Chapter 9
“It’s the whole bloody business of war,” Gareth said. He’d listened to a litany of bad memories, and now it was his turn to speak.
His head pounded like the devil and the breakfast Marceau forced on him threatened to come up. He was damnably hungover, and this hastily assembled meeting of Reabridge veterans at Doctor Wagner’s surgery wasn’t helping his disposition. “We do our duty,” he said, “they do theirs, and in the midst of all the dutiful are the madmen who enjoy it.” He’d seen that in the eyes of all stripes—French, English, and Spaniards; men and women; soldiers and civilians. “Not that I don’t enjoy a good fight, God knows, but…” He took in a breath. “Not just what they did to us, or what we did to them, but what they did to each other.” What they’d done to Fleur, who like other children bore the wounds of abandonment.
He rubbed his scraggly jaw. Marceau’s razor had been dull by the time he’d borrowed it. “I’m not making sense I guess, but when I close my eyes I see that last battle and what came after...”
He straightened and prayed that this damn meeting would end soon. Pain settled about the men and one woman gathered there, as thick and stifling as the smoke they’d all fought through in Flanders and every other bloody battlefield.
Still, discipline held as they listened to stories, all different and yet the same.
Finally a desperate knocking at the door brought a pause. Dr. Wagner went to the door, spoke to someone, and turned back to the room.
“I must go deliver a baby,” he said.
Gareth stood. “Whose?”
Wagner gave him a long look.
“Is it Mrs. Bicton-Morledge?” Gareth asked.
Wagner nodded.
“I’m coming with you.”
Gareth arrivedat Bicton Grange to find George Sherington on the doorstep. The maid greeting them said the doctor was upstairs with the ladies of the house, the little girls were in the nursery under Cora’s care, the footman had gone for the family’s solicitor, and Mr. Morledge was in the parlor.
They were in for a long afternoon, and Gareth offered to check on the Morledge girls in the nursery and fetch tea. When he returned with a tray, he found Sherington deep in conversation with a stout man, dressed all in black, as if attending a wake. So this was Morledge.
“About time,” Morledge said. “I’ve pulled the bell three times. Who are you, and why don’t you have a decent shave?”
“Captain Gareth Ardleigh,” Sherington said, “Meet Mr. Jedidiah Morledge. And thank you for doing footman work.”
“All in the name of duty,” Gareth said. He sent Morledgea terse nod. “There’s a baby being born here; the staff is busy with more important things than your bell-tugging.”
“Are the girls well?” Sherington asked.
“Yes. Cora enjoyed the harvest ball last night.”
Morledge harrumphed. “Made a spectacle of herself with that bumpkin, the Lord of the Harvest.”
Gareth straightened to his full height, six inches taller than the other man. “How so?” he asked.
“Danced with the fellow twice. A common laborer.”
“A common laborer who might find himself a job as a land steward soon. Lady Ixworth and I were there,” Sherington said. “There was nothing untoward about it.” He poured his own tea and looked up. “Very kind of Miss Hardouin to spend the evening with Helena so Cora could attend.”
She’d been needed here. How could he fault her for not staying to speak with him?
Hope rose in him. He would try again, soon, after this baby was born.
Turning, he paced to the window. But if it was a girl, what were they to do? He couldn’t in good conscience promise to provide for all of them. Perhaps if he took Sherington’s offer they could all live at the Manor. He’d have to give up his dreams of vineyards, but he’d have Fleur. Dear Fleur.
But… what had Sherington said about a land steward? Was he thinking of hiring Haskell if Gareth didn’t want the position?
Oh hell. That would set Haskell up well to marry Cora. How could he interfere with their happiness?
“Tea’s too strong,” Morledge complained. “What kind of staff does Helena employ?”
He itched to snatch the fellow up by his neck cloth. “I made the tea.” Gareth cameand loomed over the oaf’s chair. “It’s just like the tea we served in the officer’s mess. I say, Morledge, why are you here, anyway?”
Morledge spluttered into his cup, grabbed a napkin and wiped at his mouth.
“Damned nuisance for the family having you lurking about, waiting for this babe. Your presence won’t make a damn bit of difference.”
Sherington nodded and sat back in chair, steepling his fingers and watching the other man stutter for words.
“Are we in some medieval mystery play?” Gareth said. “Are we worried someone will slip in a male child? A peasant boy to take the king’s crown?”
“I don’t have to answer to you. Why the devil are you here, Captain?”
“Friend of the family,” Gareth said.
“Well, I am family. I’m the heir. And I want you gone.”
“No. Captain Ardleigh is here at my request.” Sherington’s tone was affable. “If you’ll remember, Morledge, I’m both the Justice of the Peace and a guardian to Bicton-Morledge’s children. Captain Ardleigh will stay.”
“Now see here, Sherington. You threw me out once?—”
“And I’ll do it again.”
A tap came at the parlor door. Haskell’s muscular bulk was framed in the doorway.
