Lord Braybrook’s Penniless Bride (21 page)

‘You heard what I said last night, didn’t you?’ she asked painfully.

His mouth tightened. ‘Yes. It’s all right, Christy. You have never had a lover so you are unused to…physical pleasure. Naturally I understand why you said it, but it is not necessary.’

Nor wanted. Worse, it was actively unwanted.

‘Then it is just…just—sex,’ she said. ‘Not—’ She broke off, forced the choking lump from her throat and continued, ‘You could find that with any woman.’ Dragging in an aching breath, she added, ‘You have always done so. I expect you will continue to do so. That was clear when you asked me to be your mistress and said that I should not be dismissed when you married.’

Blue fire froze to icy chips.

The arm withdrew and the horses were set abruptly in motion.
She shifted away from him, not daring to look after saying something so shameless.

He drove on into the golden haze of sunshine and birdsong. The hedgerows towered above their heads, full of song and bustle. Beyond the hedges a cow lowed, a boy’s voice called in the distance. It was all hollow—empty.

Eventually he broke the gaping silence. ‘You are reconciled, then, to the possibility that I will be unfaithful to you?’

She fought the urge to deny it as heat mantled her cheeks. She did not have the right. She had known the truth before she agreed to marriage. ‘Yes.’

‘And will you be unfaithful to me?’

I am not hypocrite enough to demand something of my wife that I am not prepared to give in return. Once the succession is assured, she may please herself…

She was silent for a moment, trying to imagine herself in that situation. She couldn’t imagine it. But what if Julian were to be unfaithful? Would she be able to imagine it then? Perhaps that was what marriage vows were for? To hold you firm when you
could
imagine such a thing. After all, her decisions about her behaviour were
hers
, were they not? Why should they be dependent on
his
behaviour? Those vows had been made not only to him, but to God.

‘No. I do not intend it.’

He sent her a swift unreadable glance, but said nothing.

She gritted her teeth. He had not offered a similar reassurance. Nor would she ask. If he gave it, she would not believe him, and she would have pushed him into a lie to save her feelings. The one thing of value they had between them was honesty. She was not prepared to squander it.

Four mornings later Christy walked to the village for embroidery silks. She had spent the past two days receiving bride visits. News of their return had spread and it seemed everyone wished make the acquaintance of Amberley’s new mistress.

She felt like a beetle pinned to a board for constant scrutiny.

Oh, everyone was polite enough. Offering felicitations, saying how delighted they were to make her acquaintance—and all the while she could imagine the conversations once they were safely back in their carriages.

My dear! What did he see in her? No wealth! No connections!

It’s true, then? She trapped him?

Who had trapped whom? Did it matter? She was married. Safe. Secure. Her husband was kind to her. He was honest. Too honest to permit her to deceive herself with dreams of love.

He was being very careful to make his position clear. Despite coming to her bed each night to make—for
sex
, he did not remain afterwards. He bedded her passionately and skilfully, leaving her limp and exhausted with pleasure, and then he left. As though he wished to make sure his behaviour mirrored what he felt: nothing.

One day she might learn to be grateful for his honesty, rather than feeling as though a small piece of herself died every time he left her sleepless in an empty bed.

What mattered now was that they had an invitation to dinner the following night at Postleton Manor.

I should be delighted if you could attend
, had gushed Lady Postleton.
It is not to be a grand occasion. Just a few people who would be honoured to make your acquaintance.

The hypocrisy sickened her.
Not my acquaintance. It’s the new Lady Braybrook they want…
Nothing would give her greater pleasure than to decline the invitation, but that was impossible. Julian had been pleased.
Good. You’ll soon be established.
If they ever found out what she was, she would be unestablished in a heartbeat.

The bell jangled as she entered the shop and predictably Mr Wilkins greeted her with oily subservience, bowing low. To her annoyance he followed her around the shop, rubbing his hands together. By the time she left with her embroidery silks, having arranged the delivery of several dress lengths, she was urgently needing fresh air.

In the village street she saw Nan Roberts. On an impulse, she stepped across. ‘Good morning, Nan. Are you well?’

Nan went pink, nodding shyly.

‘And your mama? Is she well?’

Another shy nod. ‘Yes.’ Then in a rush of confidence; ‘I’ve got a kitten. T’ other Lady Braybrook gave her to me.’ Nan bit her lip. ‘You can come an’ see her, if you like.’

