Chapter Twenty-One #2
Pain like she had never experienced or expected tore through her belly.
Her belly with her and Samuel’s baby inside.
Her time had come, and she had two women attending her who hated her and did anything her husband told them.
Mrs. Johnson, her dour-faced maid, and Mrs. Fitzhugh, the nasty housekeeper.
They shared no words of encouragement each time the contractions overtook her.
How many hours had she labored? If only a midwife had attended her, she would know if the labor was progressing normally or even what to expect.
Clarice was so frightened. She thought she and the baby might be dying.
How could the miracle of birth hurt so much?
Sweat poured off her, soaking her nightgown, which made her shiver. Was she supposed to sweat and be cold?
She wanted her mother, which brought tears to her eyes and heaviness to her chest. Why couldn’t she have come to her?
She knew why. Chesterfield didn’t want a scandal, nor did he want to acknowledge this child as his.
So what was going to happen to her baby?
Another wave of pain and a hard tightening of her belly came, and this time she felt the need to push; she could feel the baby coming.
The hardest thing was staying quiet and not screaming out.
It went against nature not to scream at such pain piercing one’s body, but she refused to make a sound and be called weak by Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Fitzhugh.
“I see the head,” Mrs. Johnson said as she moved her head between Clarice’s legs.
“Open those thighs wider, like you did for your lover, so your bastard can be born.” Anger flared through Clarice, so when the next contraction came and she felt the urge to push, she bore down hard and long until she experienced instant relief, and the cry of a baby reached her ears.
At the sound of the crying, she tried to get up.
“Stay down, you stupid girl. The afterbirth needs to come out. Unless you would rather it stay in and kill you?”
“I want to see my baby.”
Mrs. Fitzhugh said, “Per Lord Chesterfield’s orders, you may not see nor hold the bastard.”
Out of the corner of Clarice’s eye, the housekeeper held the baby, and as she wrapped it up in a blanket, Clarice saw that it was a boy.
Her heart soared. A boy. Samuel had a son.
She gasped with surprise as something came out of her body.
The afterbirth. “Please let me see him?” she begged, though she hated to do so.
“No,” Mrs. Fitzhugh snarled and exited the room, taking Clarice’s son with her.
“Come back! Come back, I want my son,” Clarice begged repeatedly until she had no voice left.
She was alone in her chambers, in a bed that needed changing, wearing a blood-stained and wet night rail.
The only light in the room came from the smoldering remains in the hearth.
Clarice rolled onto her side, holding her stomach, and somehow managed to roll off the bed and land on her shaking legs.
She shuffled across the room to the washstand, removed her night rail, and stuffed it between her legs when she felt a gush of blood.
Using cool water, soap, and a piece of linen, she bathed herself as best she could.
In her wardrobe, she found strips of cloth, ones used for her monthly courses.
She dressed in a clean, warm night rail and robe.
She took the coverlet that had been removed from the bed so it wouldn’t get ruined and spread it out on the floor in front of the fireplace.
She swayed from weakness but focused and managed to place several logs in the hearth before she collapsed on the floor, rolled herself up in the coverlet, and blackness descended.
“Come back!” she yelled as she abruptly sat up in bed, her body trembling and covered in sweat. She scanned her surroundings and was stunned by what she saw. She’d swear she was back at Chesterfield Manor in her old chambers, reliving the labor and delivery of her son.
“Clarice.” The bed dipped as Samuel, fully dressed, sat down and looked at her with concern. “You were dreaming, and from the sounds of it, it was a nightmare. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Did I say anything?” Dear God, she hoped not.
“Mostly moaning and groaning, and right before you woke up, you yelled, ‘Come back.’ If you’re not up to dinner with the baron and baroness, I can send our regrets and have our meals brought to the room.”
“No. I just need some time to get ready.” At that moment, she realized she was naked and exposed. She clutched the covers to her chest, which made Samuel smile. “It’s too late for modesty, my dear. There is no part of your body I haven’t seen or touched.”
She nudged him. “Stop it. Could you please bring my things over?”
“Already done,” he said, then his eyes shifted to the foot of the bed, where her gaze followed and settled on her clothing.
“Thank you.” It was one thing to be naked and in bed together, and quite another for him to be fully clothed while she was not.
She reached for her chemise, pulled it over her head, tossed the covers aside, and stood as the fabric fell just below her knees.
She tied up the laces while Samuel picked up her day dress and helped her into it. His hands adeptly laced up her back.
“Your stockings and boots are by the chair. I had the housekeeper bring a brush and some pins for you. They’re in the dressing room, where you’ll find a table and a mirror.”
“Thank you.” She moved to the chair, sat down, and pulled up her stockings to tie the ribbon around her thigh.
Then she slipped on her boots and laced them.
She entered the dressing room and sat at the table.
She removed the remaining pins that hadn’t fallen out in bed from her hair and brushed it.
Free of tangles, she gathered her hair and twisted it into a simple knot, securing it with several pins.
With one last look in the mirror, she decided she was ready for an informal dinner.
She covered her stomach with one hand as it tumbled around.
Would the baron and baroness be able to guess what they were doing?
