Chapter 8
Meredith and Maree stood solemnly at the foot of the bed, unnoticed by the others. Even Sally, growing paler every moment, only focused on her family’s joy as they exclaimed over their newest member.
“Get them out,” Maree whispered.
Nodding, Meredith struggled past the tears clogging her throat and adopted a cheerful tone. “That’s it. Enough excitement. Leave Baby with Father. Out while your mother gets cleaned up.” Meredith waved the children out the door. Nick’s eyes met hers knowingly before exiting the cottage.
Meredith shut the door, then turned back to Maree. “What do you need me to do?”
Maree flipped the covers back and examined Sally. “She’s bleeding out. If it doesn’t stop we’ll lose her. Something must have torn inside when the babe was born.”
Sally, now aware of the danger, quietly said, “Let me hold my daughter.”
Meredith fetched the baby from Tom Finney’s arms and placed the bundle in Sally’s arms. Tom looked beseechingly to Maree and Meredith, but their helpless expressions said it all.
He shook his head violently. “No!” he shouted at Maree as she applied pressure between Sally’s legs. “Do something!”
“I’m doing all I can.”
Shock, disbelief, anger. Meredith read the emotions flickering across Tom Finney’s face, felt them in her own heart. As Sally cooed to her baby the last lullaby she would ever sing, he placed a hand over her brow. His features screwed tight with pain and shudders racked him. “Don’t go, Sally. Don’t leave me.”
As the lifeblood drained from her, her head lolled on the pillow, her eyes growing glassy, dead. Her bloodless lips worked silently in one last attempt at speech. No sound ever came. Seconds passed before Maree removed the babe from Sally’s still arms and handed her to the sobbing father.
Then, very deliberately, Maree set about cleaning Sally one final time. Meredith helped, knowing she felt no grief like that of Tom Finney, and needed to offer whatever assistance she could. They removed the blood-soaked bedding, maneuvering the dead woman’s body while they fitted the new linens. At last Maree nodded. “We’re done.”
Meredith braced herself and stepped outside. Maree followed close behind. Tom Finney’s sobs had no doubt carried to the yard.
“Children,” Meredith softly announced to the waiting young ones, “your father needs you now.”
Catie raced inside. The others hung back, their fear a palpable, living thing on the air. The girl’s agonized scream shattered the night. The other children stood paralyzed, clinging to one another, eyes wide and haunted. Maree pulled little Bess and Hegar into her comforting bosom.
Suddenly, Meredith couldn’t breathe. Grief clogged the air like smoke, suffocating her. Stumbling, she rushed from the yard, heading for the fields, instinctively searching out space, ready to embrace the solitude she had earlier resented. Once alone, she took in huge gulping breaths and attempted to erect a wall against the ugliness behind her.
She had learned death’s lessons early. When her mother died, her father forbade grief. According to him, grief was the devil’s instrument. Only nonbelievers wallowed in grief. One should rejoice when another joined the Lord. It was that simple. No tears had been spent the morning Meredith awoke to discover her mother gone. For a time, she had missed her, but by the time she was old enough to understand her true loss, the opportunity for tears had passed.
Tonight had revealed that death was not simple, nor a quiet departure to go unremarked upon. It was messy, ugly, and heartbreaking. Not everyone could accept death with her father’s stoicism. Meredith dreaded returning to the raw pain waiting for her at the Finney farm.
“Meredith?” Nick’s voice sounded behind her, its gravelly rumble sliding over her like velvet, comforting in its familiarity, in its nearness. She forgot that she did not want him at Oak Run, that she resented his presence, his interfering ways. All that mattered was that he was there.
She spun around, her eyes seeking his shape through the gloom. He moved toward her, his feet crunching over dry leaves. She covered the distance, flinging her arms tightly around his waist and pressing her cheek against his hard chest, seeking solace in another human being. There was the barest stiffening before he relaxed beneath her cheek and wrapped his arms around her, returning the embrace.