Christy swallowed. Jane had been Braybrook’s mistress. It might be awkward, but the child was looking up at her hopefully. It was not Nan’s fault and Julian’s previous
affaires
were none of her concern. She pushed away the thought that his future infidelities were also not to be her concern. ‘I should love to see your kitten. If you are sure your mother won’t mind?’

‘Oh, no!’ Nan assured her. ‘Mam said you was nice.’

Which didn’t necessarily mean Jane would welcome a visit. Christy thought Jane Roberts looked anything but pleased when she saw who had come to call, but she greeted her politely enough.

‘Her ladyship wants to see my kitten,’ said Nan.

Jane heaved a sigh. ‘Does she now? Well, you find Puss quickly, then.

‘You ought not to be callin’ on me,’ she informed Christy bluntly as Nan went off to find the kitten. ‘Folks talk and his lordship won’t like it.’

‘If that’s all that’s bothering you, let me worry about it,’ Christy told her. ‘Has Nan had any more trouble?’

Jane shook her head. ‘No. Thanks to you and his lordship. Didn’t mean to sound unwelcoming, but I don’t want trouble for you. Not after you were so good to Nan. But since you’re here, you might as well come out in the garden. Should you care for tea or my blackberry cordial?’

‘Oh, the cordial, please.’

Jane bustled about setting a small tray with glasses and a bottle of rich, dark cordial. Nan came back with a ball of wool and a tiny striped kitten, bearing a strong resemblance to Serena’s Tyb. She showed the kitten to Christy with pride.

‘She’s all mine, an’ she’s going to keep all the mice an’ rats away.’

‘If she’s ever allowed to walk anywhere, an’ not carried and cuddled half to death!’ said Jane wryly. ‘Nan-love, you take her
ladyship through to the garden, while I bring the tray.’ Christy followed the child out into the small garden and sat down on a bench in the sun. Flowers and vegetables grew in garden beds and insects buzzed everywhere. At the end of the garden an old plum tree leaned against the wall, its leaves just beginning to turn. Nan took the kitten down there and played in the shade.

Jane poured a tumbler of cordial for each of them. ‘I make this each year. No need to worry. It’s not strong liquor.’

Christy sipped, tasting sunshine and blackberries as she watched Nan trailing wool for the kitten to pounce on.

‘She loves that kitten,’ said Jane. ‘Good of her ladyship to bring it. She’s always been kind, despite things.’

Christy said nothing. Of all women, she couldn’t imagine Serena holding Jane to account because of Julian’s affair with her. She just wished there was more she could do for Nan and Jane.

She turned, trying to think of something, something to say, to offer…and saw the wasp on the edge of Jane’s tumbler. She reached out to knock it away, but it was already at the other woman’s lips.

‘Jane—!’

With a gasp of pain Jane dropped the tumbler and batted at her mouth, knocking the wasp away. Angrily it buzzed back and Jane cried out again. And again.

‘Mam?’

‘It’s all right, Nan,’ called Christy. ‘Just a sting.’

She looked back at Jane. It wasn’t all right. Jane’s mouth looked queerly misshapen. Swollen. Swelling further as she watched.

‘Jane! Does that hurt? Can I fetch something?’

The woman felt her mouth and looked dazed. ‘Hurts,’ she said in a queer constricted voice. ‘My throat…can’t swallow properly…’

Her throat…Christy felt the blood drain from her face. ‘I’ll send Nan for the doctor.’

Dr Wharton stared down at Jane Roberts, now fighting for breath, her face and throat impossibly swollen. ‘Good God,’ he muttered, bending over the bed. Christy had assisted Jane inside
and applied a cool compress, but it hadn’t helped. Jane was losing consciousness now as she wheezed, her face purple.

‘A wasp, you say?’ said the doctor.

‘Yes!’ said Christy. ‘It was on her cordial glass.’

The doctor swore under his breath. ‘There’s nothing I can do,’ he said. ‘I’ll stay with her until it’s over. Keep the child out.’

Christy stared. ‘What? Until…’ Her stomach lurched. ‘She’s going to die?’ she whispered.

The doctor nodded. ‘Some people react badly to wasp or bee stings. Especially around the mouth and especially if it stung several times. I’ve seen it twice before.’

Jane’s eyes opened, dazed, terrified. Her mouth worked, but only a desperate wheezing came out. Her tongue was impossibly swollen. She tried again, a frantic, choked sound, her eyes clinging to Christy’s.

