inexperienced arms and positioned her hands until she was satisfied.
With the help of her daughter, Wynne had worked one breast out of her low-cut dress. Aideen quickly latched her mouth over her mother’s nipple and suckled. The fury that had summoned her mother had subsided. Holding on to the edge of the bodice with one hand, the toddler played with her mother’s hair with the other.
“She grunts and devours like a little greedy piglet.” Cringing at her rudeness, Brook had not intended to speak the observation aloud.
“Yes, she does sound like a greedy little piglet,” Wynne concurred, repeating Brook’s observation in a singsong manner to her daughter. Reacting to her mother’s voice, the child emitted a husky giggle without releasing the nipple and then continued suckling.
Brook pulled away from the poignant intimacy of mother and daughter. She held Anna closer, but the little girl did not seem bothered. Perhaps her demanding sister had already taught her the virtues of patience. Chomping on her finger, she studied Brook with solemn eyes. Uncertain how one addressed a child, she shifted the baby’s weight so that it rested on her hip. Brook touched the fine blond hair that curled slightly at Anna’s nape. “You have your mama’s hair,” she said softly, not understanding the tears burning in her eyes. “And your papa’s eyes, I think.” Lyon had deprived her of more than a loving husband. He had cheated her of the babies she had dreamed of having with him.
“Gah,” Anna said, popping her finger wet with slobber into Brook’s mouth.
Laughing through her tears, Brook turned her face away in an attempt to dislodge the girl’s slimy finger. She supposed
the girl had sensed her sadness and decided to share her comforting finger.
“Ack!” The second Brook removed the little finger from her mouth, the mischievous imp popped it back in and gave her a wide grin, revealing her four tiny teeth.
“What?” Wynne glanced up and recognized the game her daughter had discovered with her friend. “Anna Milroy!” The scolding lacked the impact of anger because Wynne was too busy pressing her face into Aideen’s shoulder and laughing.
Since Brook was holding the child, it was impossible to avoid her inquisitive finger. “I am so glad you find this amusing, Mrs. Milroy.”
“Gah-gah!”
The wiggling child managed to outmaneuver Brook once again. With a mouthful of fingers, she mumbled, “Doeth she tire ovth gum?”
The silliness of the garbled question was too much for Wynne. Laughing uncontrollably, she freed her breast from Aideen and flipped the baby onto her shoulder. She tucked her breast back into her bodice. Gasping for breath, she said, “I am so happy we are friends again.”
Brook pulled back. She managed to utter, “As I am,” before Anna thwarted her efforts to evade her and continued her game.