Dare To Love (25 page)

The doctor gave a quick look at Charles
kneeling by Gwendolyn’s bedside before continuing, “The fever needs
to break, surround her in ice, strip her of her clothing, and make
sure she is kept cool without delay. I will return in two days to
see if there is any improvement.”

Phyllis huffed at the sight of his departure.
Country doctors! Oh what she wouldn’t give to be back in London!
She hated Dr. Peabody’s unaffected treatment, only applying his
talents to persons who were dying or bloodied. What about
Gwendolyn? What is to become of her sweet charge?

“I will take the mornin’ shift again Miss
Tallymen.”

Phyllis rushed to Gwendolyn’s other side and
with a cold cloth she compressed it to her temple. Surveying her
body lying there, she shook her head in frustration. “Nonsense
Charles, we will rotate our care, like we done before.”

“Do ya think she will die?”

“Shush your mouth Charles McMillen, no one’s
gonna die.” Charles stood over Gwendolyn like a protective parent.
He wiped off her forehead with another cloth, before saying, “The
child’s very worried ‘bout her mum.”

“Clearly...as well as the both of us.”

Gwendolyn began to stir, but only
incoherently. “Thomas…”

Phyllis leaned in over her mouth, “What was
that deary? We could not hear you.”

Gwendolyn managed to move her head slightly,
but then dissolved back into her condition.

Charles brought the cloth down to her
shoulders, then at the top of her chest. “I’m so sorry Gwendolyn,
this is all me fault. When ya well and realize what happena I hope
ya find it in yar heart tae forgive me.”

The passage towards France was comfortable
and yet filled with anxiety. Thomas had never been more restless.
Gwendolyn was so close, nevertheless, an ocean away. He could have
her now; protect her and his daughter from harm, keep her happy in
return for her love for him. Oh how he hungered with anticipation
of hearing those three simple words. Her physical mind-set shown
clearly that night they made love. She was so attentive to his need
of tangible contact, she admitted being his, but it still was not
enough. Never in his life had he ached for something so critical.
His dream of finally holding her in his arms was realized, however,
he longed to hear the authentication. Hanging onto her every whim,
he hoped to hear her gush her devotion, but instead listened to her
talk about her solitude, share her experiences with his daughter
after she was born; she even cried in his arms after confessing she
bedded her fiancé. It stung him to hear her admission, but what
could he do? He was in no position to judge; after all, the same
loneliness ran though his veins as well and shed some tears of his
own, releasing his past to her. This was not the end; he felt so in
his heart, there was still too much to talk about, too much to
share. Gwendolyn Drummond had always been his and all will be
rectified from this point forward. He would make sure she was
permanently owned—showering her with his love until that woman was
drenched head to foot.

Two months into the ascent and they hit rough
waters pushing them off course. Thomas could not believe his bad
luck! He had never come across such ghastly weather, but he held
absolute confidence in the Junia. Although most British clippers
were average in the winds, the Junia had held supreme. With bursts
of speed ranging from 20 to 22 knots, the Junia had less curvature
from bow to stern, and a lower bulwark with a plumper waist. Bent
on all canvas, her lean narrow hull would proudly enter the green
sea flawlessly and run westward towards Mauritius, heading north to
round the Cape of Good Hope. She could make a voyage crossing the
Indian Ocean to China in about four months.

Gwendolyn’s eyes finally pop open. Staring
out into nowhere she took in a deep breath. Focusing on a rattling
sound, she realized it was her teeth. She reached out and grabbed
Phyllis who had passed out next to her. Startling her to a degree,
Phyllis smiled with relief. “Lord have mercy, you are awake.”

Gwendolyn gazed around her and comprehended
where she was. Her bedroom, she realized looking down at her body,
and she was naked, with only a thin sheet to cover her torso. She
reached down and covered herself up. “What happened?”

“Some kind of fever dear, we have been so
worried.”

“We?”

“Charles and I.”

“Oh,” Gwendolyn said, realizing he was not
there.

“We have been forcing you to swallow broth
but now that you are awake, do you think you can eat
something?”