Gareth was glad to see him. Haskell had no cause to be an ally of Morledge. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
“Ah, Haskell,” Sherington said. “Come in.”
“We didn’t hear the door knocker,” Morledge said.
“We came in through the kitchens.” Haskell stepped aside, and Gareth recognized the woman from the tent, Haskell’s sister with the same sleeping baby, a child several months old.
“Sadie,” Sherington said, “did they send for you already?”
“Yes sir,” she said, bobbing a curtsey. “Reckon it will be soon.”
“What’s this?” Morledge stood. “You make jokes about substituting a male child, and see what we have here?—”
“This here’s my baby girl.” Sadie lifted her chubby chin. “Any soul with a brain knows a ten-month-old from a newborn.”
Gareth bit down on a grin.
While Sherington made introductions, Gareth picked up the tea tray. “I’ll just replenish these and maybe there’ll be news.”
He stalked out and was surprised to find Haskell following.
“What news?” Haskell asked.
“Nothing so far. The doctor and the ladies are with her. I passed that floor on my way to the nursery and heard a great deal of groaning. Cora has the girls well in hand. I suppose it wouldn’t go amiss for you to visit the nursery and check on them.”
Haskell sent him a puzzled look.
“That ass is just biding his time to put them all out of the house,” Gareth said. “I hope you’re not planning to leave. Am I correct that your sister is here to help with the, er, feeding?”
“Yes.” Haskell nodded.
“I’ll fetch a whole plate of tarts for her.”
Haskell nodded again. “Thank you. I’ll check on the little ones, and then after Sadie is fed, we’ll send her up to see what’s what.”
“A good plan.”
They parted ways. He was in the kitchen putting the final touches to his tray when the housekeeper herself rushed in, tears streaming.
His heart dropped into his stomach as the older woman threw herself into his arms. “Oh, Captain.” She stepped away, breathless. “Oh Captain. It’s a boy. And the doctor says there’s another babe crowning. I must have the caudle, Cook. And more hot water. And clean linens. Send whoever you can find to the linen closet.”
She grabbed a steaming pitcher and rushed out again.
On his way up the stairs with the burden of tea and cakes, a noise like a cat crying filtered down from above.
* * *
Fleur wipedtears on her sleeve and held Helena’s hand and her own breath as with one final straining push, the second baby arrived.
She’d never witnessed childbirth before. Helena’s bravery was astonishing.
“Another boy.” Dr. Wagner grinned and handed the wailing babe off to Miss Barlow. Mrs. Knollwood setthe first babe to Helena’s breast, and his crying stopped.
“A boy,” Helena said.
“Two boys.” Dulcinea mopped the exhausted lady’s forehead with a dampened towel. “And Miss Barlow has tied a ribbon around the heir’s foot.”
“Indeed I did.” Miss Barlow said, gently cleaning the second babe. “We’ll know better soon, but I don’t think they’re identical.”
“We’ve one more task here, Helena,” Dr. Wagner said. “Let’s get all of that afterbirth out.”
A short time later, Fleur was taking away soiled linens when Haskell’s sister Sadie entered the room, a baby in her arms.
“Two boys,” Fleur said.
Sadie grinned. “Two? That Morledge will be fit to be tied. When Captain Ardleigh came up from the kitchen?—”
“Captain Ardleigh is here?”
“Aye, and with Mr. Sherington. Bevan too.”
Her heart did a flip and she was suddenly nervous. Gareth was here.
“Fleur, go tell the gentlemen the good news,” Dulcinea called. “I’ll be right along to do battle with Mr. Morledge.”
“You won’t have to,” Sadie said. “My brother and the captain are up to the task.”
Fleur took off her soiled smock, smoothed her hair, and made herself walk sedately down the stairs, though her insides were quaking.
Watching Helena’s struggles made her realize she’d been taking the coward’s way out. Gareth was right: she needed to visit this woman who claimed to be her grandmother.
And, oh, if he would have her, if he would ask her again, there was no one better than Gareth to journey with.
When she entered the parlor, the heated conversation in progress halted.
Morledge stood, looking trapped between Haskell and Gareth. Mr. Sherington pushed himself to his feet.
“The crying has stopped,” Morledge said. “Is the child still alive?”
Fleur gasped. “Indeed, he is, Mr. Morledge. And so is his little brother. Helena has delivered twin boys.”
The color drained from Morledge’s face and then rose again in a flare of anger. “Gloat if you will, but many infants die unexpectedly.”
Gareth gripped his arm. “Are you threatening murder?”
Morledge tried to pull away. “I’m saying what’s true. Why, a careless nursemaid, a fall down the stairs, a passing fever?—”
“Morledge,” Mr. Sherington said. “I caution you to stop speaking. There are four witnesses here. If something should happen to either lad, some accident, why, you have motive, and you are discussing means.”
“It’s too unbelievable. After a passel of girls, she has two boys? I would see these babies.”
“It’s best if you would leave,” Sherington said.
