The Scandal of It All

  “Is that what we were doing?” he asked.

  “When you found out about the baby and came to me, you said we must marry. For the baby. For your honor. Well, you don’t have to do that anymore.” She sniffled. “Just go.”

  Her words were no more than a whisper, but they cut him nonetheless. She sounded utterly serious. She wanted him gone.

  “I’ll be just outside if you need me.” He turned and started to leave, noticing that the midwife had quickly taken herself away.

  Graciela’s voice carried from the bed, stopping him. “Don’t.”

  He turned back around. “Don’t . . . what?”

  “You don’t need to wait outside.” He heard her inhale a shuddery breath. “I don’t want you to stay here at all. Did you not hear her? It’s over. None of this should ever have happened. Go and don’t come back, Colin.”

  He took a step toward her. “Ela, don’t say anything you don’t mean right now.”

  She rolled to face him. The sight of her hit him like a blow. She was a so pale. Smudges stood out under eyes like bruises on her skin. “You heard her. There’s no baby. A child can’t survive that much blood loss. The baby is gone. Again.” The last word broke off in a sob.

  He closed the distance between them and sank down on the edge of the bed, unable to stay away whilst her heart was so clearly breaking. He knew he couldn’t undo anything, but he had to go to her. She held up a hand as though to ward him off.

  “Don’t you understand?” she bit out. “You’re free.”

  “Ela, we’re to be married. I have the special license. We have plans . . .”

  She raised her head off the pillow, her eyes gleaming with tears as she glared at him. “The only reason you wanted to marry me was because there was a baby. We never pretended it was for any other reason. We can’t change our past mistakes but we can stop future ones.”

  Frustration welled up inside him. She was correct. He’d never provided her any other reason for their marriage. He’d never claimed love or fondness or even lust. He’d been a coward and used the baby as the reason when it had only ever been a convenient excuse to bind himself to Ela forever.

  Because he wanted forever with her.

  She continued, repeating those words and believing them—an awful reminder of how he had failed, “Now there’s no baby. You’re free, Colin.”

  “Ela.” He reached for her hand but she pulled it away.

  “I’m not marrying you. There’s nothing you can say to compel me to.”

  Through the sheen of tears in her eyes, cold resolution stared back at him. He’d never seen her like this. She wasn’t the Ela he knew anymore. So bleak. So stony and distant from him. It was as though she looked straight through him.

  “I know what I said, Ela. The baby was only a part of it. I want to marry you. I care about you. I want to marry you because I’ve never wanted a woman more than I want you.” There were more words, more truths, hovering on his tongue. He didn’t get them out fast enough for her.

  “Stop it.” She shook her head. “This is pity talking. Or obligation. I don’t know and I don’t care. Get out.”

  He opened his mouth to further refute her accusations but then she rolled back on her side, presenting him with her rigid back. She’d been through hell today. And it was his fault.

  He released a breath and turned for the door, but then he paused and looked back.

  She was still curled on her side with her back to him, her hair pooling like dark ink around her. In his mind he could still envision her bloodless face. He wanted the color back in her skin . . . the life back in her eyes. As much as his chest ached, he knew she hurt even more. He longed to take the hurt from her. And yet he knew he couldn’t. He’d respect her wishes for now and let her rest, sleep and recover her strength. But then he’d be back.

  He wasn’t forgetting about her no matter what she said to him.

  When he entered the hall, there was no sign of Mary Rebecca or Clara. He descended the stairs, his hand skimming the railing. For a moment he had a flash of Ela on these very same steps, tumbling to the base. He pressed a hand to his gut, feeling sick. He knew he should be grateful that she was alive and would mend, but his grandmother’s actions had not been without a cost. Their child was gone. He and Ela might never have a child.

  And as much as losing their child pained him, he didn’t care if they ever had another child. He wanted her. Not for the sons she could provide him. He’d take a lifetime with her over a marriage to another woman who could provide him a dozen sons.