Christy knew what she was trying to say. What she herself would be frantic about if she were Jane. She went to the side of the bed and took Jane’s hand. The woman clung with shocking, dying strength. Her own eyes blurring with tears, Christy choked, ‘I know, Jane. It’s…it’s all right. I swear I’ll keep Nan safe for you. Is that it?’

The dying woman nodded, tightening her grip.

‘She will be safe,’ repeated Christy. ‘I’ll look after her.’

Jane squeezed her hand again and then released it.

Christy looked up at the doctor.

‘Go,’ he said. ‘You can do nothing more.’

A
quarter of an hour later Dr Wharton came out of the bedroom, his face grim. Christy’s unspoken hope faded. Nan, clinging to her, burst into tears at the doctor’s expression and Christy held her, conscious of her own tears. There was nothing she could say.

‘I’m sorry,’ said the doctor. ‘There was nothing to be done.’ He looked at Christy and the sobbing child in her arms. ‘Kind of you to ease her worries, but I’m aware of how embarrassing this could be for you. I’ll make arrangements for the child, Lady Braybrook. No need to concern yourself. An orphanage will take her if her mother’s family won’t do it. My housekeeper will look after her tonight and I’ll see to it all tomorrow.’

Sick understanding came to her, as Nan’s grief-stricken sobs redoubled.

‘You misunderstand, sir,’ she said, rising to her feet with Nan still in her arms. ‘Those were not empty words to comfort a dying woman; I meant it. By all means speak to Mrs Roberts’s family, but unless Nan’s maternal relations can provide her with a safe and happy home, she will remain with me. If…if you would speak to the Vicar to…to arrange the funeral? I will send a servant to collect Nan’s belongings. She will come home with me now.’

The doctor’s eyes widened. ‘Ah, Lady Braybrook, it may…er, have you fully considered? His lordship—!’

The door crashed open, and Christy, her arms full of the still-weeping child, turned to find her husband in the doorway.

‘What the devil is going on?’ he asked. ‘The village was full of some story that Jane is ill. Christy?’

Wharton stepped forward, his face stiff with embarrassment. ‘My lord—a most tragic occurrence, but I fear her ladyship does not quite—’

‘What tragic occurrence?’ snapped Julian.

‘Mam! Mam!’
sobbed Nan.

A queer look crossed Julian’s face and his hand stretched out to the child. ‘Nan?’

Doctor Wharton spoke again. ‘Jane Roberts is dead, my lord.’

The hand fell. Julian turned to the doctor, his face white.

‘
Dead?
How?’

Christy intervened. Nan did not need to hear the details. ‘My lord—is your curricle outside?’

‘My—?’ He looked at her. ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’

‘Good. Nan and I shall await you in it. Please bring her belongings and don’t forget the kitten.’

His jaw dropped. ‘Bring her—’

Doctor Wharton flushed. ‘As I was saying, my lord, her ladyship does not comprehend the, er,
delicacy
of the situation. I can make all arrangements for the, er,
housing
—’

Christy moved towards the door and Nan, realising, screamed,
‘Mam! I want Mam!,’
fresh tears pouring down her face. Christy’s eyes burned as she held Nan securely, her own voice choking on useless words of reassurance. What comfort could there be? She stepped out into the small garden strip. It seemed impossible, wrong, that the sun still shone, that a blackbird was whistling in carefree abandon.

Julian’s groom, Twigg, stared at them in surprise and Christy noticed a gaggle of curious villagers standing at a distance. She ignored them and went to the curricle.

‘Stay at their heads,’ she told Twigg, and lifted Nan to the seat,
stepping in after her and lifting the child back into her lap. All she could think was that the child needed to be held. Her screams had died to a low sobbing, and she lay limp in Christy’s arms, her face stained and her eyes reddened.

A short time later, Julian came out with the doctor. Between them they carried a small trunk. In addition, Julian held a small closed basket. The trunk they placed in the boot, but Julian handed the basket up to Christy. It yowled indignantly.

‘The kitten,’ he said in an expressionless voice.

Nan stirred at that and Christy spoke gently. ‘Best to leave Puss in the basket so we don’t lose her on the way home.’

In the act of stepping into the curricle, Julian looked at her sharply, but said nothing. Nan nodded, and lay, silent now, in Christy’s arms.

‘You’ll make the funeral arrangements with the Vicar, then, Wharton,’ said Julian. ‘You may leave the rest in my hands.’

