Chapter Twenty
Sculthorpe Manor
Half-past ten in the evening
Judith shifted, trying to push the brick at her feet farther down under the covers.
It had gone cold, and her legs threatened to cramp from being curled up against her belly for so long.
She twisted her hips, groaning as another spike of pain moved across her back.
Although she had been in bed for almost twenty-four hours, drinking so much tea she had almost floated to the chamber pot, she had not been able to sleep or even find a position that remained comfortable for more than a few minutes.
As she lay there, Judith tried to imagine what it would be like for all this to stop permanently, dreaming of a time her mother-in-law had referred to as “a saintly relief.”
She also tried to gather the wherewithal to get out of bed for a few moments, to stretch aching muscles, and she lifted her head to peer at the fireplace, wondering if a miniscule flare remained among the embers.
A soft tapping on the door preceded it opening a few inches. “My lady?”
Judith sighed. No more tea, please. I’m swamped. She had also had another cleansing and new cloths less than an hour ago. She should be good for the night, although she did not expect to get much rest. “Enter.”
Epworth pushed open the door, bring in yet another tea tray, although she left the door standing open as she placed the tray on the bedside table.
Judith watched, eyebrows arched, as she looked from her maid to the open door, then to the tray, where the sugar, teapot, and cup had been joined by a small brown vial.
“What is that?”
“A helpful gift.”
Judith jerked toward the baritone voice, pushing up in her bed as she stared at Mark Rydell, the last person on earth she wished to see in that moment.
“What in God’s name are you doing here? Did you not receive my message?
” She gave Epworth an accusatory glance, then winced as her stomach gave a sharp cramp.
Judith pressed a hand to the pain. “Damn it.”
Mark closed the door but came no closer. “I did. But I became convinced I should come anyway.”
“Why in hell would you do that?”
“Because I am in your debt, and I believe I know a way to repay you.” He gestured toward the tray behind her.
Judith turned as Epworth added sugar to the cup. “Please, Epworth. I do not think I can take another sip of those blasted teas.”
Epworth nodded, stirring. “This is just regular India tea, my lady.” She picked up the brown bottle, uncorked it, and added a few drops to the cup. “Plus Lord Mark’s gift.”
“Which is?”
Mark cleared his throat. “Laudanum.”
Judith stilled a moment, her mind a bit fuzzy, then murmured. “Laudanum?”
“I figured if it would help my innards, it might help yours. I understand the teas bring some ease but not full relief.”
Judith tried to push back against the headboard, without much success. “True.”
Mark moved around the bed. “Let me help.”
Before Judith could react, he slid an arm about her waist and pulled her backwards, his strength like a warm massage against her aching back. He braced her with one arm and plumped a pillow with the other, slipping it between her and the headboard.
“Nicely done,” muttered Epworth, standing back with the tea in hand.
Judith’s eyes narrowed as she looked from her maid to Mark. “You really should not be here. Have the two of you have conspired on this? My note said nothing about my actual ailment.” She winced. “Which is not an actual illness, so to speak—”
“Only in that Epworth was startled enough by my appearance that I was able to persuade her to present you with the laudanum.” He stepped away from the bed, and Epworth moved up, offering Judith the cup and saucer.
Judith took the cup, eyeing both with suspicion but aching too much to truly care. She took a small sip, relishing the taste of real tea, even if it were overlaid with a bittersweet tanginess. She licked her lips, then nodded at Epworth. “The brick is cold.”
Epworth blinked, then moved quickly to pull the heavy square from beneath the covers, as Judith glared at Mark again. “You should not be here.”
Mark stepped to the side of the bed. “Ah, and that brings us to another reason I decided to come, despite your admonition.”
Judith sipped the tea. “And that is.”
“To deliver to your aid a regenerative source of heat and pressure that does not need to be inserted into the fire grate every hour or so.”
Epworth snorted but did not look around. Instead, she busied herself stoking the fire and pushing the brick into the embers.
Judith heard his words, but her mind did not truly register their meaning.
