Once an Innocent (32 page)

There was a terrible moment when Naomi was certain her hearing had been damaged during her recent ordeal. Perhaps too much blood had pooled in her head while she was observing the world from a bat’s perspective, causing her to hear her aunt incorrectly. Maybe a tiny pebble had jammed in her ear when she’d rolled across the road. Brain damage was a possibility, as well.

Aunt Janine blinked owlishly and pursed her lips. Her chest puffed on a deep inhalation, drawing Naomi’s attention to her attire. Wide, horizontal pleats of — good heavens, was that silk? — encased Auntie’s torso, giving definition to her shape and emphasizing her bosom. The neckline of the aubergine dress dipped demurely, revealing just a hint of cleavage. The dress was downright fashionable. Her hair was still an unruly pile of silvery tresses atop her head, but it was a fetching counterpoint to the dress’s strong lines.

She looked lovely. Radiant, even.

A bubble of mirth rose in Naomi’s chest and she struggled to restrain it. She let out an undignified squeak.

Aunt Janine’s cheeks flushed. “I suppose you think I’m too old to go trolloping about?”

Naomi shook her head, failing to contain a stream of giggles. “You’re so academic about it!
Embarked on an affair.
What does that mean? Are you going to marry Sir Randell?”

Aunt Janine snorted. Rising, she crossed to the window, pulled back the curtain, and opened the pane, allowing fresh, cool air to fill the room.

“Four days ago, we were on our way to Gretna Green, eloping, like a couple of young nincompoops.”

“Aw, I think it’s romantic, Auntie.” Naomi turned on her side and rested her cheek on her hands. “So you’re already married?”

“Ha! Thankfully, I snapped out of the sexual thrall Randell had cast over me and came to my senses before we crossed the border.”

It was Naomi’s turn to blush fiercely. Usually, she loved Aunt Janine’s plain speaking, but really. There were limits to what a niece wished to hear.

Janine picked up Naomi’s brush and turned it in her hands. “All my life, I’ve spoken against marriage. The institution was made by men, for men. Inequity is inherent to the married condition, and I refuse to put myself in such an unfavorable situation.”

Naomi thought about Jordan, of course. He was bossy at times. He’d expected her to fall in line and obey his edicts about his ward. Then she remembered him beneath her in the forest, helpless against her feminine power. There had been plenty of times of balance, too, such as when they conspired together to spin a ridiculous tale about an ailing primrose.

“There can be equality in a marriage, Auntie,” she pointed out. “Look at Marshall and Isabelle.” A dull pain thumped in her chest when she thought about her brother and sister-in-law. Being ousted from her home wasn’t as bitter anymore, though, not now that she had Lintern Abbey, a new home to call her own.

Aunt Janine set down the brush. “As much as I dislike Caro, it was inevitable that her sons grew up with a healthy respect for women, and for you to expect the same from a man. But most men don’t feel that way.” With a sigh, she sat down again. “Anyway, I told Randell I wouldn’t marry him. He shall be my companion but never my husband. We shall set up house somewhere, I suppose. Neither of us thinks tramping back and forth across the countryside for assignations has any long-term appeal.”

“Oh. All right.” Naomi couldn’t think of another thing to say. It would be worthless to point out the impropriety of Auntie’s plan. Janine had never cared about society’s opinion. “Congratulations?”

Auntie’s sudden laugh was sharp. “As good as anything. I’ll take it.”

Naomi’s gaze went to the door. She didn’t expect Jordan to have sat at her bedside the entire duration of her crisis, but it would be nice if he made an appearance. “Will you ring for Brenna, please?” she asked. “I’d like to freshen up a bit before I see Jordan.”

“Take your time freshening up,” Janine said as she crossed to the bell pull. “Freese is in London.”

Naomi frowned. “Why?”

“Something to do with that awful French brat, I expect,” Janine replied. “Here, he left this for you.” She handed Naomi a letter with her name scrawled in a strong, dark hand.

Disappointment sank her spirits somewhat. She wanted to see her soon-to-be husband, to feel the comfort of his strong arms around her, keeping her safe.

Remembering how he’d appeared like her own champion atop a destrier and brought a swift and decisive end to Henri’s torment helped her feel a little better. She turned the note over in her hands. A love letter, perhaps?

