He walked over to the bed. “Get out,” Alex said fiercely. The doctor didn’t look up; he was waving sal volatile under Charlotte’s nose, but she didn’t even tremble at the fierce acid smell. Alex grasped his arm and flung him back.
“Get out!” he bellowed. The little flock of women fell back from the bed in alarm.
The doctor finally looked at him, his eyes exhausted but steady. “My lord, the child is still alive. I can try to rescue the child.” The words fell into the silent room like heavy drops of water.
Alex stared at him in disbelief. Then he hissed through his teeth. “Get out.”
Dr. Seedland gave him a look of compassion. “I will be outside. I can give you ten minutes,” he said. “After that point it will be too late to save the child either.” He put his hand on Charlotte’s forehead for a moment, looking down at his patient. Then he ushered the three serving women out of the room.
Only Sophie stayed exactly where she was, next to Charlotte’s head.
Alex looked down at Sophie’s fierce, unforgiving face. “I have to tell her,” he said, his voice breaking. “I have to tell her.”
“She can’t hear anymore,” Sophie said flatly.
“Please, Sophie,” Alex said. “Please.” She looked at him and in the deep blue depths of her eyes he met a contempt that he had never encountered from another human being. It pierced his heart like an arrow.
“Please.”
Sophie bowed her head. She leaned down and put a kiss on both of Charlotte’s closed eyelids. They were dark violet, the veins swollen from her labor. Charlotte’s breath was very faint and far away; she hardly stirred as a contraction rippled her stomach.
“Good-bye,” Sophie whispered. “Good-bye, sweetheart, good-bye.” Strong arms pulled her away. Patrick pushed her over against the door. Then he came back and hauled his brother around.
“You must wake her up, Alex. Wake her up and help her push. She has to push the baby out, or they will both die.” Alex looked into his brother’s face. Patrick’s eyes burned into his, giving him strength.
Patrick turned and gathered up Sophie, who stood motionless by the door where he had deposited her. He opened the door and they walked into the empty corridor. Seedland has probably gone to find a chamber pot, Patrick thought. He looked down at the fierce little person beside him. She was shaking with deep, wrenching sobs, so strong that they could not escape her chest. She struggled to breathe. Patrick gathered her into his arms and carried her into the bedchamber across the hall. He sat in an armchair, reflexively stroking her hair.
“I killed her,” Sophie said, gulping for air. “I killed her and I loved her. Oh, God …”
Patrick was startled out of his fearful attempt to hear across the hallway and into the master bedroom. “What?”
“I killed her. If I hadn’t sent the message, she would be fine. I thought, I thought that he should know, so he couldn’t suspect her of changing the baby’s birth date. I thought that if he was here for the birth, he would realize how stupid it was to suspect her.”
“You were right to do it,” Patrick assured her. He had no clear idea what Sophie was talking about, but he kept stroking her silky curls.
“No, no, I wasn’t,” Sophie choked. “Because everything was going well before he came. They were about to send me out of the room, and even though it was painful, she was brave … but when he appeared, and she thought he was going to take the baby when it was born, it just stopped. It stopped working. I told her, I kept telling her, that I wouldn’t let him take the baby, but she didn’t believe me.” Sobs took over her voice again.
Patrick cursed softly, under his breath. When he spoke, his voice was as ragged as hers. “It’s not Alex’s fault,” he said. “And it’s not your fault. Births don’t always work, especially with the first baby. The baby, or the mother, can die.”
“Or both,” Sophie said drearily.
“Or both,” Patrick agreed. He rested his cheek against the head of the woman whose name he hardly knew. “But it’s not your fault. Alex realized what an ass he’d been, and he was on his way back. He loves her, you know. He was a fool, but he loves her. So he should be there. When I saw this happen before, in India …” He trailed off.
Sophie raised her head and looked at him, her blue eyes drenched in tears. “Did she suffer? I mean, at the end?”
“No. No, they called the husband, and he went in the room and was with her.”
Sophie dropped back against his chest, exhausted.
“How long has it been?” she whispered.
“About three minutes.” They both listened, but there was no sound from the hallway, not even the doctor’s returning footsteps.