  One thought brought him to a jarring mental halt.

  Perhaps she sincerely didn’t want to marry him and she had agreed only for the baby.

  The front door opened as he reached the bottom of the stairs, still struggling with that sour possibility.

  Enid marched inside, carrying a valise.

  They both stopped and stared at each other for a moment until a doorman stepped forward to help her from her cloak and take her gloves and valise.

  “You came back,” he said unnecessarily.

  She nodded. “Yes. I might have been hasty and . . . unreasonable in my anger. It was just a shock.” She paused and sucked in a breath, hot color flooding her face. “You see, I might have harbored feelings—”

  “Shock was understandable,” he interrupted, sparing her and himself. He was in no mood for her awkward confession. “And no need to explain further. Truly.” Please.

  She inhaled, looking at him gratefully.

  “Your stepmother missed you. She was worried.”

  She nodded, her expression turning guilty. “I should not have left the way I did. I’m not proud of myself.”

  He motioned to the stairs. “Nonsense. I’m certain the sight of you will lift her spirits.” He stopped a beat. “She met with an accident today.” He cringed saying the words that made light of all that had happened, but he didn’t want to alarm Enid.

  “An accident? What happened?”

  “Enid!” Lady Talbot called from the top of the stairs. “You’re home!” She descended the steps quickly. “Ela will be so happy that you’ve returned.”

  He accepted his cloak from the doorman, Ela’s words still ringing in his ears. Get out. Go and don’t come back, Colin.

  “You’re leaving?” Lady Talbot met his gaze. Disappointment tinged her voice. He didn’t bother explaining that Ela had demanded his departure. Or that he would return.

  “She needs her rest,” he said, leaving it at that.

  He turned and exited the house.

  It took him all of five minutes to decide he would be back.

  And who would be with him when he returned.

  By the next day, Graciela felt more like herself again. At least physically. A little sore, but hale enough. Heartbroken, but no longer in pain. Her body no longer suffered. She would live. She was alive—her heart beating even if it felt dead. Crushed.

  There would be no baby. There would be no marriage. No Colin. No them.

  The midwife had checked on her and stated she was pleased at Ela’s progress—whatever that meant. Despite her cheerful demeanor, nothing had changed. There could be no baby now. And there was no Colin anymore. Not in her life.

  She knew her words to him had been cruel. Grief had made her lash out, but she would not take them back if she could. She spoke only the truth. Ugly, painful truth.

  The only reason they had planned to marry was for the baby. That reason was gone. They would not marry now. He was free. She had set him free to live his life. The manner of life for which he was intended. A life that did not include her.

  A brief knock at the door sounded. She looked up just as it swung inward and Colin himself entered the room.

  Her heart plunged traitorously.

  “Colin? What are you doing here?” She propped herself a little higher in the bed.

  Mrs. Wakefield stepped around him. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. He insisted on coming up here. I tried to make him wait.” Cla
ra hovered just beyond her, her eyes wide and inquiring.

  The ache in Graciela’s chest intensified. The sight of him here, when she had already let him go, when the wounds were so fresh . . .

  “Go, Colin,” she said tiredly. “Please. Set your honor and pity and obligation aside and—”

  He glanced her up and down, as though assuring himself that she was properly attired. Seemingly satisfied that her dressing gown covered her well enough, he stepped back out into the corridor. She heard a few murmured words and realized he was speaking to someone. One moment later, he was tugging a gentleman she had never seen before into her bedchamber.

  She clutched her dressing gown. Mrs. Wakefield squawked and pushed in behind them. Clara followed hot on their heels.

  “Ela, this is the Reverend Rothe. He is here to marry us.”

  The room fell silent. She didn’t blink as she stared at Colin. She didn’t even look at the reverend.

  A boulder-sized lump rose up in her throat. She fought to swallow it.

  Colin took halting steps toward the bed. “Ela,” he said gently.