Brenna appeared, and Aunt Janine slipped out. While her maid went to fetch water for washing, Naomi broke the seal on Jordan’s letter.

There wasn’t much to it. Only a couple dozen words. Just a few lines to shatter her heart.

It was a heavy-hearted Isabelle who slipped into the master bedchamber. Well, she tried to slip in. Her enormous belly clipped the door and flung it wide open.

Marshall, wrapped in a dressing gown, sat before the fire in his favorite chair, a glass of brandy dangling from his fingertips. Lean, bare legs stretched toward the warmth of the hearth. Firelight danced across his features, highlighting his striking profile. Strong cheekbones and a straight nose revealed his aristocratic blood. A finger absently traced the bottom of his sensual lips.

Despite the night’s sorrows, Isabelle felt a flutter in her chest at the sight of her beautiful husband.

As she crossed the room, he set his glass aside. Without an exchange of words, he knew she needed the comfort of his arms. “How is she?” he asked as he settled her into his lap.

Nestling her head beneath his chin, Isabelle took a few seconds to breathe in his warm, musky scent. Strong, slender fingers worked into her hair and lightly grazed her scalp. She melted into his touch, content to let him hold the weight of her ungainly body.

“Caro is with her now, but I don’t think she’ll succeed where we have not. Naomi didn’t tell me anything you don’t already know.”

Marshall grunted. “It was the same when I brought her home. She slept most of the way and held Aunt Janine’s hand whenever she was awake. The letter Jordan sent me was harrowing enough. Living through the ordeal was certainly far more traumatic. Given that this is the second time she’s endured something like this … ”

A shudder racked his body. Isabelle knew he was fearful for his sister’s health. In time, the shocking bruises and cuts marring her body would heal. It was her spirit Isabelle was worried about. She hoped this experience hadn’t damaged the sweet nature that made Naomi the bright heart of their family.

A certain someone kicked her spleen; Isabelle winced. “Maybe the baby will help cheer Naomi. I, for one, can’t wait to hold this little one in my arms, rather than in my torso. I look forward to letting the rest of you share the burden, too.”

Marshall’s lips twitched. His broad hand spread over her belly. For a few minutes, they were quiet and still, both of them marveling at the movement of the infant in her womb. For the larger part, the shine had worn off of pregnancy. Isabelle was tired and achy all the time. She couldn’t have a cup of tea without running for the privy, to say nothing of how every sip or bite of food set off blazing dyspepsia. Still, moments like these helped her remember the magic of new life. Everything else was relegated to background noise as she was washed in love for her husband and child. It was truly humbling, and she prayed Naomi might find the same healing peace in her life.

• • •

By her reckoning, Naomi had been home a week. It took some figuring to arrive at that conclusion, as days and nights blurred together in the haze surrounding her. Marshall had come for her the morning after she’d awakened. It felt to her that it had been only a week since The Incident, but then she had to figure back in the four days she’d lost in a drugged sleep.

Eleven days, then.

In the grand scheme of things, eleven days was no time at all, but it felt as though her heart had been broken forever.

Eleven days ago, Jordan had put words to paper calling off their blip of an engagement. He’d left her while she slept, oblivious to the pain that would make all her injuries put together seem like a stubbed toe by comparison. Part of Naomi wished she could return to that blissful place of unknowing. She would gladly relive every one of her hellish nightmares, if only her heart could feel whole again.

This has been a terrible mistake. I cannot marry you. You won’t believe me, but this is for the best. Please do not argue the point. I’m so sorry for everything that transpired.

Within a minute of opening the note, she’d committed it to memory. Inside an hour, it was branded onto her heart, pulsing anguish into her bloodstream with every beat.

It was all she could do to keep the darkness from overwhelming her. She tried to fortify herself against the pain, attempted to build a wall around her heart. Sometimes, she felt blissfully numb. Other times, like now, despair found chinks in the mortar and flooded her until she almost choked on it.

A harsh inhalation dragged down her throat to inflate unwilling lungs.

Isabelle’s fork clattered on her plate. A hand shot out to grasp Naomi’s arm. “Are you all right?”

Naomi blinked slowly and looked around the breakfast table. The anxious eyes of her family took in her untouched food and the dark circles beneath her eyes. She knew they were worried.