In the master bedchamber Alex sat down on the bed beside Charlotte. She was very far away, in some private space of her own where there was no pain. He could see it in the frail whiteness of her face and her hushed breathing. He took her hands in his. As always, her delicate hands were dwarfed by his huge fingers. He had a sudden flashing memory of her fingers deftly holding a thin brush as she turned about to laugh at him, flicking a spot of red onto the front of his white shirt. He had growled in mock anger and swooped down on her, carrying her to the divan. He was such a fool! Why didn’t he know that a man and woman don’t make love like that, heart and soul infused into each other, unless there is true emotion between them? He had confused Maria’s cold, loathsome couplings with their joyful passion.
A great numbing coldness invaded Alex’s limbs. He had killed Charlotte. It was his fault. Unlike Patrick, he needed no explanations for what had happened. He had frightened his wife so much that she thought he would wrench the baby from her arms. So she gave up. Alex’s heart lurched in his chest. He hadn’t felt this agony since his mother died in childbirth. His mother would hate him if she knew what he had done to his own wife.
Something burning, hot, fell on his wrist. Alex realized it was his own tears. He hadn’t cried since his mother … He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t lose Charlotte.
“Charlotte!” His voice emerged desperately from his strangled chest. “Charlotte, come back.” There was no response from the white figure on the bed, only a faint twisting as her body shook from another contraction.
“No!” Alex howled in agony. “No, God, no!” He bent over, putting his lips to Charlotte’s ear, holding her hands as tightly as he could.
“I love you, Charlotte, I love you. Oh, God, please hear me. Please, please, don’t go, don’t go without hearing me. I found out how much I loved you in Italy. I was afraid … I was afraid that you didn’t love me, or that you were like Maria. Oh, God, Charlotte, please wake up!”
But there was nothing. Tears fell down Alex’s face and he leaned forward, pressing his face against Charlotte’s warm cheek. The silky warmth bolstered him, strengthened him. She wasn’t dead yet!
He took a deep breath. Bring her back, Patrick had said. Bring her back and help her push. He put his hands on her swollen tummy, and the faint flicker of life he felt sent fire through his veins. Their child was there as well, fighting for life.
Alex bent over again, putting his hands on Charlotte’s cheeks. His voice was low and insistent this time. “Charlotte, you must wake up. You must come back. The baby will die if you don’t come back, Charlotte. Our baby will die.” He paused and looked down at her. Had her eyelids flickered? Alex put his mouth so close to her face that his breath warmed her skin. He kissed her, breathing warmth into her, pouring his strength into her. “Charlotte,” he said again. “You must wake up or our baby will die. Don’t let our baby die, Charlotte!”
Charlotte heard him, but only as if his voice were a long way off, in a dream. It was Alex, she knew that. And he wasn’t shouting at her; he was pleading, almost begging. And then she understood what he was saying and with the last bit of her energy she opened her eyes. Almost instantly a contraction gripped her and she moaned, eyes closing, willing herself to fall back into the sweet, blessed darkness without pain. Long eyelash
es drifted down over her white cheeks.
But Alex’s voice wouldn’t let her. “Don’t, Charlotte, don’t! Our baby will die.” His voice was rasping with agony, but it was fiercely commanding as well. Charlotte opened her eyes again.
“Oh, God, Charlotte,” Alex said. He cradled her face in his hands. “I love you, do you know that?”
And Charlotte, looking at him with pain-drenched eyes, saw agony and tenderness and unbearable guilt in his eyes, and nodded, once. She smiled a little and turned her face against his hand, sliding back into the warm nest he had pulled her from.
Alex roughly pulled her into a half-sitting position. Charlotte groaned, but she was looking at him again.
“Our baby,” he was saying, “our baby, Charlotte!”
Slowly it came back to her. Her baby … where was her baby? Right on cue, another bone-shaking contraction crept up her abdomen. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Alex was gently caressing her shoulders. The pain passed and she opened her eyes.
He was looking at her, his eyes wild and desperate. Charlotte blinked. “Charlotte, on the next contraction, we’re going to push the baby out, do you understand?” Alex’s voice was so commanding that she answered.
“I tried.” Her voice was a wisp of sound.
“This time we’re going to push together. You were alone before; now I’m going to push with you. Feel how strong I am, Charlotte?” She nodded. He was gripping her hand as if he would never let go.
