Realm 07 - A Touch of Honor (4 page)

Satiné thought of the bitter argument she had shared with his mother, but she could not speak of what had driven her from Lady Fiona’s favor unless the baron broached the subject first. She dropped her eyes in feigned submission. “You pay me an unearned honor,” she said softly.

“If I had my way, I would drape you in gold and jewels and little else,” he whispered seductively close to her ear.

“Baron!” she gasped. The thought of knowing John Swenton intimately frightened her. Her limited experience had been less than delightful–painful, in fact. If asked, Satiné would deny any man access to her person again, but she knew realistically, once she married the baron, he would have the legal right to claim his husbandly privileges. Despite her best efforts, she could not stifle the shudder, which rushed down her spine. “You should not speak so boldly.”

“I know.” The baron patted the back of her hand. “You will soon discover, my Dear, I am rarely a patient man, but when it comes to you, I will shed my shield of eagerness.”

Although the thought of performing her wifely duties repulsed her, Satiné liked the idea of the baron’s fascination with her. She could use his response to her benefit. “It might be wise if you speak to my physician prior to our joining,” she coyly suggested. “I would never wish to displease you. Mayhap Doctor Berhardt could more appropriately explain what intimacies we might expect with our vows.”

The baron’s expression remained closemouthed. He tilted his head to one side, obviously considering her motives. Finally, he said, “Yours is an excellent suggestion. If you will provide the man’s directions, I will make a point of seeking his advice.”

Satiné breathed easier. She hoped Doctor Berhardt would speak as honestly to Baron Swenton as he had to her. She had been mortified when the physician had described how foolishly she had been in choosing an intimate partner without the privilege of marriage vows, as well as the consequences of multiple contacts. “Thank you, John,” she whispered. “I appreciate how abiding you have been in a most difficult situation.”

*

Mr. Eggers had not appeared pleased with John’s decision to permit Miss Satiné to choose from his mother’s jewelry, but as the future baroness, the lady would eventually receive Lady Fiona’s jewels, as well as those from the Swenton side of the family. She had chosen an emerald and diamond ring. It was more ornate than what he would have selected for her, but John supposed after the scandal, his lady wished to declare her return to the world. He had asked Eggers to set aside a matching necklace, earrings, brooch, and bracelet so John might present them to Miss Satiné once she became his wife. The emeralds were exquisitely cut, and they would emphasize the deep green of his lady’s eyes.

John had hoped to spend several hours with her, but when Miss Aldridge sagged heavily against him, he had hailed a carriage and escorted her home. He prayed for Miss Satiné’s ability to withstand the journey to England. He congratulated himself on having chosen to travel by ship rather than traversing the nearly one thousand miles by coach. “I pray you are not too exhausted,” he said encouragingly as they climbed the main steps to her residence. “The prince has contacted a clergyman for our services. As many in Vienna are either Catholic or Lutheran, finding a Protestant cleric was a bit troublesome.”

“Perhaps we should wait until our arrival in England,” she said with a hopeful tone, which set John’s emotions upon alert.

He stopped before he released the knocker. “I understand,” he said with more calmness than his heart felt, “that our joining is not the one you would have chosen if not for the circumstances, but it would do me well to observe your willingness to make our marriage a complete one. That means we each much abandon our youthful imaginings to concentrate on a mature relationship.”

As quickly as the words departed his lips, John knew remorse for tears formed in his lady’s eyes. “I would not purposely…” Satiné sucked in a quick breath. “My only concern is whether the Church of England will honor a foreign marriage.”

John had had similar qualms, but his consultation with Auersperg’s advisors had convinced him all would prove well. “As the Church of England accepts Scottish marriages, I cannot imagine our joining being denied, but if that be so, we will pronounce our vows again upon our return to English shores,” he declared confidently. “It is essential to our ruse to appear convincing for us to speak our pledge before a clergy prior to departure.”

“Of course,” she said obediently, and her subservience gulled him, but John did not comment on Satiné’s rapidly fluctuating emotions. He had heard his associates grumble about their wives’ expressive responses while the women were enceinte. The Duke of Thornhill had spoken often of the former Velvet Aldridge, Miss Satiné’s eldest sister, having verbally attacked the servants and him during her lying in. Could not it be so for his lady? “What do you require of me?”

