Chapter Thirty #2
Baxter’s eyes narrowed. “My wife is Lady Arabella and not Lady Baxter, because I have no title. But I fail to see why that should be something worth noting. Too many of us consider the possession of a title or the circumstances of one’s birth to be the only factor that defines a person’s worth.
But I assure you, Miss Faulkes, birth only defines a person’s position in society. It does not define their character.”
Nicola’s expression hardened and Olivia caught a flash of malevolence in her eyes. Then, in a heartbeat, it disappeared and she smiled.
“Jacob!” she cried. “I’ve not seen you for days. I was beginning to wonder whether you’d forsaken me.”
Jacob approached them, shovel in hand. “That’s the last of the sweet cherries in now, Mr. Baxter. I must say, they don’t look like much.”
“They never do when first planted,” Baxter said.
“But come the spring you’ll see the blossom and understand why I chose them.
It may take a year or two before it yields any fruit—or at least enough for one of Lady Devereaux’s pies.
” He winked at Olivia. “My Bella tells me you’re a miracle worker yourself in the kitchen.
She says your shortbread is the finest she’s ever tasted. ”
“Then I must give you some to take home when you’re finished here,” Olivia said. “Perhaps you’d take a piece now? We’re having tea at four.”
“No—best I get on while we still have the light. The nights are drawing in right quickly now winter’s on its way. I want to get those herbs in before I finish today.”
“What about you, Jacob?” Nicola said, an undertone of desperation in her voice. “Will you join us for tea?”
“I’d better help Mr. Baxter.”
Olivia’s heart ached at the hurt in Nicola’s eyes. “Surely a little tea wouldn’t hurt?” she said. “You’ve been working hard all day, and Nicola hasn’t seen you for days. You’ve been neglecting her.”
“Oh, very well.” Jacob offered his arm, and Nicola slid her hand around it in a possessive grip. Baxter watched, his eyes narrowing.
“You must join us now, Mr. Baxter,” Olivia said. “Just for a little while. In return, I’ll help you plant the herbs after tea.”
“Well, I’m not one to refuse an offer of shortbread and assistance in the herb garden.” He offered his arm and Olivia took it, then they returned inside.
*
After tea, Olivia worked in the herb garden under Baxter’s direction, relishing the feel of the earth beneath her fingers and the burst of woody aromas as she placed each herb plant in the ground.
No wonder Charles had relished his time in the herb garden with his mother.
Perhaps he might be disposed to smile again when he saw it on his return from London.
As darkness fell, she returned to the house to find Nicola waiting in the parlor, reclined on the sofa. She rose as Olivia entered, then gestured to Olivia’s hands.
“Mr. Baxter has been working you too hard—look how soiled your hands are! I said you should have used those gloves, though I also said you shouldn’t have been gardening.
Olivia stared at her fingernails. “A little dirt won’t cause any harm. Besides, I’ll wash it off before supper. Are you staying for supper? I’ve been trying out a new pie recipe with Mrs. Groves—for when my husband returns.”
“If you wish it, my dear friend. I wish Jacob would join us. He seems to have been avoiding me lately. I don’t know why he prefers to eat with the staff downstairs.”
“I suppose he’s grown used to it,” Olivia said. “I have no objection if you wish to join him.”
“He should be joining me in the dining room. After all, he is a Devereaux.”
Nicola’s voice sliced through the air, sharpening the pain that had settled behind Olivia’s eyes during tea. Olivia rose and held her breath as her stomach rippled with nausea.
“I should dress for dinner,” she said. “Susie will be waiting in my chamber.”
“Shall I help you?” Nicola said.
“N-no, I’ll be fine. Susie’s turned out very capable.”
“Susie’s still a child. I’m your friend.”
“Very well,” Olivia said, unable to summon the strength to resist, and she exited the parlor, Nicola at her side.
They passed Colin at the foot of the stairs, peering into the body of the longcase clock in the corner.
“Has Mr. Reynolds entrusted you with winding up the clocks, Colin?” Olivia said.
“Yes, your ladyship. He showed me how to do it last night and said I must not to pull the weights too high. But I’m afraid of causing damage.”
“I’m sure that if Mr. Reynolds has entrusted you to wind the clock unsupervised, you’ll perform the task properly, Colin,” Olivia said, smiling at the young man. “You need to have a little more confidence in your abilities.”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am.”
He reached back inside the clock and Olivia climbed the stairs, smiling at the familiar sound of the weights moving on their chains, followed by the deep ticking as Colin set the pendulum moving once more.
Was there a sound more soothing than the ticking of a timepiece that had been lovingly crafted over two centuries before?