He placed a large hand on the back of her head. “It’s all right.”
Meredith clung to him, inhaling the clean scent of him as he murmured soft unintelligible words of comfort. “I don’t want to go back there. It’s selfish to say, but I can’t bear it.”
Reluctantly, she pulled back and stepped out of the circle of his arms. Wiping furiously at her tears, she muttered, “You must believe me weak and selfish to carry on so when it’s the Finney family who suffers. I did not carry on like this when I lost my own mother.”
“Then perhaps that is why you grieve now,” he suggested.
She pictured his chiseled features in her mind as she addressed his shadow. “She just bled to death right there on that bed. There was so much blood. It happened so fast. To be alive one second…”
“Death rarely makes sense.” His hands were firm as they grasped her arms, their warmth seeping through her cloak to her flesh. “I know it’s unfair, but at least there was a life given in return tonight. Few deaths can claim to bring such good.”
Meredith considered his words before nodding in agreement. “Yes, of course. It should be looked at just that way. We could have lost both of them.” A shaky smile twitched her lips. “You see to the heart of things.”
“I suspect something else bothers you. Another reason why you were so affected by tonight’s happenings.”
“What?” Meredith hedged, having an idea of what he intended to say, and not wishing to hear it.
“Could you not be afraid for yourself when your own time comes?”
Meredith stared up at him dumbly, once again disturbed that he could be capable of such consideration—especially for her, the very wretch deceiving him. But then he did not know that she was such a wretch. She released a shuddering sigh, a headache starting to form at her temples.
“I don’t think—” She halted and shook her head, pressing her fingertips against her temples. “I am not afraid for myself. The women in my family have always held up well in child labor.”
She freed herself from his grasp and began walking back to the farm, her steps quick and clumsy as she made her way in the dark—almost as if she could flee from her lies.
He fell into step alongside her, taking her elbow to guide her along. “It’s only natural to have such fears, and tonight probably did not afford you much confidence.”
“Of course,” Meredith replied, awash with guilt. She preferred him difficult and domineering. He was easier to dislike that way. Not like this. Not kind and caring.
“Which is why you may wish to consider relocating to London for the remainder of your confinement. The finest physicians are to be had in Town. It would be a wise recourse, just to be safe. There are physicians specialized in the delivery of children. I could investigate and obtain the services of London’s best.”
Meredith’s guilt grew, making her nervous. The man wanted to acquire a physician for her? She could just imagine the fellow’s face when she delivered a one-pound pillow. Why would Nick want to put himself to such pains for her? They hardly knew one another. She glanced suspiciously at the man beside her. Perhaps he was not so kind after all and really suspected the truth…that she was not with child. Or even worse. Perhaps he was more nefarious than she imagined and wanted to arrange for a physician that would do harm to her or the baby, ensuring that he gained his inheritance. Had he fooled her just as she fooled him? She felt sick at her wild assumptions.
“When my time arrives, I would prefer the comforts of home.”
“Meredith.” He halted their progress and forced her around to face him. “I realize it’s only my suggestion. I will not force you on the matter, but y
ou should consider what is for the best and not simply what is comfortable.” The concern softening his voice vanquished her earlier suspicions and even made her a bit ashamed. There was nothing but genuine kindness to his suggestion. Kindness she did not deserve and had attempted to deny by turning him into something ugly and villainous.
“I appreciate your concern.” She could still hear the resistance in her voice, although she tried to mask it, feeling that a show of acquiescence would be best.
He sighed. “You are a stubborn woman. I’ll leave off for now, but I’ll not give up. Remember that I witnessed tonight’s tragedy as well. It leaves me worried for you.”
Worried for her. How long had it been since someone worried over her? Had anyone ever really worried over her? Meredith hugged herself as they resumed walking, vowing that his concern did not endear him to her in the least.
Why had she listened to her aunt? This lying business could get very complicated. Now she was even lying to herself.