Wharton nodded. ‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Let ’em go, Twigg!’

‘Where is Nan?’

Julian didn’t turn around as he asked this question, but continued staring out of the window unseeingly. After arriving home he had told Christy to see to Nan and then to come to him in the library. That had been an hour ago.

‘In the nursery. It seemed the best place for her.’

He turned, and his chest constricted at the pain in her white face and red-rimmed eyes. He braced himself to deliver the blow she must be expecting.

‘Christy—this was unwise. She cannot remain here.’

Her eyes sparked defiance. ‘Then Nan is unfortunate in her father!’

A blow straight to the heart of the matter.

Grimly, he reminded himself that his wife should have no say in this. He didn’t even owe her an explanation—least of all an explanation she was almost certain to dismiss as a lie. And yet…

‘You’re quite correct,’ he said quietly. ‘Nan was unlucky in her father, but, contrary to what most people believe, she is not my daughter.’

Christy’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Not—?’ she began. ‘Oh,
please
—!’

He steeled himself against the bitter disbelief. Pain banded his heart. There was no reason for her to believe him. He did not doubt that in the end she would accept his word, but in the meantime—

‘Your
father
?’

The icy bands around his heart snapped, and his fist clenched on the table.

‘You believe me?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘You’ve never lied to me. Not once. Why would you lie about this? To me of all people?’

He sighed. ‘Yes. Nan is my half-sister,’ he said. ‘But most people believe her to be my daughter. You remember Jane was married to a farmer? His second marriage and he had three daughters by his first wife. Jane’s marriage was barren. Naturally Tom blamed her.’

‘How surprising,’ said Christy with more than a touch of sarcasm.

Julian continued to explain. ‘The fellow did have three daughters from the first marriage, remember.’

Christy didn’t respond.

This was the tricky bit. ‘Has Serena told you much about my father?’

She shook her head. ‘No. I’ve, er, gathered he was somewhat autocratic.’

‘He was indeed,’ said Julian.

‘A family trait, perhaps?’

Ignoring that, he went on. ‘He was one of the old school. A good man, though, and after Serena’s accident when the doctors said it would be extremely dangerous for her to have any more children, naturally he looked elsewhere for his—’ He stopped, unable to think of a polite way of putting it.

‘Amusements?’ suggested Christy. ‘Entertainment? I’ve noticed men do tend to think of women in those terms.’

Stung, Julian said bluntly, ‘Shall we say sexual release, then?’ Dammit! Did she believe he thought of
her
as entertainment?

She blushed crimson, but her chin lifted a notch. ‘If you wish. It is at least honest. Do please continue.’

‘My father had an affair with Jane and she became pregnant. She told him she was pregnant, and broke off the affair. Neither of them was particularly concerned. In fact, it was impossible to know for certain then who
had
fathered the babe. Jane was married, Tom still bedded her regularly and he was cock-a-hoop to think he’d finally got her with child.’

‘And when Nan was born? What did he think then?’

‘He was dead,’ Julian told her. ‘Nan was born in the winter, and he had died in a tree-felling accident the previous autumn. Under the circumstances, and Tom having been one of our tenants but with no son to take on the farm, my father provided for Jane with the cottage and a pension. When he died three years ago, I continued the arrangement. But by then it was obvious that Nan could not be Tom’s daughter.’ He hesitated. ‘The resemblance—’

‘Is remarkable.’

‘Since Jane was my father’s only indiscretion for many years, people assumed I was the father. My father asked me to let it stand.’

‘Why?’

‘He was fond of Serena. He didn’t want her to be hurt, especially after her accident—and everyone assumed me to be responsible anyway.’ he shrugged. ‘My reputation helped.’

‘And Lady Braybrook?’

‘I assume she believes Nan to be mine.’

‘I see.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘But this makes no difference. She is your half-sister instead of your daughter. As much your sister as Emma or Lissy.’

He had to make her see what it would cost if she kept the child. ‘Christy, we are to dine at Postleton Manor tomorrow. Can you imagine the conversation? By then people will know of Jane’s death, that you were with her and have taken her daughter. If you keep her, then people will whisper that I thought no better of my
bride than to ask her to raise my by-blow! There has been enough talk about our marriage without that!’

She went white and an appalling silence echoed.

‘And I suppose,’ she said after a moment, in unconvincingly calm tones, ‘someone might even discover that you had been obliged to marry someone else’s by-blow?’