Most of her bruises had faded to a yellowish-green, and the bridge of her nose was just a bit swollen. Her melancholy was their primary concern now. They all believed The Incident to be the source of her depression, and she let them continue in that misapprehension. She hadn’t told anyone what had transpired between Jordan and herself, and she wouldn’t.

Nothing happened.
She recalled his forceful insistence that she deny the garden shed shooting, couched in the guise of lessons for carrying on a liaison. Part of such an affair was, evidently, denial. To act as if it had never happened. To deny him. To deny
them
.

Could she deny her love? He was all too ready to deny his, if, in fact, he’d ever actually felt anything for her. How could she be sure, when he so easily threw her over after she’d given him her virginity? After he’d promised her marriage? A true gentleman never broke off an engagement. Never.

She prodded listlessly at the fried potatoes on her plate. Naomi had no appetite for food, or anything else.

“There you are!” Isabelle said, rising from her seat. “Did you sleep well?”

Naomi followed her sister-in-law’s progress across the morning room as she greeted two newcomers. The Viscount and Viscountess Thorburn stopped just inside the door to accept Isabelle’s welcome. Marshall, Aunt Janine, Sir Randell, and Caro all stood, as well.

Naomi frowned. “Lily?” She rose and drifted to the congregated friends. Lily took Naomi’s hands and kissed her cheeks.

The viscountess looked lovely in a morning dress of rich ivory patterned with crimson roses. Her chestnut hair fell in loose waves to just beneath her ample bosom, with the top portion held back by combs.

“What are you doing here?” Naomi asked. “When did you arrive?”

Isabelle stepped back from accepting handsome Ethan Helling’s warm greetings and touched Naomi’s shoulder. “They arrived late last night. I told you several days ago that Lily and Ethan would be joining us. Remember?”

The too-bright smile told Naomi she
should
remember. But she didn’t. Every day was a blank slate. Naomi awoke remembering nothing past the letter.

Lily put her arm around Naomi and hugged her shoulders. “Never mind that. We’re all together now. Naomi, you and I will have our hands full with a nephew or niece to spoil senseless.” The tall lady led Naomi toward the buffet. “What’s good for breakfast? Let’s see … bacon, kidneys, porridge, e —
hurr
.” Lily made a heaving sound. She clapped her hand over her mouth and ran from the room.

Ethan Helling, Viscount Thorburn, spread a cat-that-got-the-cream grin around the room. “Surprise!” he exclaimed, his slate-blue eyes dancing with delight. “We’re expecting, too.” A second of silence was followed by exclamations of congratulations.

Naomi mouthed the right words, but she couldn’t put any real heart behind her felicitations. While her dearest friends were happily married and expanding their families, Naomi felt lonelier than she ever had before. If she couldn’t have marriage and children with Jordan, then she simply would never have them at all.

• • •

Several days later, a fire crackled in the drawing-room hearth. Naomi stared into the flames, her eyes parched from the heat. Still, she kept her lids open, forcing her vision to offer up a glimpse of the only face she cared to see. If a hot tear slid down her cheek, dry eyes were certainly the culprit.

Elsewhere in the room, someone sighed heavily.

“The rest of you may act like there’s been a death in the family,” Lily said testily, “but there hasn’t been, and I won’t. Out with it, Naomi.”

Isabelle waved a hand at her best friend. “Hush, Lily. She doesn’t have to talk about it unless she wants to.”

Lily snorted. “Being a good hostage is old hat to our Naomi by now. If any of us is equipped to handle such a situation with aplomb, it’s your sister. No, I don’t think that’s the trouble.”

Naomi scowled even more fiercely at the fireplace. Lily was just an irritating noise in the background. No words could touch the fortification around her heart.

“Of course, the trouble is a man,” Lily continued. “They instigate most of the world’s ills, so I always look to that sex first when seeking to determine the source of any particular problem.”

Traitorously, Naomi’s lips twitched.

“Ah-ha!” Lily exclaimed in triumph. “I knew it.” She wiggled in her seat. “Now, then, as Jordan Atherton was by far the most intriguing gentleman at this house party, I’d wager that’s where we can lay the blame for the tormented state of the soul before us, Isabelle.” Lily paused. “How have I done, Naomi?” she asked coolly. “Are you in love with Lord Freese?”