A Properly Conducted Sham (Most Imprudent Matches #5)

Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-Six

BENNET HALL, SURREY - NOVEMBER 6, 1816

CHARLOTTE

My back ached when I woke and didn’t relent when I pulled away from Lee’s prone form. His only response was a sleep-heavy grumble while he rolled over to his back.

Sleep wouldn’t be returning so I rose and grabbed my wrap, unable to abide anything more substantial. The knot on the base of my spine twisted as I made my way down the stairs. I fought back a cry. My knuckles turned white and cold on the railing as I dug my nails in. Fortunately, the pain was short-lived and released as quickly as it arrived a few moments later.

My stomach gave a disgruntled roll at the sight of the day’s breakfast selection. It seemed toast was the only option I could manage.

The knot began to build in my lower back again, a dull ache this time. I sat and struggled to spread the currant jam as the ache sharpened, coming to a knifepoint and holding there. My breath caught, paused by the pain and my refusal to display it.

It faded again and I quickly took a bite. The toast was unappetizing, but I could not manage anything more substantial.

My husband’s footsteps preceded his arrival. His first task upon setting foot in the room was to kiss the crown of my head.

I took a half-hearted bite of toast and stared at the bread askance when it was just as unpalatable as the first bite.

Wordlessly, the back of Lee’s hand found my forehead. I slapped it away performatively. “I am well.”

“You do not look it.”

“Thank you,” I replied with as much bite as I could muster.

“I just meant that you look like you feel poorly. Do you have a headache?”

“No, it is merely my back again.”

Lee hummed, still searching for an unseen ailment.

“Truly. It is my back only.”

“All right,” he said, then turned to the sideboard to locate his own breakfast.

The kink began to tighten once more. The pain was bearable, not much more significant than a particularly bad day during my courses. But it sharpened to something different, less familiar and less tolerable. It was enough to, not quite knock my breath from my body, but to trap it in my lungs once again.

“Charlotte?” Lee’s concerned voice came from my side.

I forced my lungs to release. My questioned, “Yes,” was tepid and pathetic, even to my ears. The tightness loosened slower than the last time.

“Your back?”

I nodded. “Yes, but it’s better now.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“I’m not certain.”

“How often?” His tone was unreadable, and his eyes gave nothing away either.

“Every few minutes or so? It’s merely a cramp, stop fussing.”

Quietly, he slipped his pocket watch out and glanced at it, saying nothing. Brigsby entered and greeted Lee with a smile, me with a polite nod, then leaned over to speak with his employer.

With a sigh, I contemplated my toast once again. The task of eating seemed all but insurmountable, and the sideboard held no more interest than it had earlier. It seemed tea was all I could manage this morning. I took a tentative sip and swallowed with trepidation. Fortunately, when it hit my stomach, there was no reaction.

Conversation continued beside me. I contributed nothing as I was entirely incapable of listening between tiny sips of tea.

Just as before, the ache began to return. My eyes fluttered shut without my notice, my lips pressing together. When the knife finally left my spine, I raised my lids to two sets of eyes staring at me with varying combinations of interest and worry.

“Charlotte?” Lee asked with a glance at his watch once again.

“Yes?”

“I believe it may be time.”

“Time for what?” I asked distractedly, considering my toast once more.

“Time.”

“Time for—oh. No, of course not. It cannot be time. It is too early. It is merely a cramp.”

Brigsby took that moment to excuse himself with alacrity, backing out of the room the way one would to avoid an advancing predator.

“They’re coming regularly,” Lee said.

“It is my back. Not my womb,” I protested.

“I do not believe that’s entirely uncommon. That book said?—”

“It is too early,” I insisted.

“Not so early, darling.” He offered a placating smile and came to stand by my side. It was a tone I would typically have found sweet but was utterly irritating at the moment.

“The nursery is not finished. I have not received a response from the accoucheur. The chambers are not prepared. We have not even discussed names. It is too early.”

“I do not believe the babe knows or cares. Now, can you stand?”

“Of course I can stand, because the babe is not coming.” His hand found my waist when I pressed myself up.

“All right. Now, how are you feeling about the stairs?” he asked, completely ignoring my valid points.

Not once in our marriage had I ever wanted to knock this man upside the head, but right now… “Do you really suppose that you know my body better than I do?” I snapped.

“Of course not. But I think you are frightened. I am frightened. And sometimes when things are very, very frightening, it can be tempting to pretend that they’re not happening.”

“Of all the condescend—” The next cramp broke the end of my sentence.

“Well then, if it is not time, then what do you suppose these very regular cramps you are experiencing mean?”

“Well, I do not know that.” I bit out between clenched teeth. His hand found mine and I crushed it in my grasp. It was painful, surely it was. I watched as my knuckles turned first red, then white with the force of my grip. He didn’t so much as grunt as he guided me down the hall.

Even as the cramp dissipated, a small hope was growing—that this was the beginning of childbirth. Because if it was not… if this was something else… How much more painful would the actual event be? Could I survive that? Did I want to?

“Has there been any… fluid?” he asked, running his free hand along my back.

“You did not just ask me that.”

Jack stumbled into the hall, both arms filled with pitchers to be brought upstairs. With one look at the two of us, he paled, swaying slightly. Lee fought to free his hand and grabbed the footman by the upper arm.

“Steady, lad. I need you to run and tell Mrs. Fitzroy that it is time.”

“It is not time,” I protested.

“It might be time,” Lee corrected.

Jack’s gaze flitted between us before he seemingly deciding to follow my husband’s instructions. He skirted along the wall beside us—leaving a wide berth—before breaking into a run toward the kitchens. He sloshed water from the pitchers all down the hall along the way. My eyes rolled of their own volition.

“Look, there is your fluid,” I bit out.

Lee paused our trek, huffing a snort of laughter before dropping a kiss to my temple. “There is my wife.” The note of affection in his tone was impossible to miss.

The compliment warmed my heart enough for me to push onward. A few feet more and I was faced, once again, with the stairs.

So many steps. Too many. An infinite, impossible number of them.

Another cramp crashed through my middle.

One moment, I was vertical with my feet firmly planted on the floor. The next, I was horizontal, my feet swaying in the air. My arm found Lee’s neck on instinct and clutched it with a desperation I had never known. The linen of his shirt was soft and fine and peppermint-scented when I buried my face there.

“Lee?”

I felt the rumbled, “Yes, darling?” from deep in his chest along my side.

“I think it may be time.”

His lips found my forehead again with a distracted hum as he navigated the stairs for me.

“I am frightened,” I whispered into his chest. I sensed each step, but he was careful not to jostle me.

“I am too.”

“I know men are not to be in the birthing chamber, but would you stay? Just for a little while?”

“I’ll stay as long as you like,” he whispered from just above my ear.

“Forever?”

“Forever.” This time, it was my heart and not my back that clenched.