She filed away the fact that men didn’t think a plump round bottom was a bad thing. Even though it would look awful in a high-waisted gown. He didn’t seem to care. She let her leg slip a little further to the side as a present.
He seemed to be shaking.
Her fingers touched herself. “Some curves never change—” she whispered.
But strong hands pushed her legs apart, and a golden head of curls replaced her hand. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe, she was only a body in flames.
In flames and in love.
Even as she entwined her hands in his curls and pulled him up, up so that his mouth came to hers, she knew.
He was making her heart sing by kissing her, and pulling her thighs apart, not gently. And then,
And then,
She arched to take him, to take all of him, because that was the only thing that mattered in the world. She was lost except for the choked sound of his voice saying her name, and his rhythm, God, for someone who hardly knew how—
But that thought slipped away in the rising heat and the way he was thrusting against her, his hands on her breasts now, and she was going to shriek, really shriek—she never shrieked; it wasn’t ladylike.
Sometimes even a lady breaks the rules.
“All I wanted was buttered toast,” she said sometime later, running a lazy finger over his stomach.
“To hear is to obey,” he said, and the lazy pleasure in his voice made her shiver all over again.
He stoked the fire and made her toast without bothering with his clothes, and that gave her the inestimable pleasure of watching him.
“Gardeners don’t eat butter,” he said, bringing back the toast.
She brightened. “Jam?”
“They can’t afford such niceties. Why, the mistress of this house is a terribly hard taskmaster. Pays her workmen a pittance.”
“What do gardeners eat on their bread?” she asked.
“Honey,” he said, taking a little wooden ladle shaped like a spindle from a jar and raising it in the air over her bread so that a thin gold stream of honey curled in the air and fell on her toast.
They ate toast, tucked side by side on the edge of the bed. He kept a hand on her stomach, even though the babe was still sleeping, although how the child managed to sleep through the last hour, Esme had no idea.
“Why are you doing that?” she finally asked, deep in the comfort of a satisfied body and honey toast.
“I’m pretending he’s mine,” Sebastian said. He gave her a smile. “Don’t worry: I know the child is Miles’s. I’m just pretending.” He bent and kissed her ear, just a brush with his lips.
Emotion choked her throat, and she could hardly finish her toast, but she managed, and then she had to think of a way to leave, or she would cry.
So, with her usual bad luck of the last few months, she was struck by an idea that achieved just the opposite effect.
She took his hand off her stomach and pushed him back on the bed. He went without protest, but with a surprised look in his eye.
And then she reached out for that little earthenware jar, the one with the tiny ladle in it, the ladle shaped like a spindle. And smiling her Infamous Esme smile, the smile that had seduced the most starched marquess in London, she held that little ladle up in the air.
Golden drops of honey clung to the spindle, dropped slowly, fell to something smooth, and hot, and male.
It was a good thing that she was always hungry.
Pregnancy does that to you.
33
The Remedy for Sin and Fornication
The wedding was to be a very quiet affair, held at Holkham House, which was graced with a very small fourteenth-century chapel that had a tiny altar and high-backed oak pews. It was a rather dim and damp sort of place, but Lady Holkham insisted.
“I won’t have the villagers out gawking at you, which they would if we held it in St. Mary’s,” she said.
Millicent had not taken the story of the letter well, although she seemed relieved that her stepdaughter had not truly thrown all propriety to the winds. “Of course Darby must marry you,” she had snapped. “It doesn’t matter what the truth of the matter is: your reputation is ruined.”
Henrietta didn’t sleep more than an hour or two the night before her wedding. She lay awake in an agony of irresolution, certain that she was making the mistake of a lifetime. But finally dawn came, and with it a numb sense that she had no choices left.
The first thing she saw on walking into the chapel was Darby, speaking with Mr. Fetcham. Naturally he was a vision of elegance from head to foot. Henrietta looked down at her own gown. She was wearing a creamy satin gown with an overskirt pinned back over straw-colored silk. It was her best, although it had no pretensions to being a London gown.