She blinked, playing them over to herself, her brain attempting to sort through all the scientific lectures she had heard at the Royal Academy or information from any of the books she had read about any device that created its own heat.
Her thoughts swirled in confusion. “You mean like Thomas Savery’s engine? ”
Epworth stared at her as Mark laughed. He moved closer, his gaze focused on her face. “You really are the most remarkable woman. I had something much simpler in mind. And more at hand.”
Judith drank more tea, which began to have a warm and calming effect on her stomach. “Such as?”
“A human body. Specifically, mine.”
Judith’s eyes widened. He could not possibly want me to— “You cannot mean for us to—”
He held up a hand. “No. Not that. At all. I only propose to hold you. To talk, if you are able. There are things we should discuss.”
“Such as?” Judith swirled the tea in her cup, then took several sips. The taste did not seem as bitter now, and she could see a few grains of the brownish sugar in the bottom.
Mark rested his hand on the covers near the top of her thigh. Judith could feel the warmth of his palm through them, and it seemed to spread upward toward the heat growing in her abdomen. She nodded slowly as he answered.
“The Blackwell ball. Your plan.”
“Our plan.”
He smiled. “The plan. The three ladies. Olivia.”
Judith snapped a look at Epworth, who still busied herself with the fire, which now blazed brightly.
Mark’s smirk returned in full form, as did the gleam in his eyes. “If you do not think the servants know everything in our lives . . .”
Judith relented, give a low chuckle. “Oh, I know they do.” Judith drained her cup. “Epworth?”
The maid turned. “My lady?”
Judith held out the cup. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Epworth took the cup, then gathered the tray, pausing at the door. “I will wait for you to ring, my lady.”
“Please do so.”
Epworth gave a slight curtsy and left, pulling the door firmly closed.
Mark began to untie his cravat. “Where do you hurt?”
Judith rolled her shoulders. “Pretty much all over. Mostly my back and hips. Where you would expect.” Judith studied him. “How much do you know about women’s ailments?”
He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the chair near her dressing table. “Probably more than most men.”
“Another advantage of being a rakehell and rapscallion?”
He sat down on the bench at the end of her bed and pulled off his boots. “Most likely. I know some women struggle more than others. I know certain acts can prompt an early arrival. I know some teas help, but I also know some potions can more effective.”
“Thus the laudanum.”
“Stella and the other actresses used it frequently, especially when they had to perform.”
Judith felt suddenly weak. “Women who cannot take to their beds, like I have?”
Mark stood and unbuttoned the fall of his britches, slipping them off.
“Some months were harder, even for her, than others. And I know a certain duchess, one of the strongest people I know, who cannot hold down food for the first two days.” He folded his britches and laid them on the bench, smoothing out the wrinkles.
Still wearing his small clothes and shirt, he went to the other side of the bed and peeled back the covers, then stopped. “Let me help.”
After a moment, Judith nodded, watching as he slid in beside her. She scooted down in the bed to lie flat again, then winced as the cramps moved through her again.
“Turn on your side, away from me.”
She did, a groan escaping from her unbidden as she drew her knees up again.
“I am going to position you.”
Judith nodded, biting her lip as he pulled her backwards toward his body, lifting her shoulders, plumping pillows, and settling her into a nest of covers.
“Are you all right?”
“More or less.”
Mark moved over her so that most of his body rested against her, his knees pulled up to parallel hers.
He wrapped an arm around her, his broad hand pressing against her stomach.
Judith tucked her hand beneath her face, her breath slowing as the warmth of his body eked into her, the heat spreading through her like a hot bath.
He held her, silent for a few moments, as the tension in her muscles, the aches that had crippled her, flowed away.
Mark kissed her temple, his calming voice a bare whisper. “The laudanum takes about a half hour. You may fall asleep after that.”
“I have not slept in two days.” The gravel in her own voice surprised Judith, and she swallowed.
“I am not surprised. Pain is not conducive to slumber.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Quite recently, as a matter of fact.”
Judith coughed a laugh, then groaned.
