Fortune Knocks Once (18 page)

Should she write to him and tell him that his child, the child he didn’t know about, was growing and thriving? Charlotte reflected on her inability to contact him, to give him the news he deserved to hear.

Every day she determined to write Colin and tell him about her pregnancy, knowing it wasn’t right to deny him that knowledge. But despite the calm compromise she had reached in her feelings toward him, despite her conscience nagging her to take action, despite an aching wish to share her joyous news with the person she still loved above all others, she had not written him.

And so every day passed without any communication between them. As she continued her walk down the long hallway through Kilkenny Castle, she wondered how long this could continue and who would write first. She sighed deeply and set her shoulders without missing a step. Determined to maintain her composure, she shifted her thoughts to getting ready for Lizzie’s visit.

A guest room must be made ready and linens cleaned and prepared. Everything must be in readiness for Lizzie’s comfort. Charlotte hoped to entice her to stay until the baby was born.

Oh, I need to see Lizzie! She will bring life to this decrepit old castle. Being with her helps me forget about him and enjoy what I have.

Charlotte bustled off to continue her relatively new and hard-won strategy of keeping busy to handle the underlying pain of Colin’s absence. She was also harboring deep in her heart the guilty knowledge that part of her eagerness to see Lizze was knowing that when Lizzie arrived she would bring news of Colin.

In faraway London, the drapes of the room were drawn, blocking all light and casting the room in darkness and shadows, despite the fact that it had to be late morning or early in the afternoon. Typical of what my life has become, Colin reflected morosely, thinking about the days since Charlotte had left him and returned to Kilkenny. Days spent in a somber, dark house closed off from the rest of the world, with nights spent unsuccessfully trying to sleep. He lay in his bed staring at the ceiling, eyes wide but seeing nothing.

He likened himself to an ominous character in a Gothic novel, brooding, never leaving the house except at night, seeing no one, roaming around, unable to sleep or eat. But at least he had not succumbed…hadn’t given in. He would beat this thing and then go home and she would welcome him back and they would return to those halcyon days in Ireland.

The first few days without any alcohol had been brutal. Only by walking the streets of London had he been able to keep from giving up and imbibing. Now he roamed the house trying any distraction to keep from seeking out his reprobate friends. He hungered for the oblivion of drink, the blessed insensibility, but restrained the craving, fought it back, hour by hour, knowing the sought-after relief was always temporary and the ever-returning craving was insatiable and unrelenting.

He had smashed every bottle of drink in the house during the first 24 hours of his abstinence. Oh, how he had reveled in the smell – brandy, whiskey, rum - it permeated each room after the violence of the glass bottle or decanter crashing to the floor. He snorted in contempt at himself. For two days, he wouldn’t let the servants clean up the mess in the library so he could retreat there when the quivers and quakes of his body threatened to overtake his control. Then he would wallow in the lingering odor of the spirits, sniffing the air, imaging relief, drowning in a temporary illusion of his senses sated by drink.

The servants had avoided him during those first few days but there was now a tenuous peace in the house and he no longer raged over minor disturbances. He was drinking copious amounts of tea and coffee and just a little small beer once a day, but he was eating almost nothing. His stomach roiled at the thought of food. A few more weeks of this and I’ll be skin and bones, he thought. Reluctantly he remembered how Charlotte liked to run her hands over his naked muscled chest, massage the strong cords of his forearms and grip his taunt strong buttocks during sex. Need to stay away from those thoughts, he reflected quietly, depression creeping over him. Wasted energy since a body can only take so much self-abuse.

He rolled to the side of the bed, swung his legs to the floor and looked down at his shaking hands clutching his knees tightly. Was the shaking decreasing? He wished he had someone to ask whether it was getting better, someone to confide in, someone to help him through this - like Gil.

Gil had never returned, the turncoat!

She had come into his life and changed everything, usurped his home and his companion. Completely changed his financials. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had thought about money. That used to take all his time – the worrying, the agonizing, the planning that could never be realized, all that agonizing was all over. And now that didn’t even seem important. It had consumed his life for years and now it seemed minor compared to her—her presence, her being there.