Clocks seemed to take on a life of their own—living, breathing organisms that brought vitality into a building, turning it into a home.
And now, the clock had a distant cousin residing in the garden—a carved stone sundial nestling among the rosebushes that had taken four men to carry across the gardens.
Oh, I do hope Charles likes it!
She closed her eyes, willing herself to recall the expression in her husband’s eyes when he’d smiled at her. Then she took another step up and her foot turned. Pain shot through her ankle, and she slipped sideways.
“Lady Devereaux!” a shrill voice screamed, and Olivia glanced up to see her maid’s ashen face at the top of the stairs. “No!”
She lost her footing and fell on her side, the impact forcing the breath from her lungs.
She reached for the banister, but failed to gain purchase, and slipped downward, bumping on each step.
As she gathered speed, she let out a cry, flinging her hands out toward Nicola, but her friend stood, frozen halfway up the stairs, her mouth a wide “O.”
Then a body arrested her fall and a pair of arms wrapped around her waist.
“I’ve got you, ma’am.”
Olivia clung to the arms, shaking, as she was set upright. She placed her weight on her left foot and cried out, and the footman tightened his grip.
“Careful, ma’am—beggin’ your pardon for touching you.”
“N-no need to apologize, Colin. I dread to think what might have happened were you not there to catch me.”
“Sweet heaven, Olivia!” Nicola cried, descending the stairs. “Are you all right?”
More footsteps approached and Mrs. Brougham appeared.
“Colin, what the devil are you doing? Mr. Reynolds told you to—Oh!” she cried as she caught sight of Olivia in the footman’s arms. “What in the name of the Almighty has happened?”
“Lady Devereaux fell down the stairs, Mrs. Brougham,” Colin said.
“Sweet Lord! And in the very same spot where…” Her voice trailed off as the color drained from her face.
“We’d best get the doctor, your ladyship.
Come along—we’ll take you to your chamber.
Susie, fetch your mistress some sweet tea and a brandy.
Colin, help me with Lady Devereaux, then go and find Mr. Reynolds and ask him to send for Dr. Cheam. ”
“There’s no need for a doctor,” Nicola said. “It’s just Olivia’s ankle, and I can bind it—”
“And that’s enough from you,” Mrs. Brougham interrupted. “You’re in no position to say what’s best for her ladyship—not while Lord Devereaux is not at home.”
“But I’m her friend.”
“And I’m her housekeeper acting on Lord Devereaux’s instructions,” Mrs. Brougham said crisply.
“He gave me strict instructions to take care of her ladyship. Or would you like to speak to him yourself when he returns to explain why you had no wish for her to see a doctor after taking a fall in the same place that killed his mother?”
Olivia’s stomach twisted with horror as she glanced at the staircase and the solid marble floor at the bottom. Had Colin not been there…
She let out a low groan, and the housekeeper drew her into an embrace, her manner reminiscent of Charles’s fierce determination to tend to her when she’d fallen in the forest.
“Can you walk?”
Olivia nodded, and between them, Mrs. Brougham and Colin helped her up the stairs and into her chamber. Ignoring her protests, they placed her on the bed.
“Ah, Susie—there you are.”
The young maid stood in the doorway holding a brandy glass. “Mrs. Groves says supper will be ready in a minute, Mrs. Brougham. She’ll send Ethel up with a tray.”
“Very good,” the housekeeper said. “Now, tend to your mistress.” She turned to Nicola, who also stood in the doorway. “And you can be off now,” she said. “Jacob’s in the kitchen. Go and tell him to walk you home. If he argues, tell him I said so.”
“But…”
“Must I ask twice? Lord Devereaux will hear if it if I do.”
Nicola scowled and fidgeted with her hands, and Olivia caught sight of something small and shiny in her fist. Then she blinked and it was gone.
“I’ll come and visit tomorrow,” she said.
Before Olivia could reply, Mrs. Brougham shooed Nicola out.
“I know it’s not my place to say, but there are more appropriate folk hereabouts whom you could choose as your friend, Lady Devereaux. That young miss has been giving herself airs ever since she set her sights on Jacob.”
Susie blushed scarlet as she continued to tend to Olivia, turning back the bedsheet and plumping the pillows. Then she let out a sob.
“Now, none of that, Susie,” Mrs. Brougham said. “Your sister can take care of herself.”
“I-it’s not that, Susie said, her lip wobbling. “It’s—Oh, I’m so sorry, your ladyship!”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Olivia said. “And Colin was there. My ankle’s a little sore, that’s all.”
“I-I’ll bandage it, ma’am.”