Morledge stuttered a protest. Gareth and Haskell exchanged a look, Mr. Sherington nodded, and Fleur scurried out of the way as the men grabbed the villain’s elbows, carted him to the front door, and all but tossed him out.
They were dusting their hands and grinning like two schoolboys when the knocker sounded again. Gareth’s frowned and yanked open the door.
Etienne Marceau stumbled in. “I say.” He glanced over his shoulder. Morledge was climbing intoa cart. “That’s my cart,” Marceau called.
“Let him go,” Gareth said.“We’ve just tossed him out.”
Marceau frowned. “Bad news, my friend?”
Gareth clapped him on the back and laughed. “The lady of the house has just had twin boys. Fleur, may we make your cousin welcome?”
She threw up her hands. “Why not? Make introductions and I’ll go find some brandy.”
“But look,” Marceau said, drawing a bottle out of the pocket of his great coat. “I have brought champagne.”
Gareth exchanged a look with the Frenchman and then crossed the room to take her hands.
“Brandy would be welcome as well. If you please, Fleur, tell me where it is, and I’ll fetch it.”
The tenderness in his voice rendered her speechless. She shook her head and pulled her hands free.
As she hurried away, she heard Gareth whisper, “We haven’t got that far yet. Fleur has been busy.”
He’d spoken in French.
She sniffed, swiped at a tear, and made her way to the butler’s pantry.
By the timeshe returned to the parlor, she’d composed herself. Dulcinea had joined Sherington on the sofa. Haskell and Marceau stood eyeing each other warily.
Gareth hurried over, took the tray with the bottle and glasses and set it aside.
He grasped her hands and dropped to one knee, and her heart froze. Before she could summon her brain, he spoke.
“I won’t wait another moment, Fleur.” He spoke loudly enough to be heard in the next county. “I love you. Would you make me the happiest of men? Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
She heard her own shallow breath, and the ticking of a clock, and the rustling of footsteps somewhere in the house.
Gareth’s gaze held steady on hers, perspiration beading on his forehead and trickling down to his jaw.
“Have you your handkerchief?” she asked.
He blinked, and his lips turned up. The corner of his mouth had scabbed from his fight yesterday. She wondered if it would bleed again if she kissed him.
Gareth freed a hand, reached into his pocket, and placed a cloth in her hand. The same one.
“I carried it all through the Peninsula. Took it to Flanders. I didn’t have it with me when I was captured.”
Her vision blurred as she dabbed at his face. “I must make you a new one.”
He jumped to his feet. “You haven’t said yes, but don’t say no yet. I don’t have much, but I have prospects.”
She raised up on her toes, leaned close to his ear, and whispered. “And you have me.”
“For heaven’s sake, Fleur,” Dulcinea said.
“Now, now,” Sherington said. “While you’re deciding, Dulcy and I have an announcement. “We are to marry. You will always have a home with us, Fleur. Unless you decide to make other arrangements. I understand that Mssr. Marceau’s great aunt wishes you to marry him.”
Gareth’s arm tightened around her. “She won’t marry him. She’s going to marry me.” He grinned down at her. “Yes?” All of his great heart shone in his eyes.
“Yes,” she nodded. “Yes, I will. And I think… I think we must visit Champagne. I think your enthusiasm for wine must be pursued.”
“Bien,” Marceau said. “At last. You see, Ardleigh, the Hardouin blood runs true. You will not regret it, cousin, and you will be much happier married to Ardleigh than to me.”
* * *
A few weeks later.
The highest andlowest families filled the pews of St. Beonna’s for the double wedding of two joyful couples. The joint wedding breakfast took place at Bicton Grange, after which George Sherington carried his new bride off to Sherington Manor.
But Fleur and Gareth would spend their wedding night in a cottage on the grounds, one hastily spruced up for the newlyweds. The larder had been filled, but they would otherwise have to do for themselves, which suited them just fine.
When they arrived, Gareth swept her up and carried her across the threshold, and then into the bedchamber with its tester bed and new mattress. Covered plates sat next to a bottle of champagne—vin de comete--nestled in ice. The bedding had been turned back and a nightgown laid out.
Gareth settled his arm around her. “Shall we turn in early?” he teased.
“I see my nightgown. I’m wondering where is your night shirt?”
His low chuckle tickled her ear. Moments later his lips followed, moving from her ear down to the place below it, sending shivers through her.
She turned in his arms and linked her hands behind his head. “Dulcinea thought it necessary to explain the wedding night to me.”
“I would have loved to have heard that lecture.” He swept one finger along her jawline, past the pulse in her neck, and along the edge of her decolletage. Pleasure pulsed along the places he touched.
“As if after years of her sly innuendos, not to mention living on an estate where animals were bred, I wouldn’t already have a somewhat clear idea of matters. I just never quite understood why the eagerness to engage.”
Gareth blinked and then a slow smile formed. “You, puss, are challenging me.”
“Am I?” She grinned, and then laughed, and when he slipped his hand under her bodice, she gasped and surrendered.