The door opened and Dr. Seedland slipped through, alone. His eyes went instantly to the bed.
“All right, Doctor,” Alex said without turning his head. “On the next contraction Charlotte and I are going to push the baby out. Because we want our baby to live, Charlotte. And if it doesn’t come out, the baby will die.” He kept his eyes fastened on hers, as if he could hypnotize her into strength.
Charlotte took a deep breath. She was fully back now, back in her pain-racked, exhausted body. Somehow logic had come back as well. She had to get the baby out. Yet logic, in fact, had deserted her, because as she explained later, Alex said he was going to push the baby out, and she agreed. She was too tired; it would be good if he could take over now.
So when the contraction started, instead of trying to control the pain Charlotte just relaxed into it and when Alex’s hands tightened and his voice beat at her head, saying, “Push, push!” she thought about the baby dying, and that Alex was pushing, and she wrenched her whole soul down to her stomach. And pushed.
“I see the head,” Dr. Seedland said unemotionally. He looked at Alex with a gleam of approval. “We need one more like that, my lord.”
Alex turned back to Charlotte. She was lying back, hair plastered to her scalp with sweat. She looked as if she’d been in a good fight and had come out on the losing side. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He bent down and kissed her mouth. Charlotte didn’t stir. He bit her lip sharply. Her eyes flew open.
There he was again, bothering her. She frowned at him.
“We need to do it one more time, Charlotte. Come on, the contraction is coming. We can get the baby out this time, Charlotte!” And then, in answer to her unspoken plea, “Just one more time, Charlotte.” And he hoped it was true.
So as the pain wrenched its way up her legs and into her chest Charlotte clutched her husband’s hands and pushed, one last time.
There was a shout from the end of the bed. “I’ve got him!” Dr. Seedland said hoarsely. And a second later there was a fierce, thin wail.
In the room across the hall, Sophie and Patrick had given up. They were curled up in the huge armchair like a pair of hibernating animals, taking pure animal comfort from each other’s nearness. For a while they listened carefully, but when Alex shouted, “No, no!” Sophie slumped back against Patrick. She was too tired even to cry anymore. Patrick was stricken with grief for his twin. In the back of his mind, he knew that Alex would never get over this, never. Alex had loved Charlotte; he had failed her; she had died. Mentally, Patrick sat in the chair gathering his strength to fight for his twin’s life.
But then a baby’s tiny wail pierced the silence. Patrick literally leaped from the chair and Sophie was launched into the air and flew down to the ground: whack! She fell on her left shoulder.
Sophie screamed with pain, and Patrick instantly scooped her up into his arms. They poised there, absolutely silent, until another spiraling wail hit the air. An uneasy thought occurred to Patrick. Had the doctor “rescued” the baby? Or did Alex succeed in waking up Charlotte? He had told his twin to wake her up, but he had almost no hope that it was possible. Patrick set Sophie on her feet and opened the door into the hallway.
The door to the bedroom was open. Patrick’s heart quailed; the bed was absolutely soaked in blood. But then … there was Alex, striding toward them, a huge grin splitting his face. And in his arms was a tiny, tiny little scrap of humanity.
“See?” Alex held back the flap of the white blanket so they could see a red face and small mouth, opening and shutting.
“He’s hungry,” Sophie said, fascinated. “Or, she’s hungry?”
“She,” Alex said. He looked about. Charlotte’s carefully chosen wet nurse had gone off to the kitchens long ago, and was at that moment drowning her sorrows in a tankard of ale. Mall, who had stood by Charlotte’s bed for hours, was weeping, head down on the kitchen table.
Alex looked down at his daughter’s small mouth and walked back to the bed. Charlotte was propped up against the headboard, still ashen white, but without the faraway, lost look she had before. She seemed to be asleep. The doctor had pulled a sheet up around her after the delivery. Alex pulled it down to Charlotte’s waist and carefully settled his little daughter against her breast.
Charlotte opened her eyes, startled, as a tiny flailing fist hit her.
“Ohhhh,” she breathed. The baby opened its black eyes and stared at her. Then she turned her head restlessly and opened her little mouth again. Instinctively Charlotte brought her up to her breast and the baby closed her small lips around her nipple.
