Chapter Ten
CHAPTER TEN
WHEN NOTHSHIRE ARRIVED at Rutchester’s town house, there was a muffled din from within, the sound of female voices shrieking and a number of shattering noises.
The butler at the door flinched each time something shattered. “Forgive me, Your Grace, allow me to see if His Grace is at home.”
“Everything all right?” said Nothshire.
“Likely,” said the butler, swallowing hard. “He is, erm, hard on the furnishings of the place, but he rarely hurts anyone. Usually.” He cleared his throat. “If he is, in fact, at home, of course.”
“Yes,” said Nothshire, knowing that if the butler came back and said Rutchester wasn’t there, it was because Rutchester was in no mood to receive guests.
The butler disappeared, but he was back in moments and told Nothshire to follow him. He was led into the dining room, which was covered in a mess of food, broken plates all over the floor. Rutchester himself was standing on the table, no jacket or waistcoat, his shirt unbuttoned, hair wild. He was screaming profanities at the top of his lungs.
Upon seeing Nothshire, Rutchester took a breath. “One moment, Benedict,” he said in a fierce voice and then turned back to point at a maid who was cowering in the corner. “And tell Cook if she ever prepares that dish again, I shall tell her to cook me her own leg!”
The maid squeaked, ducking down her head.
Rutchester drew in a breath and then another. He leapt off the table and started for Nothshire. “Clean this up,” he called to the servants, waving carelessly behind him. He put an arm around Nothshire and led him out of the room. “Let’s go to my study.”
They walked through the hallway together, and one stray servant saw them and ducked out of the way, looking green.
“You didn’t like dinner?” asked Nothshire mildly.
“Ghastly dish,” said Rutchester. The door to his study was open. They went inside and Rutchester let go of him, seeming to realized, belatedly, that such a display of closeness between them was improper and strange. That was Rutchester in a nutshell, though. Too much, too intense, no forethought, all reaction. Rutchester rubbed his face, looking perturbed. “I likely overreacted.”
“I imagine the staff is used to you by now,” said Nothshire.
“True,” said Rutchester, nodding. He turned away, surveying the study, which was clean enough, though quite bare. Nothshire remembered several other chairs that used to sit in the room, and he wondered if Rutchester had destroyed them recently in one of his passions. Nothshire wouldn’t put it past him. Rutchester wandered over to his desk and sat down on the corner of it. “This is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you. Not to mention that this isn’t a typical calling time, dinner hour. Is something wrong? That viscountess, isn’t it? She’s caused some trouble.”
Nothshire shifted on his feet. Why was he here?
He had thought about going to Arthford. He often talked things through with Arthford, in fact. But Arthford had been teasing him about Lady Patience Needbrooke far too much. Nothshire couldn’t bear subjecting himself to that.
And Rutchester was celibate, anyway, or sort of, so, it would be likely he’d be more understanding. On the other hand, Rutchester had said that awful thing about marrying her.
“Why does everything think I have designs on that woman?” said Nothshire in frustration. “What did I do to make everyone think that?”
“I don’t know. Killed her husband.”
“You killed her husband.”
“Yes, but for you.”
“Look, just because a man kills a woman’s husband doesn’t mean he fancies her,” said Nothshire. “There are a lot of other perfectly reasonable reasons to murder a man.”
“Lots of other reasons to murder a man for a woman?” said Rutchester.
“For money ,” said Nothshire firmly.
“This is why you’ve come to speak to me?” Rutchester raised his eyebrows.
Nothshire sighed heavily. “She has some convoluted scheme she’s dreamed up and I’ve agreed to it, and it’s all mad. She wants to adopt a child and she says no one will give her a child because she’s a young, unmarried woman, so she wants me to go with her and pretend to be her husband. She says if I do that, she’ll stay silent about our identities forever.”
“Do you believe her, or do you think she’ll come up with more demands? Because we do already have Champeraigne doing that to us, as you well know. We don’t need more people to be obligated towards.”
“You’re not killing her,” said Nothshire, glowering at the other man.
“I didn’t say that,” said Rutchester.
“I believe her,” said Nothshire. “But I don’t want to do it.” He was just now, at this precise moment, realizing this.
“All right,” said Rutchester, gazing at him, bewildered. “Why not?”
“I have no idea,” said Nothshire. He looked around the room, found one of the spare chairs and sank into it. “It’s convoluted and stupid, for one thing. We have to go somewhere where no one will know us, so that means travel, and that’s an annoying inconvenience. And… and…” He didn’t know .
Rutchester shrugged. “It does sound ridiculous. You know, if she wants a child, and she doesn’t really care about where the child came from, there are urchins in the streets to procure from her. She could go down to the seedier part of town, wander around looking at them, and take her pick. No one would stop her.”