Nick had to go. His kindness from the night before had been unexpected and unsettling. His interfering ways, his audacity, even his mockery, she could bear. But kindness was the final straw.
If he stayed even one more day and bestowed so much as a single thoughtful word on her, she would break down and confess all. Yet she knew he would not leave until he deemed it time. Meredith shook her head and confronted the depressing truth that his leaving or staying was out of her hands. She could have pounded her head against the wall in frustration.
Instead, she sought solace outdoors, hoping the air would clear her head and she could arrive at some strategy to encourage his departure.
The millpond beckoned like an old friend, ready to soothe taut nerves. The water was too cold this time of year, but Meredith could not resist removing her boots, stripping off her stockings, and dunking her feet below the surface. The mill stood abandoned at the end of the pond. Even with its clapboards rotting and fallen to disrepair, it was a picturesque reminder of the past. She had not seen to its repair mostly because its charm rested in its neglected air. Giant oaks and weeping willows shaded the pond as though they wished to hide the lovely little sanctuary from the world.
Gritting her teeth against the frigid water, she gathered her skirts at her knees and sloshed the water into froth with her legs. Moss tickled the balls of her feet like a silky sponge. Freeing her hair from its topknot, she leaned back and flattened her palms on the moist earth behind her. Staring up at the branches swaying overhead, she relaxed, enjoying the solitude. She loved this place. She felt like a wood sprite ruling over her own private, enchanted world. Nothing could trouble her here.
“I see you found one of my old haunts.”
Meredith jerked at the intruding voice and turned to look over her shoulder at the one who dared to invade her personal refuge. Nick loosely tethered his horse to a bush. With a few long-legged strides, he stood even with her along the bank.
“How is it you have become my shadow?” she grumbled.
“Purely by chance.” He grinned.
Meredith snorted in disbelief.
“Perhaps there are forces at work,” he suggested, a glint of mischief in his dark eyes.
She observed him skeptically, a crick forming in her neck. His long lashes dipped, casting crescent-shaped shadows on his cheeks as his eyes inspected her exposed limbs. Meredith pulled her legs from the water and covered them with her dress. The fabric clung wetly to her flesh, but she felt better at the shield it offered from his roving gaze.
The memory of her body pressed against his popped unbidden into her mind. Had she really been so bold as to embrace him? Heat suffused her face. She locked her arms around her bent knees and gazed out at the water’s rippling surface, trying to ignore his presence. An impossible task. Her peaceful solitude was ruined. She felt his presence right down to the burn of his gaze on her body.
Unable to ignore him, she asked, “I take it you have been here before?” She tried to hide the resentment from her voice. For years she had thought of this place as hers.
“As a boy, yes. Many times.” His gravelly voice rolled over her. Awareness spiked through her at the warm sound.
She risked another glance at his profile as he surveyed the pond.
“I pretended this pond was a moat and I had to swim it to storm that castle.” He nodded his head to the dilapidated mill.
“And rescue the fair maiden within?” Meredith guessed, sure she had not been the only child with foolish romantic dreams.
“Of course there was a maiden…sometimes two.” He grinned again and her heart tripped. “Strange how much smaller it seems.” His smile slipped. “As a boy I thought this pond the ocean. Now it’s clearly a pond. And a small one at that.”
Meredith bristled at the veiled attack on her beloved sanctuary. “Everything looks bigger through the eyes of a child.”
Pushing to her feet, she wobbled for balance on the uneven ground. His hand darted beneath her cloak and grabbed her arm to steady her. Her skin tingled where he touched her, but she didn’t pull away, couldn’t if she wanted to. She could only gaze up at him, hostage to his dark, fathomless stare.
His eyes skimmed the length of her, resting on the naked, muddied toes peeking from beneath her hem. Her toes dug into the soft earth, burrowing for cover. She tossed a heavy flank of hair over her shoulder and tried to appear the dignified countess—unbound hair, muddy toes and all. His eyes followed the movement, surveying the rioting mass.
