Rescued By the Country Gentleman (Sad Victorian Daddies #1)

Chapter 1

Osney Abbey, Warborough, Oxfordshire

After years of living quietly and declining all social invitations from his neighbors, Erasmus Mangevileyn suddenly had a good number of people in his house.

It all began when he opened the cart doors of his threshing barn to check on the state of the thatch roof. It had been raining for three days, a good test for the workmanship of the latest team of thatchers to pass through the county.

It was only after he was well inside the barn that he heard what seemed to be a kitten.

His daughter, Theodosia, had inquired about bringing a stray cat into the house, and the acquisition of one on this day — the day his wife had died four years ago — would prove a fortunate distraction from their grief.

But when he crept nearer to the small cries, Erasmus drew up short. Those were not the cries of a kitten.

In a pile of hay, thankfully clean, lay a woman. He thought her dead or unconscious at first, based on the angle of her body and looseness of her limbs. But she stirred at his gasp, and her arms tightened around her midsection reflexively.

There, on her clothed belly, was a baby. A newborn, judging by his lack of dress and the cord still attaching him to his mother. The child rested his head against her bosom and made those plaintive little cries that twisted Erasmus’s heart.

The woman cried out in pain, and her swollen belly contracted.

“Oh no, there can’t be another one,” she whispered, her eyes terrified and going out of focus.

Without thinking, Erasmus rushed to her side and took her hand, giving her something to squeeze other than the newborn as she struggled to complete her labor.

“Likely just afterbirth,” he said soothingly. “It must pass completely or you’ll be in great danger. Bear down on my hand.”

In what could have been minutes or hours — he had no sense of time — the woman collapsed back as her body decided she was done.

“Is it all out?” she asked, tears clinging to her eyelashes. What had possessed a woman to labor and deliver her baby in his barn? It was a refuge only for those with no other options. Erasmus suspected some villainy was afoot.

“The…oh.” The afterbirth. God, how was he supposed to know? He was a London-born foreign-attaché-turned-farmer with only a theoretical understanding of biology. Save how to make babies.

But blustering and avoiding would do nothing to help this brave woman, looking so like the Madonnas he’d seen in cathedrals on his travels. If the Holy Mother had been realistically streaked with sweat, blood, and bits of hay.

“If you’ll permit me?” he asked as if requesting her hand for a waltz.

She nodded with quiet dignity before he gingerly lifted her skirts to assess the completeness of her birthing.

He shuddered as he gazed upon the proof of how dangerous birth could be, assessing her ruined petticoats and trying not to descend into hysterical screams as he recalled his wife’s last day in much the same condition.

God help him, this woman would not slip from this earth on his watch, not without a battle.

“I believe it is complete,” he said, lowering the dress to preserve her modesty.

“I thank you. If you don’t mind, I’ll rest here and then be on my way.”

Erasmus was speechless at first. This young woman, little more than a girl, intended to sleep a bit and then walk off from his barn? It was so preposterous he couldn’t find words. Why, the baby was still attached to her, since they hadn’t cut his cord yet!

After a few deep breaths to calm himself so as not to scare her, he could speak. “I would very much like you to recover in the main house. We have warm fires, good food, and a doctor to confirm that all has gone well.”

She nodded but stopped when she looked into his eyes. He didn’t want to think of what she might see there: fear, concern, sadness. He wished he could pull on a mask so as not to alarm her, but his wounds were still raw years on.

“Just for a night,” she agreed.

“For as long as the doctor says,” he bargained.

Her brow gathered. She must have been conflicted, but she conceded with a sigh, and they began determining how to move her and the baby into the house.

***

It was after the doctor had examined the young woman and declared the birth to have gone as well as one could hope, given the conditions, that things spun out of Erasmus’s control.

He’d summoned the village vicar along with the physician in a fit of caution. Should either mother or child die, he’d want to offer them the comfort of prayers. His own were a little rusty and tinged with the pagan.

That was all fine and good, especially once the doctor determined that neither patient was in immediate danger.

What did pose danger was the addition of the vicar’s wife to their merry party. She was a handsome woman of middle age, with her hair precisely arranged and her spine as straight as her morals. As the spouse of the community’s churchman, she took her role as his helpmate seriously.

Thus, she delivered a batch of teacakes and an ultimatum to Erasmus on the heels of her husband’s arrival.

“You’ve an unwed mother on your property, Mr. Mangevileyn.”

Erasmus found himself without words. He’d suspected as much, but had not confirmed it.

“I have not heard that from her,” he said carefully.

“Mr. Quartermaine was told so by the unfortunate lady.”

Erasmus swung his head around, trying to understand how she could know that without having spoken to the vicar since her arrival.

“How did you know—?”

“A husband and wife can communicate without words, Mr. Mangevileyn.”

Erasmus was speechless. He’d never experienced that with Eleanor, and they’d been a matched pair!

“It is one of the many benefits of marriage. A benefit I hope you will enjoy soon indeed.”

“Marriage…soon?” asked Erasmus, the floor shifting below his feet.

“I see you’ve talked,” said the vicar, joining them at the foot of the bed. Erasmus’s bed. Where a new mother was currently in repose after being delivered of an apparently out-of-wedlock baby.

If the glances Mr. and Mrs. Quartermaine traded were any indication, a timely sleight of hand would erase that baby’s illegitimate status.

“I should speak with the mother,” said Erasmus, dread rising in his throat as he struggled to speak. He was enjoying quiet days with his fields, herds, and books. He’d sought a reclusive existence for this phase of his life, and one woman stumbling into his barn was enough to upend it?

And what if she had a sweetheart she planned to marry or otherwise did not consent to the union? It was a farcical idea, to unite a man and woman simply because of proximity! He felt hot and itchy as panic set in.

“The lady has agreed,” said Mr. Quartermaine smoothly.

“It just so happens that the bishop’s surrogate stopped at the vicarage on his rounds for Lady Day and will issue a common license immediately.

Once you explain the situation, he will act without delay, since you live in the parish.

Therefore, you will marry today, and then you can record the child’s birth.

It isn’t customary to perform a marriage on a quarter day, but needs must.”

“You see the wisdom of the course of action now, do you not?” asked Mrs. Quartermaine, gazing upon the newborn, currently asleep in a wooden box for produce, now lined with blankets.

“Needs must.” Her gaze then softened. “We’ve made mistakes before with unfortunate girls. She requires help. As does the babe.”

Erasmus looked at the child, who would suffer enormously if he declined to take part in this scheme.

He never meant to remarry. Losing Eleanor four years ago had left him barely able to draw breath without a pain in his ribs. The only comfort had been the demands of the farm, the contents of his scholarly library, and the need to raise his daughter, Theodosia.

Beside him, there was a place that would never be filled, a place reserved for Eleanor.

He imagined her reply if he tried to explain why he declined to help a woman in need because of undying loyalty to her.

She was practical and even, and would likely counter his objections with historical examples of marriages for noble reasons — were she here today.

But she was not. Erasmus was a widower, and Eleanor would hardly look upon his refusal to aid this unfortunate young woman with favor.

In allowing the Quartermaines’ plan to run its course, he’d be helping this poor girl and her child and silencing any hopes of his remarriage among the villagers.

Why, he might even move about the village untroubled should he have a wife in name!

The wheels of his destiny were in motion the moment he’d thrown open those cart doors to the threshing barn and heard the baby’s first cries.

Erasmus Mangevileyn was going to be married today. And made a father again to boot.

“Needs must,” he agreed.