Gwendolyn felt parched, but the thought of
food made her queasy. “No, I—” she managed to say, rubbing her
tummy, “Perhaps some water?”

Phyllis stood up and hobbled over to the
vanity. Pouring Gwendolyn a cup, she marched back over to her side.
“Here dear, now drink up, I will send up some food. Perhaps some
dry toast, or protein dear, perchance some eggs?”

Gwendolyn thought about her cook’s runny
cuisine and darted towards the washbasin vomiting into the bowl. Oh
God, she was so weak, so frail, so…nauseous, and felt her legs
beginning to tremble. “Phyllis…how long have I been lying in
bed?”

Phyllis grabbed Gwendolyn back and aided her
to lie down. “Nearly ninety days dear, I have never seen anything
like it.”

“Three months?” Gwendolyn shot back up,
reaching for her stomach instantly, feeling her inners turn against
her. Oh no…Thomas. Thomas was to be married within the week and now
it was too late. “Phyllis?” Gwendolyn carefully asked, feeling
moisture at the back of her eyes, “Have you heard from the
Duke?”

Phyllis nodded her head, “No dear, no word
from His Grace. Why?”

Gwendolyn doubled over in bed clutching her
abdomen in grief and grasped the inevitable. Thomas married that
abominable girl; he made his decision and now so should she. There
could be only one solution to her obvious condition…she was with
child again. Gwendolyn recalled her horrible fever and nausea from
Mary’s expectancy, and she was experiencing similar symptoms. She
had no idea if she missed her monthly courses during her
unconsciousness, but she did know for certain that when she left
Kettlewell, she anticipated her stream. “Did my monthly flow
arrive, Phyllis?”

Phyllis arched her brows and looked curiously
at her, “Why no dear, just sweat, repeated wetness from your entire
body.”

Gwendolyn began to fully weep now, “Why would
the Lord grant such gifts if he was not going to give me the man
who fathered them?”

Phyllis sat down next to Gwendolyn on the
ledge of the mattress, “The man who fathered them? Do you think you
are enceinte?”

“Think Phyllis? Oh, I know so! And I have
been awarded my departing gift for coming in second.”

Phyllis rubbed her leg and tried to console
her, “Do you believe His Grace to follow through with his
matrimony?”

Gwendolyn wiped away her tears; “I know
Thomas…and he would not abandon me without reason. He knows he took
advantage of our vulnerability and is probably afflicted with his
remorse. He would never relinquish on a pledge of marriage, he is
most likely,” Gwendolyn paused and allowed her tears to surface and
run down her cheeks, “On his way back from the West Indies on his
honeymoon.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR

“Why have you never mentioned her to us
before, Thomas?” Devin asked, arriving alongside his friend. “And
why is it that no one in London remembers your marriage?”

All morning, Thomas had watched the descent
on France with unease. He wanted to get this charade over with so
that he could head back to Britain to hold Gwendolyn in his arms.
Thomas searched Devin’s eyes for compassion before saying, “Because
she was mine,” he paused, “Because I wanted to keep the memory of
her sacred, untarnished, with no outside opinions. There were only
a handful of acquaintances my father invited to the wedding
supper—all quite dead now, then only family on our marriage voyage.
The Hollinger’s’ were going to post an announcement in the papers
when we returned from sea.”

“Such a tidy little secret,” Devin quipped,
eyeing Le Havre coming into cloudless view.

“Did you know Devin, that she had her choice
of husbands? That Gwendolyn was betrothed to one of us, meaning any
four of us, and she chose me over my elder brother?”

“A titled heir?”

“Jordan, yes. Oh, you should have seen him,
Devin; outstanding marksman, unparalleled swordfighter, shrewd,
intrepid and witty. He graduated from Pembroke too, and I always
wondered why he never married. Why, there were ladies compromising
themselves at our door nightly!” He laughed melancholy, “All
clamoring to be seen with Jordan in a ruining circumstance.”

“Sounds like a man to be envied.”

Thomas gazed over at the flying, outer and
inner jibs. “Yes Devin, he was such a man. He was my hero. Until,”
he faded off, looking away into the distance.