Would they think less of her if they did?
Oh dear, she hated all this uncertainty nagging at her.
With luck, she and Samuel could be married by this time next week.
Except the memory of her dream troubled her.
Was it her mind’s way of telling her she needed to confess everything to Samuel?
Had the guilt of keeping it from him caused her nightmare?
Tonight, after dinner, she would tell him.
Taking a deep breath to gather her courage, she stood, smoothing out any creases in her dress as best as she could, and then walked out of the dressing room.
The moment her eyes met Samuel’s, her entire body relaxed.
Everything about him brought her comfort when she needed it most.
His dark eyes swept over her. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“Come.” He held out his hand. “The dinner bell just rang and I’m famished.”
They held hands all the way to the dining room, where the baron sat at the head of one side of the table, with the baroness on his left. Samuel waved off a footman and helped Clarice into her seat beside the baroness. Then he walked around the table and took a seat opposite her.
Ramsbury, the baron, smiled at them. “Lady Chesterfield, we are very fortunate to have you dining with us tonight.”
“Thank you for welcoming me on such short notice. And please call me Clarice.”
“Only if you call us Ramsbury and Anna,” he said as he picked up a goblet of wine and took a sip. “While Samuel stays with us, his friends are our friends and always welcome.”
“Once again, thank you for your generosity and kindness.” As she spoke, warmth flooded her cheeks.
Dinner passed surprisingly quickly once Clarice relaxed and enjoyed the lively conversation, mostly about the upcoming races.
Anna was softspoken and close in age to her.
Clarice learned that she and Ramsbury rarely spent time in London, except during Parliament’s season.
Even then, they kept to themselves. Their stud farm was their whole world, and it made Clarice wonder if, when Samuel started his stud farm, their lives would be similar.
But she didn’t mind. She would be happy and content living anywhere as long as she was with Samuel.
*
It had been a long day for Ramsbury and Anna, and they excused themselves right after dinner, leaving Clarice and Samuel sitting in the drawing room, sipping sherry.
Samuel put his arm around her shoulder as they shared the settee and said, “Would you like to tell me about your nightmare? I didn’t push you earlier because dinner was ready, but I have this feeling it involves me.
” He couldn’t explain why he had the feeling; he just did.
“There is something I’ve been wanting to tell you, but there’s never been a good time,” she sighed and rested her head on his shoulder.
“First, let me tell you how truly sorry I am. I tried. I really did, but I was a prisoner, locked inside my chambers for eight months. Looked after by two dreadful servants. I was only allowed the freedom to roam the house and grounds after the night my . . . our son was born.”
He knew, somehow, he knew before she spoke the words.
The moment she said she was sorry, deep inside where things cannot be explained, he knew what she had to say.
His throat burned, and he struggled to breathe.
His body shook from within. He wanted to scream, pull his hair out, and punch a wall.
It wouldn’t solve anything, and from the soft crying sounds coming from Clarice, it would only make things worse.
She needed him as much as he needed her.
“I could never blame you. He did this to you, to us. I’m sorry for what you went through.” Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he didn’t bother wiping them away. Both of them could use a good cry over losing their son. Then it occurred to him, “What happened to him?”
A sob tore from Clarice. She shifted her position so her head rested on his lap, and her legs curled up on the settee. “I don’t know. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead.”
He stroked her hair, his heart pounding with excruciating pain.
Pain he didn’t believe would ease until he’d learned what happened to his son.
Christ, what Clarice had endured all on her own.
What that cruel, blackguard of a husband did to her, all because of her vengeful father.
He had started the chain of events that had led them here.
His poor Clarice, having her baby taken away. How had she survived?
“I love you. And I promise we will find out what happened to our son. I will hire an investigator to locate the two servants, bribe them for the answers we seek, and threaten them with kidnapping charges. I swear, we will find him.”
“Th-thank you. I just want to know that he’s safe. Perhaps he’s living in a loving home.”
“We will. Meanwhile, if you’re ready, I should take you back to the inn.”
The ride to the Red Lion Inn was quiet, each lost in their own thoughts.
Samuel held Clarice’s hand, trying to comfort her heartbreak as best he could.
No doubt, it had broken her the day she’d brought the baby into the world and only worsened year after year.
How did she manage to carry on with all the uncertainty and unknowing?
He had always known she was strong and brave, and thank God she was.
A lesser person might not have endured the loss.
He saw her safely to her room and kissed her on the cheek.
Now that he knew about her loss, she wasn’t hiding her sadness, and it tore at his insides.
“My schedule is brutal for the next two days until the race.” He brushed his lips lightly against hers.
“I’ll find you at the racecourse. Goodnight. ”
After she entered her room and closed the door, Samuel leaned against the wall to steady himself.
He didn’t want to fall apart in front of Clarice.
Not because he wasn’t devastated by the news of a son, but because he didn’t want to cause her any more pain or guilt.
Not that she had any reason to feel guilty, but he could see it in her eyes that she did.
He could hear it in her voice when she’d talked about the birth.
As footsteps approached, he composed himself, so no one seeing him would ever know what he was going through.