“I think she wants a newborn babe.”
“Well, even so, I’m sure there’s a way to find that without the charade she proposes and the travel and everything else. If you’d like me to make some inquiries—”
“No,” said Nothshire, shaking his head. He folded his arms over his chest. “She said she didn’t want to marry again because it was too much risk.”
“Just so,” said Rutchester with a firm nod.
“Yes, I thought you’d agree with that sentiment. But it makes me angry.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, because it’s not fair. She’s, well, you only look at her, and she’s so very young and full of life and so spirited and passionate. It just seems a waste, as if she’s cutting herself off from all manner of opportunities because of unfounded fear. And the fault lies with Balley, and if I could kill him again, kill him myself this time, I would. He did deserve it, and I knew it, but I was too fastidious to take matters into my own hands.”
“Yes, you always think too long,” said Rutchester. “But then I don’t think enough, so it’s a good balance, between us.”
Nothshire nodded. “True enough.”
“I simply don’t understand why it matters what she does, however. You made it very plain to me before that you don’t actually want her for yourself—”
“That’s definitely not the reason for this!”
“Yes,” said Rutchester. “So, in that case, you are being ridiculous and you should capitulate, give her what she wants, and be done with it. The sooner it’s over, the less you have to worry about how little sense your reaction makes, I suppose. That’s what I’d tell myself.”
Nothshire looked him over, sighing. “I suppose that is what you’d tell yourself.”
“Did you come to me for advice?” said Rutchester, giving him an odd look. “Because you’re smarter than that, Nothshire.”
Nothshire laughed.
“You know that’s true,” said Rutchester, grinning at him.
“I suppose I do, at that.”
IT ALL HAPPENED rather quickly after that. Patience told Charlotte the duke was an old friend, one who owed her a favor, and that he was going to assist her by posing as her husband. Charlotte was a bit skeptical, pointing out that Patience had never mentioned she had a friend who was a young and handsome duke who was willing to do her favors.
Patience was vague, saying that she had forgotten about him, but they’d become reacquainted at the ball she’d attended and that he had indicated his willingness to help her, and then she changed the subject rather pointedly. Charlotte furrowed her brow and pursed her lips but didn’t ask any other questions.
Nothshire got in touch with her days later, sending a letter through a trusted servant outlining that he had made preparations for them to go to Watford, a half-day’s journey by carriage. He said that he had sent a letter from a fictitious man in trade inquiring about a child and that a response had come back in the affirmative. She fretted over documentation, something to point to if their ruse was questioned, and sent a letter back with a servant herself to this effect. He wrote back that it wasn’t going to be necessary, that his written correspondence was going quite well. There was a child to be born soon, and that they would be contacted when the mother went into her labors and could come and take it that day.
So easy, then, if one was a man. She couldn’t even find it within herself to be angry about it, however. In all truth, she had expected the enterprise to be easy. These children were unwanted, in need, and she had thought that it would be a simple thing to step in, for she was simply solving a problem that needed solving in society.
One morning, a letter came from Nothshire that today was the day, and she was giddy and breathless with the thought of it, but also a bit apprehensive. She had not prepared, and she wondered at herself. There was no cradle in her house, no baby clothing, nothing of that nature. She had not interviewed wet nurses.
What had she been thinking?
Did she even want this?
No, of course she wanted it. She had come here for this.
And now there was no time, so she must simply muddle through.
Nothshire came in his carriage to collect her. There was some awkwardness as he offered her his hand to help her up inside and she touched him and they both sort of flinched at the contact.
She blushed.
He blushed, too.
Then, they were both in the carriage, driving, and it was frightfully silent, awfully silent, and she felt the urge to make conversation, but then she kept telling herself that she didn’t like him and she didn’t owe him anything other than uncomfortable silence, except that she was uncomfortable, too.
“We should get it straight before we’re there,” said Nothshire.
“Our story, you mean?” She smoothed her skirts. “I think you must say that you think it is your problem, because you would know, having never sired a babe in any of your many conquests.”
He made a face.
“Oh, don’t be that way,” she said. “It’s not even you. It’s a pretend persona.”
“I don’t think they’re going to ask about that,” he said. “It’s not their business why we want a child. We can be taking one in as a companion to our own children, or for extra help in the kitchen or something. There’s no reason to belabor that point.”
“Oh,” she said with a nod.
“I meant that…” He licked his lips. “When I touched your hand to get into the carriage, you… reacted.”
“So did you!”
“Well, we likely shouldn’t do that in front of them. That might look suspicious.”
“I don’t see as there will be any reason for us to touch in front of them. Do you regularly see married couples being physically affectionate in public?”
