A Baron for Becky (28 page)

But he rolled
again, bringing her back against his side.

“My accident is
why we must go, Becky.”

Again, she
pushed back to have his whole face clearly in view. “The headaches?
Are you feeling worse? Yes, we must consult a doctor! Hugh, you
should have said.”

“Nothing like
that, my love. The headaches are nearly gone, thanks to all the
powers of Heaven. And I’m fit again. But I nearly died, Becky. When
the bridge went down, when I was swept away...”

Becky shuddered
and pressed herself closer. She would burrow inside if she could.
Thank God his foot had become caught in the stirrup. A thousand
thanks that the horse had pulled him from the river. When they’d
found him at first light, more than three miles downstream from the
collapsed bridge, he was still hanging, attached to the wet and
shivering horse by one booted foot.

Whether it was
trying to protect its master, as Hugh claimed, or just unwilling to
drag dead weight didn’t matter. He was still alive. And she managed
to keep him that way through both the head injury and the fever
contracted that long, cold night.

Oddly enough,
that interminable time of managing his affairs while watching by
his bedside had given her confidence she had always lacked. With
him unconscious, she was without his careful protection, his
constant reassurance. She conferred with his land agent, even
fought with his factory manager and prevailed. She needed to be
strong for Hugh, for their daughters, for the household and the
barony—and she found she was strong, the last of the old nightmares
laid to rest at last.

“I nearly died,
Becky, and it frightens me.”

She frowned,
then. Frightened? He was a grown man, and had been a soldier. But
he was still talking. “I am frightened for you and the girls, if
something happens to me before they are grown.”

She worried,
too. The land would go to the Crown, along with the title. Hugh’s
will left her the cotton mill in Liverpool. The income was down, as
the long war against Napoleon drew to an end, but it would be
enough for her and the girls to live on, especially since her
settlement from Aldridge was untouched.

It would not be
enough to establish all four girls in the life that Hugh intended
for them, though. As daughters of a baron, they could expect to
make marriages in the gentry. But a baron’s relict with an obscure
past and no landed relatives, making her income from trade, would
be a far less attractive parent-in-law, in a class that married for
family advantage. Only a very large marriage portion would overcome
such murky roots.

“Then live,
Hugh,” she told him, fiercely. “You must live to see them grown and
established.”

He pulled her
head back against his chest and kissed the top of her head. “I
know, my love. I know. But we must have a plan.”

“If only I had
given you a son!” she mourned.

“I love our
Belle, beloved,” he protested. “You know that. I wouldn’t change a
hair of her head, let alone make a boy of her.”

She shook her
head, not comforted.

“So,” Hugh took
up the thread again, “that’s why I want to talk to Aldridge.”

Becky felt the
blood drain from her head, and for a moment the world receded, as
if sounds, sights, smells, touch, were filtered through a long,
long tunnel.

“Aldridge?” Her
voice came out in a squeak, and Hugh tipped her head back to see
her face.

“Becky? Are you
feeling ill? Becky, you look as white as a sheet. Here, my love,
lie back against the pillows. What is it? Does something hurt?”

Her heart. Her
heart hurt.

“What...” Her
voice caught and she had to make another attempt. “Why do you want
to speak to Aldridge?”

Hugh’s anxious
look cleared. “Not, foolish wife, what you obviously suspect!
Becky, Becky, how could you think I would let that randy hell-spawn
have at you?”

“You need a
son, Hugh.” But she could breathe again, and the vice around her
chest loosened.

“Not so much
I’d ask my wife to whore herself.” He put a finger to her lip as
she opened it to speak, obviously guessing what she was about to
say. “No pasts, Becky, remember? One man for you, and one woman for
me, as long as we both shall live. Here. Let me remind you.”

She gave
herself to him with a certain desperation, forgetting everything in
the moment, but afterwards, he returned to the topic. “I thought
Aldridge might be willing to stand as guardian and sponsor to the
girls. If anything happens to me.”