“How did you meet Edmund?” he demanded abruptly, a strange light glittering in his eyes. She wet her lips nervously, and his eyes darkened to black as they followed the movement of her tongue.
“In the village. My father was the vicar, remember?”
Tension lines bracketed his mouth as he demanded, “Was it a love match?”
“I am carrying his child, am I not?” The defiance in her voice rang out.
His fingers flexed on her arms, the pressure increasing as he drew her nearer. “What has that to do with whether you loved him?”
Meredith stared up at him, confused. “Why should it matter to you?”
The muscles along his jaw knotted. “Answer me. Did you love him?”
His piercing gaze demanded an answer. One she was unprepared to give. Yet in no way could she admit the truth. That she had been infatuated with Edmund, that she had wanted to love him…until her wedding night and the death of her romantic dreams.
“You are prying, my lord.”
Suddenly he smiled. “You didn’t love him.”
Meredith flinched. “I did not say that.”
His hands gentled on her arms, his thumbs rotating in small, seductive circles. His face inched closer, his warm breath a puff of air against her lips as he murmured, “You didn’t have to.”
One of his hands slid the length of her arm, his touch feather-soft. He grasped her wrist and brought her hand to his chest, splaying her palm directly over his heart. “What of desire? Did you desire my brother? Did you look at him the way you look at me?”
Meredith gasped. Convinced she could feel the strong beat of his heart beneath her hand, she whispered, “You mustn’t speak such things.”
“Why?” He angled his head, dark eyes studying her intently as he placed his other hand at her waist, his touch burning through her dress, branding her. “It’s true. I see the way you look at me. I imagine it’s the same way I look at you.”
She shook her head fiercely and tried to tug her hand free.
Nick pressed her hand deeper against his chest. “Meredith—”
“No,” she hissed, refusing to let him weave sweet words of seduction around her. “You’ll not get your revenge on Edmund by seducing me.”
His expression turned rigid before her eyes. He released her as if stung and stepped back. In a cold, flat voice he replied, “You are ever astute, my lady. That is exactly what I was about.”
With an uncertain nod, Meredith hobbled off barefoot, stopping a good distance
away to bend and slip on her stockings and boots. She watched the unyielding set of his back from beneath her lashes, wondering if perhaps she had been unfair. Perhaps he in fact desired her. When her own husband could not stand the sight of her? She shook her head. With one final look at his stubborn stance, she turned away.
Chapter 9
“I depart in the morning.”
Meredith stared into the murky depths of her soup bowl, fearful of lifting her gaze and revealing how much his words affected her. She should feel only relief, not this deep ache beneath her breastbone.
Aunt Eleanor’s voice carried from across the table. “We shall miss you. I confess I have grown accustomed to your company.”
“Unfortunately, I have business that needs my attention in London.” Although he answered her aunt, his eyes drifted her way, dark and unreadable beneath his dark brows. “Lady Meredith has everything well in hand here.”
“You reside permanently in London, my lord?” Aunt Eleanor asked, dipping her spoon into her bowl of soup.
“Yes, business keeps me in Town most of the year.”
Then why had he stayed here so long, upsetting the course of her life?
“What exactly is your business?” Meredith asked between sips, savoring the rich broth.
Aunt Eleanor’s frown told Meredith she did not approve of her line of questioning. For some silly reason polite Society deemed it lowly for anyone to work for a living. Meredith supposed the proper thing would have been to ignore Nick’s mention of an occupation, but she found nothing disreputable about earning an honest living, and was curious what kind of business would occupy a man like him.
Those brilliantly dark eyes of his settled on her in amusement. “I operate gaming establishments.”
Aunt Eleanor fidgeted across the table. Her father had never approved of gambling, although it was a commonly accepted pursuit for gentlemen. Aunt Eleanor shared his opinion that a hint of sin lurked in the indulgent pastime, but Meredith noted that did not prevent her aunt from occasionally partaking in a friendly game of whist.