Charlotte’s eyes met Alex’s and her free hand clasped his. Alex cupped his large hand around his daughter’s tiny head.
“She’s beautiful,” Alex said. “Look! She’s sucking.”
Suddenly the midwife, the wet nurse, and Mall erupted back into the room.
“I’ll take the little babe,” the wet nurse said importantly. She had been living at the manor for two days, waiting for the baby to come.
“No!” Charlotte said, as the wet nurse reached down to take the baby. “Alex!”
Alex felt a swell of pride. Charlotte had looked to him to save her baby; she obviously didn’t still think of him as a kidnapper. He grinned at the wet nurse.
“The countess has decided to nurse the child herself,” he explained cheerfully.
“My lady!” The wet nurse was aghast. Ladies never, never nursed their children. She bent down next to the bed. “My lady, your breasts … they will never be the same.”
Charlotte looked at her uncomprehendingly. She felt as if she were half-asleep, and sounds only reached her through a thick cotton blanket. She looked away from the woman and down at the baby’s tiny bald head. It was so fragile. Charlotte caressed the baby’s head tentatively, running her fingers delicately over her rosy shell-like ears. When the woman kept saying something to her, she looked up at Alex in silent appeal. Alex took the wet nurse by the arm and led her out of the room, passing her over to the housekeeper with a muttered remark about compensation. Slowly the room emptied.
To his surprise, Alex realized that he knew Charlotte’s housekeeper. The woman in front of him, who was obviously the housekeeper given her ring of keys, was the young girl Charlotte had been painting in London. Although she didn’t seem so young now. At her direction he went back to the bed and bent down.
“Darling, I’m going to carry you into another room now.” Charlotte smiled exhaustedly, a flicker of a smile. Alex’s st
rong arms came under her and she gratefully laid her head against his shoulder. In her arms nestled their little baby, still suckling irregularly, although her eyes weren’t open anymore.
Alex laid his wife and child tenderly in the room Mall pointed out. When Charlotte’s maid appeared with a bowl of water, he waved her away and washed Charlotte’s body himself. She hardly seemed to notice as the warm sponge glided over her body. The baby was asleep now, its cheek tucked against Charlotte’s breast.
Finally Alex snuffed out most of the candles and climbed on the bed too. He couldn’t bear to be parted from them. In a gesture that broke his heart, Charlotte handed him their daughter, adjusting the babe’s little head against his arm. Then she snuggled against his side and fell instantly into a deep sleep. Alex lay awake a long time, staring blindly at the opposite wall.
An hour or so later Pippa trundled into the room, shrieking with delight to see her papa. Charlotte didn’t even stir. Alex showed Pippa the new baby, but she showed almost no interest. Instead she said, “Mama!” and crawled over Charlotte’s body so that she could nestle on her other side. She butted her head up against Charlotte’s shoulder, clutched a bit of Charlotte’s nightdress, and closed her eyes, absolutely blissful.
Alex nodded to Pippa’s nanny, who left. Then he leaned back against the headboard, sick with self-loathing. How could he have thought to separate this family? If Charlotte is generous enough to give me a place in the family again, he vowed with all the silent strength of his soul, I will guard it with my life and never, never be the one to pull it to pieces.
Alex lay unmoving in the huge bed until dawn began to creep through the curtains, rearranging the puzzle pieces of his life: the garden girl and how she led him to marry Maria, and Maria’s wild sexual gyrations, and how they had nothing to do with Charlotte. And perhaps most important, his own destructive rage at Maria, which he unfairly directed at Charlotte.
As his new little daughter sighed and stirred and opened her black eyes, peering about in a dazed, half-blind sort of way, Alex remembered the anguish in Maria’s eyes as she’d begged him to be kind to Pippa, and to love her. Whatever Maria had been, she was a good mother, Alex thought. Healing remembrance flooded his soul. He, after all, was alive. He didn’t have to say goodbye to Pippa, or to Charlotte, or to this little scrap of humanity in his arms. Alex shuddered inwardly. But he smiled too. The burning, corrosive rage was gone. When he thought of Maria now, he knew he would remember the dying mother, tears streaming down her face, telling him in a broken voice that she hadn’t allowed Pippa into the room for three weeks so that their daughter wouldn’t catch scarlet fever.