The ugly word festered between them.

‘Damn it, Christy—I didn’t mean it like that.’ But how the hell
had
he meant it?

She appeared to share his scepticism. ‘Oh? I wouldn’t have thought there were so very many interpretations,’ she said quietly. ‘You will excuse me, my lord. I ought to return to Nan.’

Gritting his teeth, Julian managed a brief nod and watched as she left the room. Would Serena be able to talk sense into Christy? Make her realise the gossip she would face with her position already so precarious. Curse it! He was trying to protect her!

If he could arrange a decent home for the child…a decent home with Jane’s brother and his wife. Carter was a good, upright fellow, if a trifle unbending. His wife was known for her good works, and they had older children. Nan would be safe with them. God knew he wanted her safe as much as Christy did. He could provide a weekly sum for her upkeep, even a capital sum in trust to serve as her dowry…He’d arrange it now and send for the Carters. If Christy met them, surely then she would see it was for the best.

And why the hell was he even hesitating? It was his decision and it
was
for the best. Particularly for Christy. He strode over to his desk and sat down, pulling paper and the standish towards him. He’d settle this here and now. A groom could deliver his letter and wait for a reply.

Christy found Nan still huddled in the chair she had left her in with the kitten sleeping in her lap, petting it, her face blank. Beth got up from her own chair as she came in.

‘She’s not said a word, m’lady,’ whispered the maid. ‘Just sits there stroking the kitten.’ She shook her head. ‘Poor little thing.
What’ll happen to her? Tisn’t like anyone will want her, what with all the talk.’

Something inside Christy that had been close to breaking, stiffened, hardening into renewed resolve.
I want her.
‘Nan will be cared for.’ She said it firmly, strongly. As much to convince herself as anyone else. She had given Jane her word.

‘Shall I fetch some mending, m’lady?’ offered Beth. ‘I could sit with her a bit. She shouldn’t be left alone, should she?’

‘No, she shouldn’t,’ agreed Christy softly. ‘I’ll stay…’ She hesitated. ‘Fetch that mending, Beth. It would be nice to have someone to talk to, or I might have to leave.’

Beth dropped a curtsy and left.

How did you comfort a child whose mother had just died? She noticed the untouched bread and butter on the table. ‘Do you want your bread and butter, Nan?’

A quick shake of the black head, but she said nothing. Only the small hands moved, stroking the kitten.

There were toys in the room, a plethora of them. A large, battered, dapple-grey rocking horse. In one corner stood a collection of wooden swords, ranging from quite well-carved efforts to a very simple one consisting of a short piece of wood nailed at right angles to a long one. A table with a dolls’ house, elegantly furnished. An old Noah’s Ark. A bookcase stuffed with books. Here were dreams and fantasies for a dozen children. But not this little girl whose small, safe world had fractured into nightmare.

Christy looked around desperately.
She
didn’t know what to do. What did she know about small children? There had been Sarah…what had she done when Sarah had been sad? She had held her. Let her know she was safe and secure. And when Sarah had died, her small frame racked with fever, she and their mother had held her then too. So there should be someone to hold Nan. Someone to comfort her. What was God
thinking
to do this to the child? If He was going to take her mother, then He damn well should have provided someone else for her!

He had provided Christy.

So she walked to the chair, bent down, lifted Nan into her arms
and sat down. There was a moment’s frozen stillness and then Nan fought her, screaming, the unnatural calm broken into glittering shards. Shocked, the kitten leapt to life, scuttling for cover under a table.

Christy hung on, ignoring the feet battering her shins, holding the child’s arms close to her body, speaking softly…nonsense…anything…aware her own tears had escaped, that she was crying as hard as Nan and that something inside that she had tried to hold inviolate had shattered irrevocably. And it hurt far more than she could have possibly believed.

Running footsteps sounded and Beth burst into the room, her eyes wide.

‘Oh, m’lady! Here—I’ll take her!’

Christy shook her head. ‘No. I’ll manage.’

At last Nan had fought and struggled herself into exhaustion and lay limp and sobbing in Christy’s arms. Christy just held her silently, stroking the tangled black curls with a shaking hand. She had no more reassurances to whisper, and Nan seemed not to need it. The storm had passed for now and the child drifted towards sleep, the small body growing heavier in Christy’s arms.

Beth who had sat quietly in a corner occupied with the mending, looked up.