He said through tight lips, “I must share in Auersperg’s hospitality this evening. The prince has asked several of his political associates to dine at his residence. I am to speak to English solidarity.” He placed a purposeful smile upon his countenance. “I had hoped you could secure the cleric’s services for the ceremony.”

“Certainly, Sir. Am I to expect the gentleman today?”

John nodded. “At five of the clock.”

“It shall be done,” she assured. “However, I have several preparations to which I must attend prior to the clergyman’s appearance. I shall send a note around to inform you of the arrangements.”

John released the knocker. “Then I will withdraw until tomorrow. Good evening, my Dear.” He raised both of her hands to leave an air kiss on the back of each gloved hand. “Find rest. I wish to see a touch of color upon your soft cheeks soon.”

*

“I expected Baron Swenton to return with you,” Isolde said as she again served as Satiné Aldridge’s dresser.

“The baron holds obligations to Prince Auersperg this evening, and the prince did not see to an invitation for my attendance,” Miss Satiné said testily.

Isolde masked her reaction. “I am certain Baron Swenton would prefer your company: The man appears quite besotted with you.”

Miss Satiné sighed heavily. “I suppose it to be so. It was fortuitous for the baron to call upon me when he did, and I am indebted to his generosity.”

Isolde raised a brow, waited, and then prodded. “However…”

“However, the baron is not the love I have always sought,” the girl confessed.

“Yet, he is a good man. An honorable man. You are not likely to find another willing to place his name in a reprehensible position in order to protect yours,” Isolde cautioned.

Miss Satiné scowled in disapproval. “It is not necessary for you to sing the baron’s praises at every opportunity. I fully comprehend Lord Swenton’s sacrifice.”

Isolde could hear the impetuousness in the girl’s voice. She understood Miss Satiné’s desperation, but not the woman’s uncharitable nature. Miss Satiné’s uncle should never have abandoned his niece to her own devices. Even if the girl had argued against Baron Ashton’s dictates, removing her extensive allowance would have forced Miss Aldridge’s return to England. “I apologize, Miss. I meant no harm.” It maddened Isolde to play the role of a woman without astute opinions.

Miss Satiné made a small shrugging motion. “It is of no consequence, but you may earn my continued gratitude by delivering a message to Hunsy Wetl. I cannot call upon Wetl for I must greet the clergyman Auersperg has commissioned to perform the wedding.”

Isolde cast a sardonic look upon her mistress. “I thought you wished nothing more to do with Mr. Wetl.”

Miss Satiné gazed silently into Isolde’s eyes, a faint smile forming upon her lips. It was an odd response, and it confused Isolde. “You are correct: Mr. Wetl knows my contempt; yet, I owe the man a debt, which should be paid before I depart Vienna. Except for the baron’s insistence on my participation in the details of our joining, I would never welcome Mr. Welt into my home again, but as it is, I must tolerate Wetl’s continued disdain.”

Miss Satiné closed her eyes as if in pain, and Isolde felt faintly bewildered. “As you wish, Miss.”

*

Three additional days had been required before his little party had set sail, and by the time the
Western Moon
weighed anchor, John’s nerves had been strung as taut as a harp; however, he had satisfactorily claimed Miss Aldridge as his wife.

Even that had not been without fault. When word came of the delay of their departure because of inclement weather, it was quickly followed by news of the employed clergyman’s taking ill, and a mad scramble ensued to locate an alternate minister to perform the service. John had paid a heavy price to an available clergy in the port city. In spite of the chaos, at eleven of the clock the previous day, the lovely Miss Aldridge had become Baroness Swenton. The only thing, which could have made the day more palpable, would have been if he could have claimed his lady intimately. Unfortunately, Doctor Berhardt had advised him to wait at least another three to four weeks before John demanded his husbandly privileges.

“The future baroness is a delicate lady,” Berhardt had insisted. “Even the hardiest of our women folk require a month to heal properly. Those of Miss Aldridge’s frame a bit longer.”

John had known disappointment, but he thought it a valuable lesson for their future. Moreover, he now held the legal right to kiss his lady as often as he chose. So as he made himself comfortable in his solitary bed on his wedding night, John had concentrated on his future–one filled with a beautiful wife and several children.

Onboard ship, he had done the honorable thing: John had placed his baroness and Miss Neville in the larger of the cabins he had secured for their journey. He had taken the smaller of the two rooms. He also had purchased a third for his mother’s remains. He knew how superstitious sailors were, and so John had an ornate box designed, as if part of his baggage, the gold-painted box rested in the smallest of the quarters, without company. Mrs. Tailor, the English nurse he had employed, and the boy had made a pallet on his wife’s floor.

