Chapter Fourteen
The sky was clear and held a golden haze as sunset approached.
Amelia walked down the stone steps leading to the gardens.
The moonlight garden was one she’d discovered a few nights ago.
At first, she hadn’t realized what it was and had dismissed it as a colorless collection of flowers.
Then, one night, she’d stood outside while the moon cast its rays upon the earth.
The blossoms had turned into silver, and she now believed that if any garden held a piece of Katherine’s spirit, it was this one.
She found David seated beside a low wall. Mrs. Menford followed them with a tray, while Mrs. Larson carried a tureen of soup. Surprisingly, the two housekeepers appeared almost amiable toward each other.
The footmen had brought a table and chairs for the three of them, while the housekeepers laid out the food. Mrs. Larson lit two tapers, and the candlelight added an aura of magic. There was chicken soup, roasted pheasant, sugared peas, fresh bread and butter, and even a small lemon cake.
“It’s beautiful here,” Christine said. “I’ve been to this garden before, but never at night. I didn’t realize how different it would look.”
Amelia fixed a plate for her stepdaughter and set it before the girl. She smoothed Christine’s damp hair back and then raised a forkful of cake to her mouth.
The girl frowned a moment. “Shouldn’t I eat my vegetables and pheasant first? Miss Grant says dessert must always come last.”
“But then you might not be hungry for it,” Amelia said. “Sometimes my sisters and I would eat our cake first and then the rest. Not often, but it made our dinner more fun. Don’t you agree, my lord?”
David ignored his cake and took a bite of roasted pheasant. He might as well have been eating dirt, and Amelia suspected his worry over Christine superseded any ability to take joy in food.
“Papa doesn’t eat cake or sweets,” Christine said. “He never does.”
Amelia set down her own fork. Though she’d heard it before, she questioned the reason. “Why is that?”
He cut another bite of the pheasant and shrugged. “I don’t like the taste.”
“Has it always been that way?” she prompted, raising another bite of lemon cake for Christine to eat.
He stared at her as if to demand, Stop asking questions. “No.”
His daughter glanced at him. “This is about Mother, isn’t it?” Her expression turned serious. “She loved cakes and biscuits, didn’t she?”
“She did.”
From his clipped tone and the way he kept his attention firmly fixed upon his plate, Amelia guessed that he didn’t want to talk about it further. “How do you like the flowers?” she asked Christine.
The girl turned to look at the wild profusion of Queen Anne’s lace. “I used to think this garden wasn’t much to look at. But it’s beautiful at night.” Her gray eyes held wonder, and as twilight descended, the candlelight cast a soft glow over her face.
Amelia helped her to finish eating, but Christine had little appetite. Her mood mirrored her father’s, and both of them looked as if they were facing an executioner. She’d brought them here to cheer them up, and it wasn’t working at all.
“You’re going to get well,” she told Christine. “You need to believe that.”
“It’s hard, when I can’t move my arms or legs,” the girl admitted.
“We should take you back to your room,” David interjected. “You must be tired.”
“No. Wait a moment.” Amelia went over to one of the rosebushes and snapped off a small bud. She tucked it behind Christine’s ear and said, “I want you to think of your mother when you smell this. She’ll watch over you.”
“I’m afraid to die,” her stepdaughter admitted. Her voice was thick, as if she were holding back tears.
“Listen to me.” Amelia took the girl’s limp hands in hers, then touched one cheek. “We are going to listen to Dr. Fraser and keep the blood flowing through your limbs. We’ll move your arms and legs for you, until you can move them yourself.”
The fear in her stepdaughter’s eyes was mirrored by David. “I keep waking up at night, dreaming that I can’t breathe.”
“Have you lost the ability to move anything else? Your shoulders?”
Christine paused a moment and turned her shoulders one way and then the other. “No. I can still move them.”
“And you haven’t lost the feeling in anything else?”
The girl shook her head. “Not yet.” Her voice was hardly above a whisper, but she seemed to take comfort from Amelia’s observation.
“If it isn’t spreading, then that’s a good sign,” David said. He reached down to lift Christine back into his arms. “Come now, and I’ll take you back so you can rest.”
His gaze turned back to Amelia for a moment, and in his eyes, she saw the weariness. Like his daughter, he was afraid to hope. And he’d been alone for so long, he refused to rely on anyone but himself.
He was trying to shoulder a burden alone that no father should have to face. “It was a nice picnic,” he said to Amelia. “Thank you.”
She remained seated there after they’d gone, wondering what to do now. David seemed determined to separate her out of his life. He was hurting deeply and kept up the mask of indifference. Only during his violent outburst had she caught a glimpse of the pain he was hiding.
Slowly, she rose from her chair in the garden. When she reached the door to the house, she overheard low voices speaking in the parlor. Amelia tiptoed nearer and spied her sister Juliette talking with her husband.
“Will she live?” her sister was asking.