Darby kissed her hand and then stood for a moment, looking down at her. Then he said, “Are you ready, Henrietta?”
She nodded, unable to speak for a moment.
“Are you certain you wish to accompany me to London directly after the service? I do need to return, but I don’t want to wrench you away from your family.”
“Not at all.” A tiny part of her mind longed to go on one of those newfangled bridal tours that her sister told her about. But they weren’t that sort of couple, and besides, she had made up her mind not to leave the girls until she found a trustworthy nursemaid.
“I had no idea that you shared a maid with your sister,” Darby said, his brow creasing.
Henrietta bit back a smile. Obviously Darby would never share a manservant, the way she had always shared Crace with her sister.
“I had thought that your maid would travel with the children, since we are still without a nursemaid,” Darby continued. “However, I will ask Lady Holkham if—”
“I shall travel with Josie and Anabel,” Henrietta said firmly. “There’s no need whatsoever to borrow one of my stepmother’s servants.”
“I know you mean to be a devoted mother to the children, Henrietta, and I honor you for it. But Anabel’s stomach problems cause quite a pestilence in close quarters. And I’m afraid that traveling does Josie’s temper no good whatsoever.”
Henrietta lifted her chin. “They shall be my children.”
His surly friend appeared. Henrietta curtsied. “Good morning, Lord Godwin.”
“Morning,” he muttered. Then he took Darby by the side and drew him toward the back of the chapel, and Henrietta distinctly heard him say, “It’s not too late to…”
The wave of relief she felt on hearing Darby’s laugh was quite terrifying.
The little chapel was growing crowded, even though Millicent had insisted that they invite no one. The children were seated in the right front pew, flanking Esme’s nanny, and Lady Holkham with Imogen were opposite them. Helene and her husband Lord Godwin were, naturally enough, at opposite ends of the chapel. The vicar, Mr. Fetcham, nodded to her, and Henrietta walked into the little crypt off to the side. She was to wait for her cue before she emerged.
She leaned against a stone crypt and tried not to think about what was to come. The crypt was adorned with a statue of its occupant, lying on his back, rigidly poking his hands up in the air in an eternal gesture of prayer. The crypt was bitterly cold. Slowly the damp cold sank into Henrietta’s bones, making her feel as rigid as the statue.
Finally, the door pushed open, and Lord Godwin stood in the doorway, waiting to escort her to the altar.
“Rees is my closest friend,” Darby had told her. “Since your father is dead, I asked him to stand in.”
Henrietta had the fleeting thought that perhaps Lord Godwin would tell her that it wasn’t too late, but he simply held out his arm.
Everyone stood up as she began walking from the back of the chapel. The cold had done its work: she was limping badly. Why hadn’t she thought about that walk to the altar? She’d be lucky if Darby didn’t turn tail and run, given that she was almost lurching, in a moment that should be a woman’s most graceful.
/> Mr. Fetcham looked as cheerful as if he weren’t celebrating a marriage of sinners, which is surely what he must have thought she and Darby to be. “We are gathered here together to join this man and woman together in holy matrimony.”
Henrietta could only hope that her family could hear the words of the marriage service over Josie’s loud whispering. She shifted her weight, wondering whether her leg would simply crumple, throwing her to the ground.
The vicar was pointing out that marriage was not to be taken in hand to satisfy men’s carnal lusts and appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding. She could see instantly why those particular lines were in the service. Not that her soon-to-be husband seemed to care that marriage was ordained as a remedy against sin and fornication. Actually, fornication was a good word for it: an ugly, sharp word.
The vicar droned on, but Henrietta stopped listening when he said that marriage was ordained for the procreation of children. The service seemed to have little to do with her, what with the fact she had advised her husband to take a mistress, not to mention the fact that they couldn’t procreate. Instead, she tried to understand Josie’s piercing commentary from the front row. She could just guess what the little girl was saying. Josie wanted Esme as her new mother, not Lady Henny who threw water on her. Henrietta tried not to feel hurt. Josie would learn to love her.