The first day of their departure from Vienna to the coast had been the first time John had laid eyes upon the child: A pudgy face, which held John’s gaze with obvious interest. Blue eyes, but he thought they might turn darker. Likely to a smoky silver. Thick black hair, which curled about his nurse’s finger. This was the child he would declare to the world to be his. “Rupert,” he had whispered as his finger traced the child’s cheek. “I will do my best by you, Boy.”

It was a telling moment during which John visualized his children. He prayed Satiné would bear him a half dozen. He had been so forlorn as an only child: John did not wish his children to know the same profound loneliness. “I am anxious to have you and the others to call me ‘Papa,’” he had told the babe. “It will be the greatest moment of my life.”

It was on the third morning of their journey when everything changed again, and John wondered if the gods had cursed his marriage. He stumbled from his bunk to answer the persistent tapping on his door to find Miss Neville on the threshold. Her hair was draped over one shoulder, and John thought the man who could run his fingers through the silken fire would know instant satisfaction. “Is something amiss?” he asked as he drew his eyes from his wife’s companion.

“It is the baroness, Sir. Come quickly,” she whispered.

John grabbed his shirt from the back of a chair, dropping it over his head and shoulders as he followed Miss Neville through the empty passage leading to his wife’s quarters. Entering closely behind Satiné’s companion he rushed to his baroness’s side. “What ails you?” he asked as he leaned across her form.

“Look at me!” Satiné wailed shrilly.

John attempted to focus upon her countenance, but the room’s shadows hid what brought his wife stress. “You must inform me of what I seek,” he pleaded.

“It is horrendous! I am appalling!” she yawped as she rolled over in the bed to face the wall.

John shot a pleading glance to Miss Neville. The lady looked down to where he crouched by his wife’s bed. Worry and annoyance darted across Miss Neville’s delicate features, and although he could not approve of the Miss Neville’s irritation, John perfectly understood the lady’s response to Satiné’s hysterics. “It appears, Sir, Baroness Swenton has contracted measles.”

As he stood, John cursed under his breath. “Measles. How in God’s name…?” he began, but swallowed the remainder of his words. “If this situation becomes common knowledge,” he reasoned, “the captain will put us off at the first available port, and no one will accept us for residence.”

“Have you known measles?” Miss Neville asked in concern. “I understand they are dangerous in adult males.”

From where the lady had learned so much practical knowledge, John meant to one day discover. “Yes. When I was seven, measles spread through our village.”

“I have known them also,” she explained. “If we could isolate Baroness Swenton, she could experience the disease without endangering others. Your lady was exposed at least a sennight earlier; her condition is of no result of our fellow passengers or the crew.”

“A quarantine of sorts.” John thought Miss Neville’s idea held merit. He glanced about the quarters. “Where are Mrs. Tailor and the boy?”

“I suggested the nurse take the child on deck until we could decipher how best to proceed.”

John smiled easily. He appreciated Miss Neville’s astute handling of a crisis. “I assume you instructed the lady not to discuss the baroness’s condition.”

“I did, Sir.”

“You shall permit me knowledge of my fate when you two have determined it,” his wife testily said. “If I am to be isolated, then I suggest you remove yourself from my quarters now. You must purchase an additional room for Miss Neville and Rupert.”

John gave a short ironic laugh. “That scenario would be ideal, but it is not possible, my Dear. This ship is too small for multiple vacant rooms.” John hesitated, uncertain for the reason for his reluctance to pronounce the obvious. With a shift of his shoulders and his resolve, he finally suggested, “With Miss Neville’s assistance, we will move you into my quarters. The room is half this one, but as you will require a bed more than any other piece of furniture, it will suffice for one occupant.” His eyes swept the room again. “Miss Neville, Mrs. Tailor, and Rupert can remain in these quarters. Miss Neville, please be certain to scrub every surface in the room. We must protect the baroness’s child.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Who will attend me?” His wife demanded. “Surely you do not mean to leave me to my own devices.”

“Miss Neville and I will take turns. It is of the utmost important no others discover your condition. It is essential, Satiné, you accept no other offers of assistance. If the captain sets us from the ship, I cannot protect you or the child. People have been known to kill strangers carrying the disease in order to protect their own.”

