Sarah sat in Uncle William’s study, feeling both terrified for Connor’s sake and utterly and completely shamed, her body shaking, every inch of her body and soul feeling violated. Unable to look at either Dr. Blake, who had examined her most intimately, or Uncle William, who sat behind his writing table, she clutched her hands in her lap, fighting to staunch her tears.
“Her maidenhead has been breached. I saw evidence, too, that the hair had been removed from her pudendum—a custom of some tribes. It has mostly grown back, which means the act of removal occurred at the same time as conception.”
Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, unable to fight back a moan as these intimate details were revealed to her uncle, who spoke with Dr. Blake as if she were not sitting there before them.
“There is no doubt that she is with child?”
“No doubt, my lord. Her womb and breasts are swollen. She tells me her last monthly began the week before she journeyed northward, which means her confinement should come shortly before Christmas.”
“Thank you, Doctor. You’ve been most helpful. You understand, of course, the need for discretion.”
“Yes, my lord. Upon my word, I will speak of this with no one.”
“I should like a moment alone with my niece, and then you and I shall speak further.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
Sarah heard footsteps, then the sound of a door opening and closing, and knew she was alone with Uncle William.
God in heaven, what was she going to tell him? He would demand the truth, and what would she say? She would have to lie. For Connor’s sake, she would have to lie.
“Sarah.” Uncle William came and knelt down before her, taking her hands in his. “I understand why you did not tell me the truth, but you must trust me now, for you are in a desperate situation. Set your shame aside. You are blameless in this. The blame lies solely with the one who abducted and ravished you.”
He thought Katakwa had ravished her?
Sarah gaped at him in surprise.
“Do not look so astonished. It was not difficult to guess the truth, based on the information Dr. Blake has shared with me. Katakwa ravished you that first night in the forest when you were alone with him. To your misfortune, his seed has taken root.”
Stunned by Uncle William’s assumption, Sarah sat speechless.
And then it came to her.
As long as Uncle William believed Katakwa was to blame, Connor was safe.
Lord William watched Sarah make her way upstairs, rage churning in his gut at the horrors she had suffered—having the hair torn from her most tender flesh, being forced to slake a brute’s lust in the dark of the forest, and then keeping this terrible secret to herself, even while the whoreson’s spawn began to grow inside her.
He motioned to Dr. Blake to enter, shutting the door behind him before resuming his seat at his writing table. “Thank you once again, Doctor.”
“I regret to find so dear and young a lady in such a terrible predicament, my lord.”
So did William. “What is to be done about it?”
“During these first few months, I recommend a great deal of rest with fresh air and an afternoon walk. I should be happy to leave with you a list of foods she should and should not eat. Her nausea should begin to subside within a month or so, after which—”
“You misunderstand me. What can be done to rid my niece of that bastard’s get?”
The doctor’s expression turned grave. “Very little, I am afraid.”
“That cannot be true. I know there are methods. For God’s sake, what do all the whores in camp do?”
“Most give birth to bastards, my lord. Some few try to force the child from their bodies with potions, lye, or sharpened sticks, but many who try die.”
William stood, crossed the room, and poured himself a cognac. “I refuse to accept that Sarah will have to risk her life to bear a half-breed bastard conceived in rape. There must be some means of ridding her of this burden without harming her, and I am asking you, Doctor, to help me discover it.”
Dr. Blake watched him through troubled eyes. “There is pennyroyal.”
“The herb?” William took a drink, fought to steady his temper.
“Yes. In the right amount, pennyroyal tea can cause a woman to miscarry. If a women ingests the slightest bit too much, however, it will kill both mother and child.”
“I entrust you, Doctor, to discover the safe amount.” William drank the rest of his cognac, set the glass down, and turned to face the surgeon. “I will not risk her life in childbirth, nor will I suffer her to endure such a travail after all she has been through. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my lord.” Dr. Blake rose, worry and wariness on his face. “I would I must warn you that it might be safer for the lady if nature were left to take its course. There is also the chance that Lady Sarah will find the idea of killing the child repugnant.”
William hadn’t thought of that. It seemed impossible to him that she would want to give birth to the child of the man who had so violated her. He supposed there was a chance that the idea of causing herself to miscarry would trouble her conscience. But if he didn’t tell her, if she drank the tea without knowing…“Leave that to me, Doctor.”
Chapter 27
Sarah woke to a knock at the door. When had she fallen asleep? She sat up, her mind muddled. The clock on the mantel told her it was just after noon. The window was still open, the room chilly, the sky outside her window overcast.
The knock came again.
“My lady?” It was that traitor, Agnes. “I’ve brought luncheon—”
“Set the tray down and go!” Sarah did not wish to see her or speak with her. Uncle William had told Sarah that Agnes had made him aware of her condition, and though he was grateful to the old bat, Sarah most certainly was not.
“Do not be stubborn, my lady. I will stand here until you open this door.”
Sarah was of half a mind to put Agnes’s threat to the test by going back to sleep, but she was hungry. Ravenously so. Reluctantly, she rose, walked to the door, and turned the key, standing back while Agnes carried a tray of cheeses, bread, and tea to the dressing table.