Her leg was sending bolts of pain all the way to her right knee. Darby must have noticed that she was shifting her weight, because he looked down with a small frown. Henrietta tried to still herself.
When they turned about from the altar, man and wife, one would be hard-pressed to say whether Josie or Rees looked more disgruntled. Only Esme looked delighted.
“Congratulations, Darby,” Rees said, shaking his hand.
I suppose, Henrietta thought dispiritedly, now that it’s too late to save his friend from an awful fate, Lord Godwin has decided to make the best of it.
“Are you quite convinced that you wish to travel with the children?” Darby asked her again, after they had accepted everyone’s congratulations. “A coach is not the best place to further your acquaintance with Anabel, in particular.”
“No,” Henrietta said sturdily. “I do not wish the girls to be taken care of by strangers, and I had better begin as I mean to go on.”
“In that case, perhaps I shall take Rees up in my barouche. I bought a traveling coach just before leaving London, so you and the children should be quite comfortable.”
“Of course,” Henrietta said with all the dignity she could muster. She suspected Rees would spend the trip counseling Darby on his horrible future as a married man, but she could hardly prevent that.
Henrietta gave the traveling coach a cursory glance, then walked forward to meet the horses. They were sturdy draft horses, suited to pulling a coach that looked big enough for a traveling theatrical troupe. “What are their names?” she asked Darby.
“Haven’t the faintest idea,” he replied. “I bought them just for this purpose.” He was very cheerful, no doubt welcoming the male comfort of his barouche.
Josie was brought out clinging to Esme’s nanny and yowling at the top of her lungs. “I don’t want to go! I hate London, I hate London, I hate London.” She caught sight of Darby and changed her tune slightly. “I hate Simon! I hate Simon!” Her little face was red and blotchy, and she appeared to be going hoarse.
“We’ll go a bit faster than you on the road,” Darby said, blithely ignoring his little sister. “Everything will be ready for you when you arrive at the Bear and Owl, our first stop.”
“I have no doubt but that you will arrive before us.” Henrietta eyed the powerful horses hitched to Rees’s vehicle.
“You should be comfortable.” Josie’s howls could be heard emerging from the traveling coach. “Although you might want to make frequent stops as they seem to help settle Anabel’s stomach. Henrietta—”
But she cut him off. “I shall travel with the children.”
He bent and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I am remarkably pleased with this situation.”
“By ‘situation’do you mean our marriage, or your traveling arrangements?” she asked with just a touch of acid in her tone.
“Our marriage, of course!” Then, with the nimbleness that all men show in times of narrowly averted crisis, he bowed once again. “I shall await you at the Bear and Owl.”
Efficiently handed into the traveling coach by her husband, Henrietta sank onto a seat. Josie was lying in a heap on the floor between the seats, sobbing disconsolately. Henrietta could only make out a word every now and then, but motherless could be heard and that discouraged Henrietta from inquiring further.
Anabel, on the other hand, was quite happily sitting on the seat opposite Henrietta. Her little legs were sticking out straight in front of her, and she was eating a meat pasty with some relish. Her face was covered with filling. Esme’s nanny put an enormous covered basket on the floor between the seats and turned to Henrietta, who was alarmed to see distinct sympathy in her eyes. “You’ve a nice hamper of food here, my lady.”
She lowered her voice. “After Miss Anabel loses her luncheon, she’ll probably take a wee nap. And then she does get hungry. There’s toweling in the basket, plenty of nappies, and two changes of clothing for the babe.”
“Two?”
“Mr. Darby did say that she lost her stomach many times on the way from London, my lady. Of course, he may well have been exaggerating, men being what they are.” She gave her an encouraging smile. “It’s a true shame you don’t have a nurse for the children yet.”
Bartholomew Batt said, above all, one must approach children in a resolute, firm, and loving manner. That being the case, Henrietta should do something about the sodden heap of little girl lying on the floor between the seats.
The coach lurched and began to rumble up the gravel road. It was moving even slower than Henrietta could have imag ined. She had an idea that the horses weren’t even trotting. They were merely ambling.