His wife’s expression darkened. “It is not necessary to paint such a dire picture. I understand my responsibility.”

John’s lips turned upward in a cynical smirk. “The bed remains empty in Lady Fiona’s quarters. I suspect it is time I share with my mother all the opinions I withheld throughout my life.”

Satiné shivered–from fever or fear–John did not know. “You mean to sleep in a room with a deceased person?” she asked in incredulity. “How morbid!”

John’s upper lip snarled. “Lady Fiona has known her Maker for some six weeks. What remains of her body can bring me no harm!”

“It is still melancholic,” his wife argued.

“Personally,” Miss Neville ventured, “I would find it comforting to escort my father’s remains to our home in Ireland. It would be far better than never to know his fate. Farewells should be spoken for resolution.”

Satiné gathered the blanket to her neck. “There are times, Isolde, that your optimism is burdensome.”

John held the random thought Miss Neville’s optimism outshone his wife’s attitude. “We must make an immediate decision. Time is of an essence. Do you have an alternate suggestion, Satiné?”

Grudgingly, his wife said, “No, my Lord.”

John turned to Miss Neville. “I will dress and reorganize my belongings if you will see to the baroness’s things. When I have moved into the smallest cabin, I will return to assist in transferring my wife’s baggage to my current quarters. Please act with haste before members of the crew take note of our actions.”

Within three-quarters hour, John had carried Satiné to the bed–his bed, the one he should have shared with her the previous evening. It was quite satisfying to hold her against his chest–to nuzzle her neck and to inhale her scent. His wife’s fever had returned, and she rested listlessly against him, snuggled closer to him. Some part of him acknowledged the danger of her illness, but John did not fear her demise. He could not believe God would deliver Satiné Aldridge into his arms and then snatch her away so quickly. “I will tend you once I have you safely settled,” he whispered into her ear. She did not respond, simply pulled closer, and John knew contentment. Certainly, he could not say their path had been easy, but he held the hope of a more fulfilling future.

John lowered her to the narrow bed and then went about tucking Satiné in. Retrieving fresh water, he poured some into a small bowl. Using a cloth, he washed her face and arms. Satiné slept restlessly, and he watched her carefully. When the Realm had been in Brittany, one of Fowler’s most trusted servants had succumbed to measles. He recalled the physician overseeing the man’s care remarking how the fever and the diarrhea and the nausea were the most significant symptoms.

“Do you require my assistance?” Miss Neville asked from the partially opened door.

John glanced up with gratitude. “I was just considering what I knew of my wife’s condition,” he said softly so as not to disturb Satiné.

“The first three or four days are usually the worst,” Miss Neville shared. “My younger cousins were often so afflicted. “Most who know the disease find too much light hurts their eyes, and it is customary for the person to suffer for a fortnight.”

He nodded, pleased for the information. “I had thought to tell anyone who asked after the baroness that my wife is not a good sea traveler. Such an excuse would explain Satiné’s prolonged taking to her bed, as well as her lack of appetite.”

“An excellent choice,” Miss Neville whispered. “I shall instruct Miss Tailor to respond as such.” With that, the lady presented him a quick curtsy. “I told the boy’s nurse if you did not require my assistance, I would return to tend the child so Mrs. Tailor might enjoy her breakfast in peace. May I have someone bring you a tray?”

“I worry the smells could cause Lady Swenton discomfort. I am not of the persuasion to act purely from my own desires.”

Miss Neville remarked prosaically, “I doubt, Baron, you possess a selfish bone in your body.”

*

Isolde caressed the cheek of the sleeping child before planting a soft kiss upon his fine dark hair. Since the child’s birth, she had regularly stolen away to the nursery, especially when Miss Aldridge had slept through her meal times rather to consume the food Cook had prepared for the household. “Your mother shall lose enough weight to cinch her waist tightly; soon she will no longer require her tight laces,” she told the boy as she cradled him in the crook of her arm. “I shall have the appearance of a boulder,” Isolde declared with an ironic chuckle. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

She rose to place the child in the cradle. “Your mother has no idea how precious you are, my Sweet.” The first time Isolde had laid eyes on the boy, her heart had melted. He was wrapped loosely in a small blanket, his face scrunched up in a cry of protest, but she had thought the child a dark angel: A wriggling, squirming dark angel. The remembrance brought another smile to Isolde’s lips.