He inclined his head. “No, true, of course.”
“So, no touching,” she said.
“Yes, obviously,” he said.
More silence.
It dragged on and on.
She should have brought a book.
“We could play a game,” he said. “Looking out at the passing countryside, looking for things that begin with various letters of the alphabet or something of that nature. It can pass the time.”
She hunched up her shoulders. She was dreadfully bored. “All right.”
So, together, in stilted voices, they looked out the window and spotted things and passed the journey in that way.
When they arrived at the house, it was a stiff looking stone house with only a small square of a garden, and it empty of anything except neatly trimmed grass. No ornamental shrubbery or flower bushes or the like.
They were shown into a sitting room by a male servant.
Nothshire glared at the man, who noticed, and muttered an apology. Nothshire said, in a low voice, “That’s my wife you’re ogling like that.”
The man apologized again, but Patience certainly hadn’t noticed any ogling.
When the man left, she hissed at Nothshire not to do that.
He said that he was only playing the part of her husband, and she said that he was being strange and awful.
More silence, then.
Then, after a long interval, a woman came into the room with a sleeping baby in her arms.
“You’re Mr. and Mrs. Barnes, then?” she said brightly. “This is little Naomi.” She shrugged. “Oh, the mother named her Naomi, but you may change the name, if you wish, of course.”
The woman put the baby right into Patience’s arms and gave them both a bright smile, talked about how the Lord would richly bless them for their charity, and then backed away, still smiling.
“Oh, is that all?” said Patience.
“Yes, best if you’re off now,” said the woman, her smile wavering.
Something about that struck Patience as odd.
When they went out into the hallway, distantly, she heard the sound of a woman wailing like a broken thing.
“No, no, nothing to worry about,” said the woman. “They do take on sometimes, but she’ll be all right once she realizes it’s best for everyone.”
Patience’s entire body lit up in horror. “Is that Naomi’s mother?”
“You are the only mother Naomi has now,” said the woman with a bright smile. “That woman isn’t worthy of a babe. She’s a sinner, a scarlet woman. She’d only lead this tiny, innocent soul down the path to destruction.”
“But…” Patience looked down at the sleeping child. “The mother did give up Naomi willingly?”
“Oh, yes,” said the woman. “Now, off with you.” She made shooing motions.
Nothshire gave her a questioning look. “All right, Mrs. Barnes?” He was truly asking, and she could tell that if she said it was not all right, he would do something about that.
This badly affected her. She didn’t know if anyone, in her entire life, had truly inquired after her well-being in a way that implied that she was allowed to say that her being was not actually well. To be permitted to have such a feeling, it was an alien feeling. She was so struck by it that she nodded at him.
He touched her shoulder, even though they’d said no touching.
Together, they walked out of the house, her clutching the small bundle in her arms, Nothshire’s hand on her shoulder, and it all felt rather nice in a way that made her feel tender somewhere deep inside.
The carriage loomed in front of them. Nothshire let go of her to go and open the door for her.
At this moment, little Naomi squirmed in Patience’s arms. The babe woke and began to squall, wrinkling up her tiny face.
From within the house, the woman’s wails intensified.
There was a noise, as if someone was banging on a door or a wall or something.
Patience’s heart squeezed. She looked up at Nothshire. This didn’t feel right to her, not now. She didn’t know what to do, however.
Suddenly, the door to the house burst open and a woman wearing nothing but a shift ran across the garden toward them. The woman’s brown hair was wild and tangled, and her face and nose were red from crying. She ran straight for them, arms outstretched. “My baby,” she was screaming. “My baby, my baby!”
The man who’d let them into the house pursued the woman, along with three other people.
“No,” Patience said breathlessly. “No, Nothshire, stop them.”
Nothshire obeyed her immediately, advancing on those pursuing the woman.
Patience nodded at the woman who was running towards her. “Get in the carriage.”
“My Naomi!” sobbed the woman.
Patience transferred the crying baby into the woman’s arms, tears pricking her own eyes. She pushed both the woman and Naomi towards the open carriage door. “Get in, get in!” she said, and she went right behind them. She helped them all in and scrambled in herself, yelling, “Nothshire, now!”
Nothshire looked up from punching the other man and hurried for the carriage. He shut the door and banged on the ceiling and the carriage took off.
The woman was sobbing, and Naomi was screaming, and tears were running down Patience’s cheeks.
“What just happened?” said Nothshire.
The woman looked at both of them, her eyes wild, shaking all over. And then she turned to the baby in her arms and began speaking to it in a soothing voice. “Mama’s here, sweet one. It’s all right. It’s all right.” She gave the babe her breast to nurse and Patience looked away and Nothshire looked away and then it was silent, no noise except the carriage wheels going over the road.