Showing remarkable endurance, Josie kept sobbing. Henrietta leaned over. “Would you like to sit next to me?”
Josie raised a tear-stained face and said in a scratchy sort of way, “I want—I want—I wanta go back! I wanta go back to the nursery. I love Nanny. I wanta stay there.”
“I’m sorry. I liked Esme’s nanny too, very much. Shall we find you a nurse just like her?”
Josie gave her a look of withering scorn. “Aunt Esme said that she was one of a kind.” Tears spilled down her cheeks again. “I hate traveling. And I was ha—ha—happy at Aunt Esme’s. I hate Simon for moving us. I want to go home!”
Henrietta didn’t even know where home was. Probably Esme’s nursery, given that the poor little thing could hardly be talking about her own mother’s nursery, since the loathed Nurse Peeves of the wet garments had been in charge there.
“Please sit next to me, Josie,” she said as coaxingly as she could.
Josie just sobbed.
Henrietta wondered what Batt would do. Unfortunately, the maids had packed his Rules and Directions somewhere in the trunks. But she already knew that he didn’t say a useful thing about temper tantrums. Lord knows she’d looked hard enough.
She leaned down and tried to guide Josie up on the seat, but her small body proved to be wiry and resistant. Josie wailed louder.
Finally Henrietta managed to grasp Josie and haul her up on the seat. Unfortunately, she had to brace her legs against the floor, which sent such a jolt of pain down her leg that she gasped. She did keep hold of Josie, though. The little girl seemed to be losing steam, as well she might after a half hour of crying.
“I know you’re worried about finding a kind nanny,” Henrietta said soothingly. “I can assure you that your brother and I will do everything we can—”
“I don’t like you,” Josie said, in a wretched tone. “I don’t like you, and I don’t want you to be my mother.”
The coach swayed along at its gentle pace while Henrie
tta held on to Josie and wondered what to do next. Josie solved that problem by wrenching her way out of Henrietta’s arms and crawling onto the opposite seat. Henrietta put up her chin and tried not to care.
She turned to Anabel just in time to notice that the baby was looking a bit white. Sure enough, Anabel made that funny dry coughing sound Henrietta recognized and, without further ado, threw up the remains of a meat pie all over the floor of the coach and Henrietta’s shoes.
As if on cue, Josie regained her strength. “I don’t want you for a mother!” she shrieked. “And neither does Anabel!”
34
Of Babies in Baskets and Families in Carriages
Darby and Rees arrived at the Bear and Owl around three in the afternoon. Rees spent the trip bundled up in a corner, tunelessly humming fragments of music over and over. It was enough to drive a man to drink. And the moment the carriage drew to a halt, he strode off down the street, muttering something about an organ and the village church.
Darby arranged for rooms, found a woman to care for Anabel and Josie for the night, then strolled back outside and looked down the road they had traveled. He’d had a creeping sense of guilt for the past hour or so.
He’d mishandled the trip. The truth was that his feelings were hurt by Henrietta’s emphasis on their marriage as a convenience by which she acquired his stepsisters, as if they were an inheritance he brought with him. Still, it wasn’t right to leave his bride alone in a carriage with two children, no matter how much she talked about wanting to be a mother.
A seasoned nursemaid had been unable to cope with Anabel’s weak stomach and Josie’s tantrums. The trip from London had been hell; there was no reason to expect that the trip back would be different. With a sigh he turned to the innkeeper and began negotiating to hire a hack. Five minutes later he was trotting back down the road.
A half hour later he caught sight of his traveling carriage. It was swaying gently along, looking like precisely what it was: a carriage containing a man’s family. He waved it over, tied his hack behind, and climbed in with a sense of dread intensified by the odor that greeted him. The first thing he saw was a large basket between the seats, holding a pile of crumpled linens and children’s clothing. Clearly, Anabel was no longer in the clothing she wore that morning. But all in all, it was a remarkably peaceful scene that met his eyes.