“I’d wait until Dr. Cheam’s been,” Mrs. Brougham said. “He’ll want to examine it. You look after your mistress until he arrives. Now—where’s Ethel with the tea?”
Olivia sank back onto the pillows, willing the pain in her ankle to subside. She caught her breath as another ripple of nausea washed over her.
“Here, ma’am, the brandy will make you feel better.”
Olivia took a sip. “Thank you, Susie. I don’t know what I’d do without you to take care of me.”
The maid burst into tears.
“Don’t be distressing your mistress,” Mrs. Brougham said. “Come along with me. Lady Devereaux needs peace and quiet after her accident. Ethel can take care of her until the doctor arrives.”
Susie’s sobs only increased, and Olivia couldn’t help exhaling in relief as the housekeeper ushered her out, closing the door behind them. Her head throbbing, she closed her eyes and awaited the arrival of the doctor.
*
After Dr. Cheam examined her, Olivia drew the bedsheets around herself to hide her embarrassment. Though given that he’d poked and prodded every inch of her, there was no longer any need for modesty.
The doctor dipped his hands into the washbowl then dried them on a cloth, and Olivia’s stomach tightened at the seriousness in his soft gray eyes.
“Is there anything the matter?” she said. “The pain in my ankle has subsided. Surely it’s not broken?”
“No, Lady Devereaux. It’s merely a bad sprain, exacerbated by your walking on it unbound before the original sprain was completely healed.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“You’re with child.”
“I-I’m what?”
He peered at her over the top of his glasses. “Perhaps you now appreciate the seriousness of the situation. A fall down a staircase is dangerous enough for any woman, let alone one in your condition. I take it you didn’t know?”
Hope flared in her heart and was almost immediately tempered by fear as she recalled the stark words that her husband had written.
I hope to God you are not.
“Dr. Cheam, are you obliged to tell anyone about my condition?”
“What happens between a doctor and his patient is nobody else’s concern. Only when lives are in danger am I permitted to break my oath of confidentiality.”
“A-and…my husband?”
His expression softened. “No, my dear, not even your husband has a right to know—though, of course, he’ll discover the truth eventually. But I’ll leave you to tell him in your own time.”
“Thank you.”
Olivia blinked and a tear slid down her cheek. Dr. Cheam produced a handkerchief and handed it to her.
“F-forgive me,” she said. “I should be happy. Most husbands want an heir, don’t they?”
He smiled. “It’s a failing among my sex—the instinctive need for a son.
I myself have four daughters, but I don’t love them any less for not being boys.
And my eldest is proving to be a better helpmate than a son could ever be—she’s studying to be a doctor, and I intend for her to take over my practice. ”
“Then she’s most fortunate,” Olivia said, her mind drifting to poor Euphramia Lucas, who, despite being more capable than her father Dr. Lucas, was rarely given the chance to use her skills. “I have an acquaintance, a doctor’s daughter, who is not given such consideration.”
“I daresay she’d refute your claim to her good fortune when she’s required to rise before dawn to tend to a long confinement.”
Confinement…
Olivia swallowed the ripple of fear, and the doctor placed a hand on her arm.
“A confinement is nothing to fear,” he said.
“Not as it once was. And every activity carries a certain degree of risk, does it not? Even walking up the stairs. Now—I have a tonic I’ll leave with you to alleviate your sickness.
And I’d recommend eating little and often throughout the day to stave off the bouts of dizziness. ”
“Thank you, doctor.”
“There’s no need. I’m paid well to care for you.”
“You are?”
“Lord Devereaux sent instructions as soon as he returned here married, to care for you should you need of anything. He pays a regular stipend—an overly generous one, if you ask me, but he was very insistent. Did you not know?”
Oliva shook her head.
“I-I didn’t think he had the means. I…” She hesitated, her cheeks warming with shame. “Forgive me. I should not speak of such things.”
He snapped his bag shut and rose. “In my experience, few husbands—even those of means—make such an arrangement for their wives.”
He bowed, then exited the chamber.
Was he trying to tell her that her husband had made the arrangement because he cared for her? But even if that were true, what would he think when he discovered that she was with child, after he’d expressed so bluntly that he had no wish to be a father?
Olivia placed a hand over her belly.
“Hello,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I placed you in danger today, but I’ll be careful in future.”
She closed her eyes, trying to form the image in her mind—cradling her child in her arms, handing him to his father, who smiled down at him with love…
But she could not.
“I’ll love you,” she said. “Perhaps you might love me.”
She closed her eyes, unwilling to voice the words.
Even if nobody else does.