Cachet (38 page)

She approached his chair, frowning. "Are you feeling weaker? Heavens, you must be starving! Lorella has breakfast for you. I'll go down and fetch the tray."

"Nay, it's not my gut bothering me." He reached for her hand, pressing it to his chest. "Higher. Right about here. There's something important I forgot to say. There's never been a moment when I haven't been honored to be your husband, Richelle. I stand tall with you beside me. I'm proud you bear my name, and that pride in you has never faltered. Not even when I learned of the charge against you."

She instantly burst into tears. "Now I've gone and done it," he sighed, cradling her against his upper body. He held her while she writhed and sobbed.

"Mercy!" came her muffled gasp. "My stomach's gone hard as a rock. I think..." Her words trailed off as they both stared at the spreading damp spot on the front of her dress. "Your child's decided to make his appearance."

Morgan bellowed for Lorella to summon the doctor, then hobbled beside Richelle, helping her into bed. She struggled to pull off her wet garments before covering herself with the quilt. "Have her go...right away," she panted. "Dr. Rowe said to send for him immediately. Baby hasn't turned. Only a chance, but there could be trouble this time, too."

"Rowe told you the babe hadn't turned? Why the hell didn't you tell me this before?"

Richelle waited until the contraction eased. "He told me the same morning as your accident. I honestly forgot, I was so worried about you, and with everything else going on, I didn't want to worry you about—"

"Richelle, I'm a grown man! I'm perfectly capable of—"

Lorella burst in, her features mottled with an angry flush. "If you two don't stop carrying on like a pair of hissing cats, I swear I'll toss a basin of dishwater over you both! You got a baby coming, and he's not going to wait until you iron out your petty differences. You sir," she carped, shaking a forefinger at Morgan, "either take this chair and talk nicely to her, or I'll help you down to the kitchen. There's a fresh bottle of brandy behind the sugar in the pantry."

Richelle looked from one to the other and began to giggle helplessly. Soon the giggles became whooping peals of laughter, cut off abruptly as the next pain hit.

"Your mistress could use a spot of that brandy in some hot tea," Morgan told the maid. "Bring some on a tray before you go. And take Patrick with you. I'll look after my wife until the doctor comes."

Richelle inhaled deeply as Morgan reached for her hand. "I'm sorry I forgot to tell you about the baby. I've honestly been so worried about you and that leg..."

Morgan smoothed the thick auburn locks from her forehead. "Rowe will turn the child, should it be necessary. He's done it before. You've a tough fight ahead, but I'm right here at your side as promised, Colonial." His eyes were a soft, shimmering gray in the stove's firelight.

"How is it you're so calm about this? Most expectant fathers bolt from the room when their wives go into labor."

"Ah, but remember, I spent my boyhood working on farms. This isn't precisely unfamiliar to me."

"I didn't realize a farm boy's chores extended to helping the farmers' wives give birth. Just what did you do to earn your pay?"

He flashed her a look of mock indignation. "You're always suspecting me of improper behavior."

"If you never engaged in any, I'd hardly be in this situation, would I?"

He patted her hand and beamed at her. "That's my girl. Keep your sense of humor. Phantom and a good many other heads of valuable livestock have me to thank for their arrivals."

"Now I'm certain you're jesting with me."

"Madam, you know very well I never jest. Besides sweeping out manure and stacking hay, I often found myself helping a cow bring forth a new calf. I've turned newborns in the tunnel more than once. Always had strong, slender fingers and arms."

"Please don't elaborate." Richelle felt slightly queasy.

"Sorry for the indelicacy. However," he frowned, "It occurs to me that our good doctor lives a fair distance beyond the outskirts of the village, and this is not your first." He hobbled to the washstand and rolled up his sleeves. Then he began vigorously scrubbing his hands and forearms.

"Morgan! You can't mean to suggest
you're
going to—" Her words were cut off by another sharp pain.

"I've sworn to provide any and all necessary assistance. Don't ask me to break my oath now. I'm deeply indebted to you, my love, in ways I'll never be able to fully repay. This would be but a small comfort." His eyes held hers. "You know I'd never hurt you, Richelle. I thought we'd established your trust in me." She nodded and held her breath.

He was extremely gentle. He probed cautiously and a smile broke across his face. "That babe's not turned wrong, Richelle! I felt the head. You're doing fine!"

"Oh Morgan, honestly?"

"Aye. Now take a sip of the tea Lorella made you," he directed, bringing the cup to her lips. Lorella had also provided a sandwich for him. He took a bite and began talking as he chewed. "Remember the pirates? You were afraid for your very life then, but you listened to me and made it through. Listen again now. You'll come through this fine, and so will the babe."