“I canna say,” Dr. Fraser answered. “If the paralysis doesna spread further, it should recede in the next few days.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then she’ll die tonight or tomorrow. She willna be able to move her lungs.”
Amelia leaned back against the wall, feeling as if her knees were about to buckle beneath her. Inwardly, she felt sick to her stomach, and a rise of nausea caught in her throat.
She didn’t want to believe it could be true, and before she could hear another word, she began running up the stairs.
Tonight or tomorrow, he’d said. She prayed that it wouldn’t happen, that the girl would survive it. But Christine’s premonition about being unable to breathe was a tangible threat.
And if the worst happened, she needed to be at David’s side.
The night was long, the hours creeping by, one by one. David’s shoulders ached, and he’d been unable to leave Christine for even a moment. It was as if he could fight the invisible hand of Death by shielding her.
He’d give up his life for hers, if it were possible. Watching her struggle to breathe, seeing her fight to live, was something he’d never imagined would happen.
Dr. Fraser had come in several times, but there was no change in Christine’s condition. David sent the physician away for a few hours, needing the time to be with his daughter. He promised to alert him if she took a turn for the worse.
Amelia, however, had refused to leave. She sat across from him, keeping her own vigil. Her green eyes held exhaustion, and her blond hair tangled against her throat. For a moment, she met his gaze, and he couldn’t help but remember what she’d said before, that she loved him.
How could she? She’d seen him lose control of his temper, destroying most of the gamekeeper’s cottage. He was hardly her ideal husband, and he’d brought her to this miserable marriage where she wasn’t even mistress of her own household.
He’d never seen her look this fragile before. Amelia should have so much more than this bleak existence.
She stood from her place and moved to stand behind him. “If you want to rest for an hour, I’ll keep watch over her.”
Her hands rested upon his shoulders, but he shook his head. “I’ll be fine. But you should go to sleep. There’s nothing either of us can do right now.”
“I won’t leave,” she whispered, and her hands pressed against his shoulders, massaging away the stiffness.
Her hands felt so good, and he closed his eyes for the slightest moment, enjoying her touch. David leaned back his head, taking the comfort she offered.
A fleeting second later, he felt her mouth come down on his in a light kiss. There was hesitancy in her lips, as if she were afraid to show any affection to him. But before he could kiss her back, she pulled away.
He said nothing, and her hands moved away from his shoulders. She was waiting for him to say something, he knew. But the silence hung between them, deepening the rift.
Then, out of nowhere, he confessed the truth. “Katherine was going to have another baby when she died.”
When he turned to her, Amelia’s face held shock.
Though she appeared as if she wanted to say something, she waited for him to go on.
David didn’t know why he’d said it, but once he’d begun telling her, it became impossible to stop.
“She had a…wasting sickness. A cancer, they told me. One moment she was fine, and then it struck her so fast. She was in such pain, but she tried to hide it from me.”
“You were there for her.” She took his hand, as if to reassure him. “And I imagine that brought her comfort.”
“I never knew she was expecting a child when the sickness hit her. She…kept her body under the covers for many months. Even the doctor didn’t know. Katherine fought so hard to live, and it was only in her last hour that she told me.”
His eyes burned, and it felt like acid was burning the back of his throat. “She—she thought they could cut the baby from her and save it. But I knew she would die if they did. The child couldn’t have lived anyway, since she was only a few months into the pregnancy.”
Tears were rolling down Amelia’s cheeks, and she squeezed his hand tightly. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I let both of them die,” he said. “She took her last breath in my arms, and when the doctors tried to save the child, in case there was a chance, my son was already dead.”
He wanted to grieve, to release the harsh pain that he’d buried deep. But he didn’t want Amelia to see the weakness. It had been six years—far too long to think of it now. But his son would have been running around, perhaps learning to ride his own horse.
Amelia drew her arms around him, and she whispered, “You mustn’t blame yourself. There was nothing you could do.”
He knew it, but it didn’t assuage the raw emptiness. It was easier to embrace the silence, to lock away any emotions.
“Sometimes I wish I could have given myself in their place,” he said. “If I hadn’t given her another child, she might have been strong enough to overcome the sickness.”
“You couldn’t have known it would happen.”
“No. But I blame myself, nonetheless.” When Amelia moved back, he admitted, “I never wanted you to endure something like this.”
Her face held sorrow, and she added, “Do you regret this marriage?”
He did. But not because he hadn’t wanted her to share in his life. It was because he’d reached the end of his strength. He had no love left to give, and if anyone deserved to be loved, it was Amelia.
“I wish I could be a better man for you,” was all he could say.
His answer brought a flush to her cheeks, and she looked down at her hands.
Christine began to toss her head in her sleep, and her breathing suddenly turned into gasps. He didn’t know what was happening, but he ordered Amelia, “Go and fetch Dr. Fraser. Now!” He shoved her out the door, praying to God that his daughter would live.