“I know you’re angry with me, but you’ll soon see it was for the best.” Agnes walked to the open window and closed it. “You would not have been able to hide your condition much longer. A young lady who is with child out of wedlock cannot manage alone. Now your uncle can better see to your care.”
Sarah supposed things had turned out for the best. She no longer had to conceal her nausea and vomiting, nor force herself to stay awake when her body ached for sleep. Best of all, Uncle William had assumed it was Katakwa who’d gotten her with child, a mistake that had spared Sarah the pain of lying to him in order to protect Connor. Yet, because of Agnes, Sarah had been forced to endure Dr. Blake’s humiliating examination and then listen while he spoke of her body—and what had been done to her—to Uncle William.
Sarah sat, took up a piece of cheese, and began to nibble.
“All shall be well, my lady. In a year’s time, this will be behind you, and you will be free to forget the entire ordeal.”
But Sarah would never be free to forget. Even if Uncle William helped find her a good husband and her condition were somehow kept secret from her parents and all of London, she would be leaving behind not only the man she loved, but also a child. Wellborn ladies who got pregnant outside of wedlock did not keep their bastards, as girls of the lower classes often did. Sarah was not even certain she’d be allowed to see or hold the baby after it was born.
When she returned the wampum to Joseph, she would have to warn Connor that Uncle William knew of her condition. Otherwise, Connor might…
And then she realized she couldn’t tell him. Now that Uncle William knew she was with child, she couldn’t tell Connor, for he would try to claim the baby, laying himself bare to Uncle William’s wrath. No, she must keep her condition secret from him. She must endure this alone.
Despair, cold and dark, washed through her, tears blurring her vision, rolling down her cheeks. She felt a bony hand upon her shoulder, but she didn’t want Agnes’s pity. “Please, Agnes, leave me.”
When Sarah came down to dinner that night, her mind was set upon discussing one thing—what would become of her child. She had given it great thought—in fact, she’d scarce been able to think of anything else—and she believed she had an answer.
She would give the baby to Joseph.
When she gave him the wampum, she would tell him of her plight and ask that he keep the truth secret from Connor. Joseph knew Connor even better than she and would surely know that he would put himself in danger to claim the child. When the baby was born, she would have it delivered to Joseph. Uncle William thought the child was half Indian, so he would not question giving the baby to an Indian family. But Joseph would know who the baby’s father was. By the time Connor realized he was a father, there would be no need for him to confront Uncle William, for he would already have what was his. Both father and child would be safe—and once the war was over, they would be together.
It gave Sarah comfort to think of her baby in Connor’s arms.
When she entered the dining room, Uncle William rose and came around to draw out her chair. “How do you feel?”
“I am well, thank you.” She adjusted her skirts and sat, reaching for her napkin and spreading it on her lap. “Evenings are not as bad as mornings. I do not feel as sick.”
“I am glad of that, at least.” He watched her, his gaze troubled.
For a time they spoke of inconsequential things, neither of them mentioning the examination he’d forced her to endure. It wasn’t until after they’d completed the main course that Sarah broached the subject.
“I’ve given great thought to what I should like done with my child once it is born.” She watched Uncle William’s eyes narrow. “I should like it to go to Joseph’s people. I know he will see that the baby is raised with kindness and not neglected.”
Uncle William took a swallow of wine. “Dr. Blake tells me that it is not uncommon for a woman in the early stages of breeding to miscarry. Let us pray your womb rejects the bastard before it quickens.”
“Uncle!” Sarah could not help but gape at him. “How can you say such a thing? This baby might be a bastard, but it is also my child!”
“Your maternal impulses do you credit as a woman, but do not forget this was forced upon you. Would you see your noble blood mingle with that of the heathen who ravished you? I should hope not.” He glared at her, then seemed to catch himself, his gaze softening. “If the…offspring survives to birth, your idea has merit. We needn’t trouble ourselves with that now. There are more important matters at hand. I have received word from your father.”
Sarah’s pulse quickened. “What does he say?”
“He has recalled you to London. It seems he has found a husband for you.”
Blood rushed to Sarah’s head. “Wh-what?”
“My missive apparently arrived in London too late to be of any use to you. Your father had just entered into a marriage contract with one George Caswell, Earl of Denton, settling a small fortune upon the man in exchange for—”
But Sarah heard only the name of the lord she was to marry before all else was drowned out by the thrumming of her heartbeat. She found herself on her feet. “N-no! There must be some misunderstanding, Uncle. My mother loathes him. I cannot marry him! I will not marry him!”
Uncle William’s gaze grew stern. “Sit. Calm yourself.”
Sarah sat, her hands beginning to tremble.
“Your father wrote that Lord Denton was the only nobleman in all of Britain to offer for you these past long months. Though both he and your mother have misgivings about the match, he believes you would be better served through marriage than by living out your life as companion to some elderly noblewoman.”