“He’s a
bachelor, Hugh,” and one with a reputation that would not benefit
their daughters.

“With
Haverford’s health as it is, Aldridge will be duke by the time
they’re ready to be presented,” Hugh insisted. “He’ll have to take
a wife then. And his mother will support them, I’m sure. I thought
I could sound out Aldridge, and you could talk to the duchess. She
likes you.”

Becky thought
about it. Hugh made good sense. Yes. They would go to London.

Chapter
Twenty-Four

The Duchess of
Haverford’s ball was the usual crush. Hugh managed one set with
Becky, then the Earl of Chirbury asked her to dance, so Hugh
retaliated by sweeping Lady Chirbury into the set. They had a
number of friends here tonight, and Hugh did his duty by the wives,
as Becky danced with the husbands. Aldridge had still not returned
to town, so his mother said, though she’d hoped to see him
tonight.

Hugh was
resting between sets, halfway through the evening, when he caught a
glimpse of Aldridge, half-hidden in an alcove, watching the
dancers. Hugh grinned. He shouldn’t tell Aldridge about Becky’s
bright idea from that very afternoon. Becky would be furious. He
couldn’t resist, though. The joke was too funny not to share with
its butt.

He made his way
unobtrusively around the edge of the floor.

“Overton.”
Aldridge greeted him with a nod, without looking. Hugh followed the
direction of his gaze. A group of debutantes, all in white, none
much older than Sophie and Sarah. The thought made him shudder,
which drew Aldridge’s attention.

“They’re not
that bad, surely?” Aldridge asked. “Unless you’re expected to marry
one, of course.” He grimaced, a quick twist of the lips.

“Sophie and
Sarah will be out there in three or four years,” Hugh said baldly.
“Antonia, too, I would remind you. All these men looking them over
like horses at Tattersall’s...” He shuddered again, more
artistically this time.

“Three or four
years?” Aldridge sounded startled. “I suppose you are right. Good
God!” He turned back to his perusal. “No wonder they all look far
too young for me. I could easily have been a father at seventeen or
eighteen. Some of them really are young enough to be my
daughters.

“I’ll have to
choose someone, you know. Not yet, but soon.” From his tone, he
might have been asked to organise his own execution.

“A duke must
have a son,” Hugh acknowledged.

“Yes. And a
duchess, preferably.” Aldridge’s eyes shifted, and Hugh’s widened
as he picked up the new target.

“One of the
Winderfield twins? Really?”

“No chance. You
know my father tried to have their uncle’s marriage declared
invalid and his children bastards?”

The sensation
of 1812 would have been the sudden reappearance and ascension to
the ducal title of the long-lost second son of Charles Winderfield,
sixth Duke of Winshire. Except the news was greatly overshadowed by
his reputation as a robber king in the mountains of Central Asia
and the large family of sons and daughters—half-Asian sons and
daughters—he brought home to England with him. All seasoned
warriors, men and women alike.

“He will not
consider anyone from my family now. Besides, with my reputation? My
well-deserved reputation? Her many cousins will separate me from my
bollocks, if I so much as breathe in her direction.”

“They could do
it, too,” Hugh acknowledged.

Aldridge’s huff
of laughter was not much amused. “I will need to choose a bride
without male relatives.” He had not taken his eyes from the woman
on the far side of the room.

“None of which
would stop me, if Lady Charlotte didn’t despise the ground I walk
upon.” Aldridge said this last to himself, so quietly that Hugh had
to strain to hear it.

“Good God.
You’re serious about her.”

Aldridge shook
his head. “No point in thinking it, Overton. They call her Saint
Charlotte, did you know? Charity work... sworn off marriage...
thinks men are oafs, and I’m the worst of them.” Hugh’s friend
resumed a devil-may-care mask, settling it over himself like
armour. “And she is not wrong, of course. Nice to see you back on
your feet, Overton. How is Becky? Your daughters?”