  “No,” she managed to get out. “This is cruel. You have overstepped.” She shot a glance at the reverend. “Stop this. You go too far.”

  “No.” Colin hastened to her bed and sank down on the edge beside her. “Not far enough. I will never go far enough when it concerns you. Shove me away today. Tomorrow. Next year. I will still be here. I will continue to come for you. Unless—” He stopped for a bracing breath. His gaze locked on her, unflinching, searing. “Unless you can look at me and tell me you don’t love me. Because I love you, Ela. I love you and likely always have. It’s you I want to spend my life with. It will be you or no other.”

  She ceased to breathe.

  Several moments passed and Clara’s skirts rustled as she shifted impatiently. “Mama. Say something,” she hissed, motioning wildly with her hands.

  Graciela moistened her lips and stared into the eyes of the man she loved . . . and wondered if it could be true. If he could love her as she loved him. If she could be so fortunate and so blessed to have found the thing that she had craved all her life and assumed out of reach to her.

  “Ela,” he whispered. “Say something. Say yes.”

  Say yes.

  She searched his gaze, looking for the pity, the deep-rooted honor and guilt over what his grandmother had done. She looked for evidence for any of those things. Because if she saw any of that, she would know that he did not really love her. She would know why he was here.

  She didn’t see that, however. In the brilliance of his stare she saw only one thing. She saw love.

  She nodded jerkily, a sob welling up in her chest. “You love me,” she choked.

  He leaned in, pulling her into his arms. Holding her close, he buried his face in her hair and whispered near her ear. “Of course I love you. I adore you and love you and want to spend my life with you.”

  She wept as he drew back and pressed kisses to her cheeks and lips, uncaring of their audience.

  “I love you, my sweet girl.”

  “I love you, too,” she returned.

  He nodded, smiling widely. “Then are you ready to get married?”

  She glanced at the reverend, who was smiling indulgently. Even Clara appeared weepy as she hugged Mrs. Wakefield. Both of them, in fact, looked teary eyed.

  “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  Still sitting on the bed with her, he turned to face the reverend, wrapping one arm around her. “We’re ready.”

  “Very good.” The gentleman smiled and opened the small Bible he held. “Let’s begin.”

  Chapter 27

  Months later . . .

  “It’s simply not done, Colin,” Ela managed to get out between clenched teeth. “You’re not supposed to be here.” It wasn’t the first time she had pointed this out to her husband, but it didn’t make him budge from her side—and for all her words of protest, she clung to his hand, squeezing all the harder as her stomach painfully tightened and another wave swelled upon her.

  “Really, my lord,” the midwife seconded. “Her Ladyship is correct. It’s really not done. You should not be in here.”

  “She can be correct in this and I can be wrong.” He shrugged. “But if you think I’m leaving her side, then you’re mad.” Colin looked at Graciela as he spoke the words evenly and without heat. He winked at her.

  She knew she must look a fright. Her hair had long ago come unbound. Tendrils stuck to her clammy cheeks and neck. She had been hours like this, moaning in pain—but he stared at her with the same love in his eyes as on the day they had married. Perhaps even more. She knew she felt more love for him. It grew each day.

  He smoothed the sweaty strands of hair back off her forehead. “I’m not leaving your side.”

  Amid heavy pants, she nodded as though he were in fact waiting on her agreement.

  It had been a long road until this moment. The day he had burst in her chamber with the reverend and sworn his love and married her, they had believed their baby lost.

  Now they knew, of course. They had been wrong. Miraculously wrong.

  The midwife had been mistaken. Despite the initial blood loss, the babe had continued to grow and thrive in her womb. More than thrive. Ela had grown to whale-like proportions.

  She readjusted her grip around his hand, lacing their fingers together as though binding them for life. Not an unrealistic description. Ever since they took their vows, they’d been together every day, enjoying each other with an ease and contentment she had never known before. She was happy. Stupidly, deliriously, blissfully happy.