How many days has it been since his last drink? Enough that he wasn’t counting the hours any more, he knew that. That was good, right? Now he would count the days and eventually—hopefully one day soon—he would spend a day without hungering for just a taste. He would forget, forget to want it. Then he would go home.

~~~

Charlotte and Lizzie were sitting on the garden terrace watching an army of gardeners working diligently to transform the still overgrown grounds into the cultivated walking park Charlotte had envisioned and planned. Both sat in an apparent state of relaxation but at least one of them did not completely feel.

“Later we will walk. It is important for you to stay active until the big event,” Lizzie drawled as she adjusted her bonnet to shield her face from the sun.

“N-no walking today Lizzie,” Charlotte whispered softly. “I think I should rest. I f-f-f-eel tired.” Charlotte didn’t want to reveal to Lizzie that she had been feeling strange pains all day since being rudely jerked awake by the force of them that morning. The pains had subsided but occasionally a strong one gripped her and she feared what was happening to her body and her baby.

I can’t tell her. I can’t say it aloud. If I just rest everything will be fine. The baby will be fine. I must stay calm.

“Is everything all right, darling?” Lizzie said with concern, quickly sitting upright and facing Charlotte.

Charlotte slowly nodded her head and smiled at her. But the smile was forced and did not for one minute fool Lizzie.

“Charlotte dear, tell me what’s wrong. I can tell by your face that all is most definitely not well.” Lizzie rose from her chair and moved beside Charlotte’s chair where she knelt down and grasped Charlotte’s hand.

“It is n-n-nothing. I am sure it is nothing,” Charlotte whispered so softly Lizzie could barely hear her.

Lizzie stared intently into Charlotte’s face for several prolonged seconds, then stood up and authoritatively and firmly spoke. “I am sending for the doctor.”

Charlotte stared at her with agony in her eyes, her hands trembling, her heart throbbing almost audibly and then nodded her head again. This time she made no effort to smile.

Colin sat in the library of his home in London, raking his fingers through his hair and trying to focus on papers his solicitors had sent over to be signed. He found himself spending far too much of his time now thinking about how much he missed Charlotte – missed her horribly. As the hunger for liquor ebbed, the hunger for her increased.

He realized the empty ache of loneliness he felt had been there long before she left London. He simply hadn’t recognized it for what it was. It was the drink that had kept him from feeling, he thought remorsefully. When he was drunk he didn’t feel anything. He used to welcome that relief. But he could no longer indulge himself that way.

Before - before Charlotte - he had no pleasant memories to nag at his consciousness, to tease his desire and disrupt his usual satisfactory drunken stupor. That avenue of escape was now closed to him – forever.

Nothing was keeping him in London any longer. He could face her sober and honestly now. He had not taken a drink in weeks and yet still he delayed going home.

Her uncle’s suit had come before the bar and been settled quickly. Once testimony had been given by the drunken, cursing, crude Treadwell and countered by the respectable members of Society Colin’s solicitor had provided, the petition to render the marriage invalid had been dismissed and all was settled to Colin’s satisfaction. Charlotte was now legally and officially his. In name anyway, he thought disconsolately.

He missed the amusement and enchantment they had shared during that blissful honeymoon at Kilkenny. At no other time in his life, and with no one else had he ever felt the way Charlotte had made him feel.

He knew that now it was only pride that kept him from going to her and begging her forgiveness…pride… and fear. Could he risk that she would send him away and refuse to forgive him? Could he face living in London without her if he knew she wouldn’t have him back? He knew that staying put, clinging to the hope that he could go home eventually and all would be as it was before, was in vain. But he felt powerless to do otherwise.

A knock on the door pulled him out of his deliberations. At Colin’s brusque demand to enter, Gil walked briskly into the room. Colin’s face brightened, a broad smile swamped his face and he jumped up from his chair to greet his servant eagerly. “Gil, good to see you. When did you arrive? Is everyone well at home?”

Then suddenly realizing he was revealing the depths of his feelings, he pulled back and tried to hide his impatience to hear about Charlotte and asked more calmly, “Why are you here?”

“I’m here to tell you the news you need to know, boyo. And sorry I am, ma lord – but it’s no good news. Her ladyship is poorly and has lost the babe. Lady Elizabeth is with her now but I figured you should be there. She needs you, she does. I come to get you, boy.”

Colin stared at Gil in shock and disbelieve, his face contorted in a scowl.

“What are you talking about, Gil?” Colin asked softly with a tinge of menace.

Gil stepped up to Colin, so close they were almost touching and scowled back at him.

“Well, I’ve put my foot in it now, but much as I think you acted the scoundrel and deserve a sound whipping, t’were your babe and you‘ve a right and duty to be there.”

Without moving an inch, Colin glared down into his servant’s face.

“Are you telling me that Charlotte was with child and now she is not?” Colin’s voice rose in anger. “And you knew, Elizabeth knew, but no one thought I should be party to that intelligence? Of all the impertinence,” Colin ranted in frustration, his anger increasing and turned from Gil in disgust to pace the floor.

Gil grabbed Colin’s arm and turned him back. “Stop, sir.” Gil said quietly but sternly. “With respect, your lady is not well. She needs ya. I tried to tell you about it once and you wouldn’t listen, so don’t go thinking I kept secrets from you intentionally. It weren’t like that.”

Colin turned away from him, turned in circles several times, paced back and forth, stopping to glare at Gil several times, all the while stroking his hair in exasperation. Then he slowly gained control of his temper and barked at Gil, “We leave immediately.”

He strode from the room but stopped at the door, his hand on the doorknob, and turned abruptly back to Gil, saying softly, “She will be all right, won’t she Gil?”

The concern in his voice caused Gil’s face to soften. “Not my place to say, sir. Let’s just get there and sort it out then,” Gil replied. And with that both men quickly set out to prepare for the trip home.