“Ah, that, unfortunately, sounds familiar. Laughing is not recommended.”
She almost laughed again but choked it back. “Stop.”
Mark brushed her hair away from her face. “How do you feel?”
Taking a deep breath, she murmured, “I think it may be working.” Indeed, her muscles had grown lax, the heat of their bodies enveloping her in a soothing cocoon. “Tell me about Olivia.”
Mark paused, then his voice became low, rhythmic, as if he were a master storyteller. “I have moved Olivia and Rose into the house.”
“Already? How did that go?”
“Smoother than I anticipated. Rose had told Olivia about Stella’s death right after it happened.
We kept my first meeting with Olivia brief.
And the second. Then Rose brought Olivia for a visit, and they examined the rooms. Olivia only wanted to know if she could bring her own toys and to see the garden. They moved in two days ago.”
Judith stroked his arm, and his hand pushed a little harder against her stomach. The warmth and weight felt so comforting, she found herself worried he might pull away. She covered his hand with hers.
“Were your servants startled?”
“The servants were startled when I added a nursery. They knew some plot lay ahead.”
Judith felt herself drifting, her thoughts jumbling. The laudanum. “Are they settling in well?”
“Olivia has already made fast friends with Clara, my head housemaid, and has convinced Cook that treats should be given after ever visit to the garden.”
Judith yawned, closing her eyes. “Children can add such joy to a home. I am surprised the servants did not start a rumor that you were about to marry, once they saw the nursery.”
Mark fell silent.
“But I am glad they have welcomed them. That is not always the case with a”—Judith swallowed, searching for a word without an insult built into it—“an unexpected child.”
“True. And Howe would have squelched any rumor about marriage. He knows well how and why the institution would not suit me.”
Judith felt herself fading, the grogginess of sleep overwhelming her as the pain in her body vanished. “Never?”
Mark remained quiet as Judith’s breathing evened out and the peace of sleep ended the conversation. Only barely did she hear his last three whispered words.
“Only with you.”
*
Mark had not meant to say those last three words, and he held onto the idea that Judith had been fully asleep when he said them.
He had not meant to say them.
But he had meant them.
Mark had once dreamed of marriage, as he supposed most young men did, before being thrown into the Marriage Mart at the age of twenty, where he discovered most of the young debutantes differed from his mother and sister Daphne in the same way that fine wines differed from ciders.
Wine and cider both delighted the palate and quenched thirst but in vastly varied ways.
He had grown up bantering with his mother and Daphne, wits sharpened by sarcasm and education.
Daphne had been a dedicated and determined reader, consuming books on every possible subject and driving her brothers as well as her governess mad with questions.
Mark’s dance partners at various balls could not compare, and his sharpest questions and wickedest barbs often met with blank stares or expressions of pure confusion.
This woman, whose soft, tortured body now lay so close to him, had conjured up Thomas Savery’s invention of the pistonless steam pump in the midst of her pain.
On the dance floor, no matter how hard he pushed, she met him step for step, barb for barb.
She enjoyed their sexual play and seemed ready for more.
She had met his announcement of a daughter, a by-blow, with grace and openness.
She had understood his nightmares, showing no fear at all.
Yet she had come at him, claws bared, when she thought he had harmed her family.
He did not want to live without her.
But too much lay ahead, too many problems yet to be resolved, for either of them to consider marriage.
While the quilt she had sent helped, the nightmares still plagued him.
Her family’s finances still lay in tatters.
And the Blackwell ball awaited them, with its fragile scheme that could risk both their worlds.
At that thought, a line from Richard II crossed his thoughts, and he whispered.
“‘But time will not permit: all is uneven, And every thing is left at six and seven.’”
Judith stirred but did not waken.
Mark smiled, watching her sleep. I bet you would know where that came from. She probably would have read Shakespeare’s play, even if she had not seen it. We must get through this. We must.
With that thought in mind, Mark snuggled a little deeper beneath the covers, pulled Judith closer, and rested his head against the pillows. It would be a long night.