Chapter Twenty-three
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“YOU KNOW, I was only serving as a lady’s maid because my mistress had this scheme to get a child to raise,” said Patience’s maid, who Nothshire was vaguely remembering was named Charlotte.
“Oh?” said Nothshire to Charlotte. They were standing outside a carriage, waiting for Patience to come down and get into it. They were on their way to the north, to Patience’s old dowager house, to collect her things, since she would no longer be in residence there. The dowager house belonged to the Balley holdings, and she would now be living with Nothshire. “Well, what did you do before you were her lady’s maid?”
“I was a housekeeper,” said Charlotte.
He eyed her sidelong. “Of course you were.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” he said, clearing his throat. “Nothing at all.” He paused. “I suppose it must feel like a demotion to you, then. Being a lady’s maid after running an entire household.”
“I never said that,” said Charlotte primly. “You are putting words in my mouth.”
“Did you like being a housekeeper?” he said. “Because, as it happens, I am losing a housekeeper. I suppose you know this, though? This is why you are bringing it up? My wife must have mentioned it to you.”
They had been married for precisely four hours at this point. The plan was to go to the north, collect her things, including the damnable dog, which Patience doted upon, much to his chagrin, and then they would honeymoon at his own northern estate, in Nothshire.
“You continue to think to speak for me, I see,” said Charlotte, sighing.
“The position is yours, if you wish it, of course,” he said.
“I can’t simply leave my lady—Her Grace, excuse me—without a lady’s maid,” said Charlotte huffily. “I am not angling for a job.”
“All right, pardon me,” he said, sighing. He was bewildered by this entire conversation.
“Well, that is, if I speak to her, and she is amenable, I suppose I could, if you are entirely sure that you even wish to give me such a position, think about accepting it.”
He smiled. “Think about it, then, Charlotte.”
“I think, if I am going to be a housekeeper, you must address me as Mrs. Higgins,” she said.
“Obviously,” he agreed. “That would only be proper.”
She gave him a nod. “Don’t think this means I like you, you know.”
“Of course not,” he said. “You must hate me. That is the job of a wife’s closest female friend, after all, to steadfastly hate her husband. It is known.”
She snorted.
He was still smiling.
PATIENCE WAS WORRIED that Dash would have forgotten her after her long absence of so many months. How could a tiny little dog like her own darling keep her in his little doggy head, after all? She thought he might resist being taken away from his home, and she worried that she would have to leave him behind if he was too sorrowful.
But Dash came to her joyfully and leaped into her arms, covering her face with slobbering kisses and refused to leave her side from the moment she was back in his company. He went wherever she did, and seemed quite willing to get into the carriage with her when they departed from her dowager house.
She held Dash and peered out the window as they left it behind, feeling a pang at its loss. There was still some part of her that felt as though relinquishing her widowhood was relinquishing her independence in some way.
She trusted Nothshire, but it still frightened her somewhere. She had done it, even though she’d sworn she would not. She had gotten married again. And Nothshire would not hurt her nor would he treat her badly, and she knew this, but she also… well, she wasn’t free.
Her bleeding had come, so she was not with child, and when that had happened, she had gone into a bit of a tizzy. Was it foolish to marry so quickly if there was no need? Perhaps they should put it off a few months, leave things as they were, court each other publicly, allow some time to pass?
But Nothshire was still visiting her bedchamber secretively and regularly, and she was cognizant of the fact that she wished not to be constantly shushed every time he made her come. It was likely a stupid reason to get married, she thought, but she did indeed wish to be allowed to scream.
On her wedding night, she did exactly that. She was incredibly noisy, and Nothshire loved it, urging her on, his voice scratchy in her ear as he nudged her closer and closer to her own bursting ecstasies. “Good, very good,” he murmured. “I want everyone to know just how much you enjoy being my duchess.”
She also found it rather embarrassingly arousing to be called “Your Grace” in bed. She could not say why but there was something headily erotic about it. Her husband would ask her permission to do all manner of things. “May I put my hand under your shift, Your Grace? May I touch your bosom, Your Grace? May I taste you, Your Grace?” And every time he said any of those things, she felt little trills of goodness run all through her body.
The only thing that was more erotic was being called by his last name. “You’re the most perfect Lady Nothshire, aren’t you?” he would whisper. “I couldn’t ask for a prettier or sweeter wife.” Or, with his hands delving into fantastically pleasurable places. “That seems to make you very wet, doesn’t it, Lady Nothshire? Will you be my very good wife and get even wetter for your husband’s prick?”