  She’d certainly never believed such a fate could be hers, but it was. Nothing had marred her joy all these months. Not even her lingering fear for the baby. As long as she had Colin and the rest of her family, she felt strong. Even when news reached them of his grandmother’s death, it made scarcely a ripple. It was as though a door had been forever closed to that wretched day on the stairs. There was only the present and the future and both belonged to them.

  At the insistence of the midwife, she had spent her confinement with very little activity. If she wasn’t in bed, then Colin carried her to the salon or drawing room. She was only allowed to walk in order to make use of the facilities and bathe herself.

  It had been a long confinement. Even though her instinct had been to protest everyone hovering over her all these months, she had swallowed the urge. They only wanted the best for her and the baby. She, too, wanted to avoid all risks.

  Finally, the day had arrived. The baby was coming. And she was thrilled to finally meet their child.

  She expelled a breath as blinding agony assailed her again, squeezing her swollen belly. She gritted against the pain, but it was no use. A scream escaped. The sound was unlike anything she had ever heard from herself or any living thing.

  “That’s it,” Mrs. Silver crooned. “I can see the head, Your Ladyship. Baby is coming! Baby is almost here.”

  “Did you hear that, Ela? You’re doing brilliantly. You’re almost done.”

  She dropped back on the bed, gasping hard and still clinging to her husband’s hand.

  “Now listen to me, my lady. I want you to get ready for another mighty push. If it’s big enough, this should be the last one.”

  “You hear that, Ela? One more and you’ll be done . . . and we will meet our baby.”

  No other words could have compelled her to deliver a greater push. Still clasping Colin’s hand, she seized hold of her knee and bore down.

  The tension slipped from her body in a rush as her baby came into the world squalling loud enough to alert the entire city of London.

  She collapsed, sobbing as aftershocks shook her exhausted body.

  Her head felt heavy and wobbly on her neck as she tried to lift it for a glimpse of her child for the first time.

  “My lady,” Mrs. Silver exclaimed as she lifted the baby up in the air. “You have a fine son. Just give me a moment,” she murmured as
she worked to cut the cord and wrap him in a thin blanket.

  “A son,” Graciela choked, tears blurring her eyes as she looked at her husband. “Colin . . . you have a son.”

  “We have a son.” He kissed her gently, his fingers lightly stroking her hair.

  The midwife lowered her son into her arms. She accepted the warm bundle, gasping softly at her first sight of him. She’d known this moment was coming. She’d known she was having a baby, but this all felt like a dream. Something out of reality and far too good to be true.

  The tears started all over again as she feasted her gaze on the baby she had been talking to all these months. “Hello there, my little gentleman. I’m your mother.” She traced the perfect bow mouth, the soft curve of his brow and the tiny nose. She captured one of his fists, stroking the satiny skin.

  She winced as the midwife prodded at her tender areas, working to put her back to rights. Mrs. Wakefield stood beside her, assisting as she had done throughout the birth.

  Ela ignored the discomfort, so enamored of the tiny, perfect life in her arms.

  Colin leaned down to press a kiss to their son’s forehead, just below the downy thatch of brown hair. “He’s beautiful.” Wonder tinged his voice. “Like his mother.”

  “He has the look of you.” She stroked the line of his tiny eyebrows. “See. Here. In his brows and the shape of his eyes.”

  She flinched as another wave of pain came over her. It had been a long time since she last gave birth—it felt a lifetime ago—but she knew she was not yet finished with all the messy business. The afterbirth was yet to come. Although she didn’t remember that part as being especially uncomfortable. She hissed out a tight breath. Not like this.

  She couldn’t mask her pain for long, however. No matter how much she wanted to pretend all was well and revel in the beauty of her son. Her breathing hitched, growing more labored.

  “Ela?” Colin’s gaze flickered over her face, his forehead creasing in concern.

  She nodded. “I—I’m fine—” Another flood of pain crashed over her then and she cried out.