“But I cannot marry him! He is none of the things I wished for in a husband. He is dull-witted and corpulent—”
“You need not love him or find him desirable, Sarah. You need only marry him. If his bed sport is not to your liking, you need only bear him an heir, which I’m sure you will do quickly, given your apparent fecundity. Once he has a son or two, you will no doubt be free to seek your pleasure elsewhere. He only wants you for the coin you will bring to his coffers.”
Did Uncle William expect those words to make her feel better? Did he not intend to help her fight this match?
“I will not marry him.”
“You will.” Uncle William’s eyes were hard like slate, his voice cold. “The contract is already signed. It is your duty.”
Sarah stared at her uncle, unable to believe her life had taken this turn. To be married to Lord Lard, to be expected to lie with him…
She thought back to the last time she had seen Denton. He’d come to call on Lady Margaret, ostensibly to wish her a happy birthday. The real purpose of his visit was to ask her for money, which Margaret had declined to give him. He’d spoken with Sarah briefly, and Sarah had been afraid that Lord Denton might reveal to her mother that he’d seen Sarah playing the violin, but…
And then it hit Sarah with the force of a war club. “It was Lord Denton! He stole Margaret’s journals. He circulated them. Uncle, it was he!”
Lord William glared at her through narrowed eyes. “Sarah, do not attempt—”
“He is Lady Margaret’s cousin. He came to her house seeking money a few months before the journals were stolen, but Margaret refused him. He saw me there, and we spoke briefly. Not a fortnight later, he approached my father with an offer of marriage, which my parents rejected. Soon thereafter, Margaret’s journals were—”
“Sarah! Stop this nonsense!” Uncle William’s shout startled Sarah into silence.
He had never raised his voice to her before.
“I have been understanding of all you’ve endured these past months, but I will not tolerate hysterics or childish attempts to avoid this marriage!” He closed his eyes, rubbed his temple as if he had a headache. “Perhaps I should have waited until another time to tell you about your father’s letter. I was certain you’d take it as good news.”
“I apologize, my lord, for bringing my difficulties to your doorstep, but I am not saying this merely to escape marriage to Denton.” Sarah struggled to keep her voice even. “Do you not think it a strange coincidence that a scandal involving his own cousin, with whom he had occasion to be angry, should be the very thing that renders me unmarriageable and so available to him when he had earlier sought my hand and found himself thwarted?”
There was a subtle shift on Uncle William’s countenance, and Sarah knew he was thinking it through.
“There is, of course, one other problem, my lord. I cannot very well arrive in London for my wedding with a big belly.”
Uncle William met her gaze, clearly still vexed with her. “Another reason it would be fortuitous if you were to miscarry.”
William rubbed his temple, his headache worse. “What have you discovered?”
“I’ve read everything I can find on the matter, and I would plead with you to set this madness aside. I fear for Lady Sarah’s life and for my honor as doctor if you persist in—”
“Dr. Blake!” It was all William could do not to shout. “My niece has suffered a terrible misfortune through no fault of her own, and I am doing all I can to protect her so that she might regain her place in society. Her father has arranged a match for her, but she cannot return to London heavy with child. Nor would I watch her die in childbed. There must be some way to free her from this burden!”
Dr. Blake seemed to hesitate. “I have spoken with a few camp followers, one of whom claims to know another woman who succeeded in ridding herself of a bastard by drinking pennyroyal tea. I asked her about the amount, but she couldn’t recall. I have the necessary stock of pennyroyal, but I am far from certain about the dose.” Dr. Blake’s lips pressed together in a frown. “I will not risk Lady Sarah’s life. If
you insist this must be done, then I shall first test the potion on myself.”
“Do not risk yourself either, for God’s sake! Test it on a camp follower.”
Dr. Blake gaped at William as if he’d gone mad. “Such a thing would be unconscionable! You are not yourself, my lord.”
William finished off his cognac and set his empty tulip glass aside, the pressure in his skull nearly unbearable. He rubbed his temple with his fingers. “Forgive me, Doctor. As you say, I am out of sorts.”
William hated to admit such weakness. He’d always prided himself on his restraint, his ability to control his own emotions while manipulating those of others. But this day had tried him sorely. The news that Sarah had been violated and was pregnant. The letter from her father. Her outburst at dinner. Her accusation against Lord Denton—and the chance that she was right.
And now this news.
William had a war to wage and win. He could not afford to spend all day addressing Sarah’s troubles. And yet if there were any chance she was right about Denton, William would know the truth of it. In the morning, he would dispatch letters to his connections on Bow Street and have the matter investigated. If, indeed, Denton had circulated Lady Margaret’s journals, bringing shame to Sarah and setting this chain of events in motion, he would pay with his life.
Dr. Blake interrupted William’s thoughts. “Has Lady Sarah agreed to do this?”
William had yet to mention it to her. “She understands where her duty lies.”
Connor jolted upright, his skin covered in cold sweat. He sucked air into his lungs, his nightmare fading as he took in the sight of sleeping Rangers.
It had seemed so real.
He glanced at the sky, saw that the moon had moved but little since he’d lain down to sleep. He shoved the bearskin aside and rose from his pallet of pine bows, his heart still pounding between his ribs, his mouth dry from fear.
He needed to find Joseph.