Anyway, they spent every night together for the first two months.
Then, he was called away, by Champeraigne, which was maddening, but there was little to be done about that, she supposed.
The two months were wonderful in every possible way, however.
When she had been married to Balley, she had been expected to do whatever it was he wanted. He had very specific ideas for the way his household should look and function, and he had indicated to her that she must follow his instructions to the letter. If she didn’t, there were consequences. If she did, there were still consequences. There was no pleasing Balley.
So, it was a novel idea to be asked if she wished to alter anything about her husband’s estate. He made it clear that if she chose, the entire place could be redecorated, that absolutely everything could be changed. And when she said she didn’t wish to cause undue upheaval, he told her everything in this place had been done according to his father’s dictates and he would like nothing more than watching it all torn down.
So, she did it. She eradicated all the touches left by that horrid man.
And she didn’t ask a number of questions about what had happened to him, sensing he would share as he was ready, which happened in small fits and starts, often in the darkness, his head resting on her breast as a pillow, his voice halting as he outlined the awfulness of it, being instructed to speak in Latin to thank his father for his beatings. Gratias tibi ago, he would have to say after every blow, and if his voice cracked or he showed any emotion at all, he would be beaten worse. How the punishments were a matter of course, whether he’d done anything wrong or not, simply a part of his life that he’d had to endure, that his father had said that learning to bear pain was part of being a man.
It made her cry. Sometimes she felt she was crying because he could not.
But it made her angry, too.
And when he left to do Champeraigne’s bidding, she could not help but feel as if it was all part and parcel to the same sort of business, being forced to do some wretched man’s bidding no matter what they wished.
She wanted Nothshire free, entirely free. She wanted them both free.
But how best to go about making that happen, that was not something that would be undertaken easily. It would take time and cunning. She was willing to wait, but not forever.
And soon enough, she was distracted, anyway, because her bleeding was late.
She and her husband had decided together, in a very grave conversation, that they had no reason to rush into making children, and he had vowed, solemnly, not to spend in her. And he did try, but he was simply terrible at it. At one point, he brought a French letter for them to try, but she despised the way it felt, because it blunted the feeling of him inside her, and so, what with everything, it just… happened.
She was terrified.
But then, she thought, maybe it was simply going to be terrifying, no matter when it happened or how prepared she was. And she did know that she’d pondered out the idea that she would have nine months to become prepared, so that maybe it would all naturally fall into place in that time.
Nothshire seemed sort of shyly pleased, but afraid to be pleased, because he knew she was terrified. He tried to hide it, but she eventually forbade him from doing so. His pleasure in it was sort of contagious, after all.
So, then, she would lie in his arms at night. (She was probably supposed to sleep in her own bedchamber now, but it was so cold and lonely there, and she had gotten used to tucking her cold toes under his legs and feeling him pull her into his arms, feeling him plant little kisses on the crown of her head.) He would put one of his enormous hands on her still-flat stomach and hold it there and muse about whether it would be a little girl with hair like hers or a little boy with her eyes and she would giggle and say that she was sure the child would favor him and he would speak about how he would make it his business to shield their children from pain, that he would sacrifice everything he had, everything he could, to keep them safe and happy, that he would never treat a child the way he’d been treated.
Which would usually make her cry again. Admittedly, it was easy to cry now that she was increasing. She cried at the drop of a hat.
And the months progressed, and her belly wasn’t so flat anymore, and sometimes, she felt little flutters inside her, like butterfly wings, and that made her breath catch in her throat, an intense feeling that overwhelmed her in its sheer goodness. (And made her cry again, but everything made her cry.)
Was she ready to be this little one’s mother?
Perhaps not.
Perhaps she wasn’t going to be ready.
But they had made this little babe together, out of their love, and he or she was coming soon. Soon, she would have her own sweet darling in her arms.
When she had considered it before, having a baby to love, she had just wanted something to love, she thought, something real. But now, she was so encased in love that it practically drowned her. She had never thought she could be quite so happy and pleased and eager.
So, she sat near the window as spring stole over the world and Dash nuzzled the swell of her belly, and she promised her little dog that he and the baby would be fast friends and would play together in the gardens surrounding the estate, and she did something she never thought she would ever do.
She trusted that the future would be bright and safe and good.