Miss Satiné had ignored the child completely, and her mistress’s actions bothered Isolde more than she cared to admit. Isolde had come from a large, animated family, one with what often felt to contain a hundred cousins. She would relish having a family of her own to add to the bedlam. Thinking upon her family always brought on a restless desire to be among them again.

Generally speaking, she had enjoyed her employment in Miss Aldridge’s household; after all, the work had not been exhausting nor had it been beyond her abilities; yet, Isolde was no longer so certain she would remain under Baron Swenton’s employment once she reached England. The baron had sworn a vow to assist her in locating her father, but as much as Isolde desired news of Eoghan Neville’s fate, she did not wish to be party to the pain she expected Baron Swenton would experience at his wife’s hands. Since having the man’s acquaintance, Isolde had become more than an interested observer. Baron Swenton was quite besotted with his baroness, and he had repeatedly proved himself a worthy suitor; yet, Miss Satiné had not shared in the baron’s enthusiasm. “Foolish, foolish girl,” Isolde muttered under her breath. “Love’s perfection is within your clasp.”

*

For three days and nights, he had tended his wife’s fever. Other than when Miss Neville had relieved him for meals and his personal requirements, John had remained by Satiné’s side. It was his duty to perform, and he had proudly fulfilled his responsibility. His wife–a concept that did not feel as foreign as John had expected–had suffered greatly. During her fever-induced rants, Satiné had abused him thoroughly for bringing her upon this “God-forsaken journey”–for “assuming advantage of my situation”–and for “not being Henrí.” The man’s name,
Henrí,
had rung clearly in his head each time John closed his eyes to seek rest.
Henrí
. Likely the boy’s true father. The man his wife had “loved” enough to present him her most precious gift. The man who had known Satiné first. It ripped John’s heart raw to experience the contempt in his wife’s tone, and although he told himself Satiné’s words were spoken when she was not in her right mind, a part of him wondered if some truth in her condemnations could not be found buried in Satiné’s soul: She had resented accepting his proposal and joining with him.

As he bathed her face and arms in cool water, John battled the urge to seek out Miss Neville and question the woman regarding what she knew of
Henrí
. Yet, he knew without a doubt, it was not fair to involve the woman in his marital strife. Yet, the obsession had grown. Had Satiné loved Henrí? John’s first thought was it must be so, but there remained the hope she had succumbed to a rake’s wiles. If she had loved the mysterious Henrí, could his wife essentially learn to love him? Kerrington, Crowden, and Fowler had known an instant attraction to their wives; but Wellston, Kimbolt, and Lowery had earned their ladies’ affections. John prayed to follow the examples of the earl, viscount, and baronet.

“John,” his wife murmured as her eyes flickered open and closed.

“I am here,” he said as he washed her face with the cooling cloth.

“Water.”

He lifted her head to brace her against his chest before offering the glass to her lips. “Easy,” he cautioned. When she shook off his offer of a second drink, John lowered Satiné to the bed. “Do you wish me to change the linens?” he had commandeered additional bedding and had removed the ones wet with sweat and replaced them with dry ones. He would prefer to have the linens freshly laundered, but on ship, that possibility was next to null.

“Later.” Satiné whispered. “Just sleep.”

John kissed her forehead. “Your fever is less today,” he had assured lamely. He was not certain what would bring Satiné comfort. In fact, before his marriage, he would have proclaimed to the world that he knew his lady better than did her Uncle Charles, but over the past few days he had realized he knew very little of Satiné’s personal favorites: colors, treats, time of the year, foods, or sleeping position.

“Drops?” she asked groggily.

To prevent her from scratching the disease’s characteristic whelps, John had placed socks on her hands. When that did not solve the situation, he had taken the coward’s path and had added a drop of laudanum to the water he had fed her by spoon so his wife might rest easier.

“Yes.” He brushed the damp curl from her cheek. “Just rest. I will watch over you until you are well and beyond.” Her shallow breathing announced her return to sleep. He wished she had acknowledged his efforts–to express one moment of affection; yet, he knew his longings irrational: He had never known love, but he knew with every fiber of his soul, the lack of love was a terrible malady to endure.

A half hour later, he emerged on deck for a few minutes of fresh air and a stretch of his legs. He should have waited for Miss Neville’s return, but he had reasoned as his wife slept soundly, no one would know the difference.