“Until what?” Devin asked gingerly.

“…
Until the night my father
announced Gwendolyn’s betrothal…”

~~~~~

We were asked to come into the library. My
father was at the head of his desk, my mother beside him. I was the
last one to arrive when I noticed my parents embracing…but that was
a normal occurrence in my household, my parents were devoted to one
another. I remembered gazing into my mother’s eyes when she saw me
coming in, her smile so warm, melted my toes. She was a beauty,
with her raven tresses surrounding olive green eyes…my eyes, I
realized, Jordan and I were the only siblings to have them. We
looked like mother, while Philip and Andrew both took after father
with dark brown hair and eyes of the same hue.

Puffing on his cigar, my father blew smoke
out of his nose first before saying, “The Earl of Suffolkshire has
given his daughter’s hand to the Hollinger’s’ in exchange for
trade.”

My mouth flew open wide; my heart began to
pound with a strange irregular ache. Gwendolyn? My Gwendolyn…was to
be married?

“Father has asked me if I would do the
honors,” Jordan said next, “And I am pleased to announce that I
will abide by his wishes,” he stated convincingly. “After all,
Gwendolyn is a fine-looking girl; she will keep my eyes fascinated
for quite some time.”

I turned to look at Jordan; he was leaning
against my father’s desk, his boots crossed in unison with his arms
across his chest. “What does that mean?” I asked in a trembling
voice.

Jordan grinned, “What it means brother is
that you will have to refrain from spending so much time with
her.”

“Jordan,” my mother voiced coming to my
defense. “They could still be acquaintances; Tommy will still be
part of the family.”

“But my wife,” Jordan pronounced in his usual
pretentious tone. “Gwendolyn won’t be allowed to spend so much free
time with Tommy. She will be under my strict charge and I will have
her with child without delay.”

Did he just say child? That meant…him…and
her…Oh, Good, God; I could not stand it…my breath escalated and my
pulse beseeched serenity. Gwendolyn…and Jordan? I felt ill, my
stomach began to churn and bile crept up my gorge. I wanted to
slaughter him, rip him to pieces first—and then slowly kill him. I
hated him. I detested that arrogant, self-righteous look on his
face! He appeared confident and puffed-up pleased with himself
having made such a noble sacrifice of his disreputable
bachelorhood.

My father cleared his throat, his voice low
and slicing through the tension. “There is still one obstacle to
overcome first son, the Earl insists that his daughter have a
choice in the matter,” he announced in all certainty. “But we all
know who she will chose, will we not?” He smiled, walking over to
Jordan and patting him on his shoulder.

Her choice? Yes, why not her decision. All
the girls faint at the sight of Jordan gazing their way, why not
Gwendolyn as well? Jordan was the titled heir, he graduated from
Pembroke and he was about to inherit a fortune!

“By the way Andrew, how is it you came upon
that black eye of yours?” My father determined, walking over to his
third son and raising up his chin.

“Gwendolyn’s brother, Nathaniel,” Andrew spat
out, touching his sore eyebrow. “Cuffs-a-fist and our struggle got
out of hand.”

“A fist fight?” Jordan marked expertly. “You
should have sent for me. I could have shown that boy a thing or
two.”

“Are we finished here?” Philip asked, rolling
his eyes, “There is a book I’d like to close.”

“Yes, but do not go very far Philip, we have
to leave to Gisleham in a couple of hours,” my father stated,
pulling around his desk to have a seat.

“To do what?” I asked, standing to my
feet.

My mother looked at me with round cautious
eyes, “Why, to hear Gwendolyn’s decision, Tommy.”

I remember closing my eyes, but I do not
remember stomping out of there. The next thing I know is running
towards the door and vomiting in the nearest washbasin I could
find. I fell to the floor and forced my head through my knees. I
did not realize how deeply I cared for her until that very moment.
The next thing I heard was the door opening and my mother coming to
my aid. She knelt down beside me and I flew instantly into her
arms. Her warmth and love consoled my insecurity. She caressed the
side of my head and ran her fingers through my hair.