“All well. I
wanted to talk to you about them, as a matter of fact. I have a
favour to ask.”

“Name it,”
Aldridge said, carelessly. He had stepped out to scoop up two
glasses of wine from a passing servant, and now handed one to
Hugh.

“I nearly died
last year when that bridge collapsed,” Hugh said, “which would have
left Becky and the girls... you know all about it, Aldridge. I
don’t have a son to inherit.”

Aldridge
stopped with his drink halfway to his lips, his eyes suddenly
devoid of expression.

“No.” Hugh
shoved the idea away with both hands, wrinkling his nose in
disgust. “Honestly, what is wrong with people? No, Aldridge, I am
not asking you to bed my wife.”

“I would rather
you didn’t.” Aldridge took a healthy gulp, as if suddenly thirsty.
“Neither you nor Becky would ever forgive me if I agreed.” His
wicked grin appeared again. “And I would be sorely tempted to
agree.”

That was an
interesting perspective. Hugh and Becky had agreed infidelity—even
negotiated infidelity in the cause of the family’s future—would
injure the precious bond they’d forged, but they hadn’t considered
how they’d feel about Aldridge afterwards. “It is not going to
happen,” Hugh said. “I wouldn’t suggest it, and Becky wouldn’t
agree. Although...” The afternoon’s conversation with Becky set him
chortling all over again. “Becky did have another idea for
achieving the same end.”

“Do I want to
know?”

“Probably not.”
Hugh could barely speak for laughing. “One of her... Becky used to
know someone... She remembered this instrument the doctors used to
clean out...” He slapped Aldridge on the shoulder and gripped
tight, trying to control his laughter enough to finish. “He was
convinced washing his insides regularly was good for him.”

Aldridge
frowned, clearly not seeing the picture. “Washing his insides?”

“A clyster
syringe. Have you heard of it?”

A shake of the
head, but Aldridge was looking suspicious, and well he might. Hugh
went off into another paroxysm of laughter.

“The doctors
fill it up with water, introduce the tube to the patient’s
posterior, up goes water, and down comes... well, you can
imagine.”

“Sounds
uncomfortable. What on earth has that to do with you having a
son?”

Hugh, doing his
best not to laugh again, told him. “It occurred to Becky that the
same tool could be used to deliver a man’s seed into a woman’s
passage, without, er... bed sport.”

Aldridge
nodded. “I suppose there’s no reason why—Blistering hell, she
didn’t think I...? Damn it, Overton, you’re my friend, but...”

Hugh couldn’t
help it. The idea of the Merry Marquis, the consummate lover,
Society’s darling, his charms rejected, sent off alone to commune
with a clyster syringe... And Aldridge’s reaction just as horrified
as Hugh expected. He had to laugh. Aldridge, his frown so deep his
brows nearly met, was decidedly disgruntled, which only made Hugh
laugh harder.

He wasn’t aware
of Becky coming up beside him until she slipped her arm into his,
which sobered him quickly enough. “Hugh, you did not...” she said.
Then, looking at Aldridge, “He did, didn’t he?”

“Told me your
clever little plan? Yes. Thank you, Becky, for the compliment to my
progenerative powers. How delightful to be appreciated.”

Becky scoffed
at his cold tone. “Do not be silly, Aldridge. It is a great
compliment we have paid you, seen in a certain light. Anyway, Hugh
said it was a foolish idea, and you would be insulted.” She glared
at her husband. “So, why he told you, I do not know.”

“Because he
would be insulted,” Hugh muttered.

One could
always rely on Aldridge’s sense of humour , even when the joke was
on him. A smile returned to lurk in one corner of his mouth. “To
put me in my place, my dear Becky, firmly in the distant past. For
which I do not blame him. But poor strategy, Lord Overton, to annoy
a person from whom you want a favour. You have come to ask a
favour, did you not say?”