She panted, clinging tightly to his hand and resisting the urge to bear down. Morgan never winced, never adjusted his hand, just let her crush his fingers when she needed to and continued to smile.

At last the doctor appeared. "How's she doing?"

"Fine, Doc," Morgan grinned. "Normal presentation, head's pretty low. She's opening up nicely. Won't be long."

Richelle felt her face redden. "Morgan!" she hissed. "I think the doctor can decide for himself how matters are progressing."

"Right as rain!" the doctor pronounced as he examined her. "You're fortunate to have this fellow for your midwife, you know." Dr. Rowe gave Richelle a wink and grinned at Morgan. "He's delivered some of the finest animals in Northern England. Never lost a foal or calf yet."

"When I begin munching oats, I'll take comfort in that."

"I see I'm no longer appreciated," Morgan sniffed in mock offense. "I'll go have some of that brandy, then." He started toward the doorway.

Richelle shook her head violently, seizing the doctor's arm. "The stairs! He can't make it down alone."

The doctor glanced at Morgan. "She's got a ways to go yet." He'd left a crutch by the door, and handed Morgan the padded end. He ran his hand along the damaged thigh. "Thought I told you to stay off that leg. How's it feeling?"

"Never better," Morgan replied, staring into his wife's dark eyes. "Might I have a word alone with my wife before you help me downstairs?"

Dr. Rowe nodded and quit the room. Morgan eased onto the edge of the bed and spoke in a serious tone. "You were right about the marriage aboard the ship. Before I arrived at your aunt's house, I'd already set my mind to do whatever was required to keep you in my life. I misled you about passage knowing full well I'd never let you go anywhere without me. I
did
purposely deceive you to get what I wanted. My own goal was all that mattered."

"I've forgiven you, remember?"

"I did it because I longed to make you mine from the first moment I held you in my arms and kissed you. Even though marriage terrified me. I wanted you so much." He reached for her hand. "Other than wanting you for myself then, I've never wanted anything as much as I now pray to watch you suckle a healthy child. Son or daughter, makes no difference. Just so long as the babe's healthy and you're blessed at last, Richelle. Because you've been denied motherhood for so long."

She grimaced again with a fresh wave of pain. Morgan's voice lowered. "I never understood about your inheritance and why you defied me, spending it to restore my assets. I thought you meant to pay me to forget how you'd hidden the pregnancy. And it hurt my businessman's pride to accept that you had so much, while I was barely able to keep even this modest little place. Your wealth made me feel a failure."

"Only in your eyes, Morgan. Never in mine."

"I suppose part of it was my own guilt, for tricking you into a marriage you didn't want. I couldn't also lay claim to your inheritance. But I've sorted things out in my mind, and I know it wasn't my assets you salvaged, Richelle. It was my hopes and dreams. You've understood from the first what trade means to me. It's more than money. It's my whole future."

Tears trickled from her eyes as she gazed at him. "My father believed that, too. If only you could have known him."

He caressed her cheek with his palm, wiping the tears with his thumb. "I'm sorry I never got the chance. He was a fine man. Everyone I met said as much. And I don't know his perception of his business interests, but you're mistaken about mine."

"Mistaken?"

"I'd throw away everything I have for you, Richelle.
You
are the one asset beyond price—the only asset my future and dreams can ever be built upon. I can't explain how completely you've changed my life. I owe you such a debt, and now I've got the chance to repay it.

"Morgan, you don't owe me. We're together, that's all that matters to me."

"Nay, this child matters. Push hard when it's time to bear down. Believe in your Bargainer and don't be afraid." He moved unsteadily from the bed to the door.

"Not that I don't want to believe in you, but—"

Richelle thought she imagined tears glistening in his pale eyes, but it might have been a trick of the light. Or the dampness in her own.

"I had a talk with the Almighty, beloved wife. We struck a bargain between us. I've put up the use of my leg against your welfare and the child's. I had a long talk with Him. He knows I'm a man of my word. I know full well the power of His."

Richelle gasped, but not from the pain of childbirth. "You asked God to leave you crippled?"

The resolve on his face hit harder than any contraction yet. "Aye, if that's the price of your dream, Richelle."

Richelle sat ramrod straight in the crowded pew as her gaze swept the church. Every row was filled. Morgan was seated immediately to her left, mustache neatly groomed, the thong gone from his hair. His mane had been shorn to just grazing the top of his starched collar. Lorella was on Richelle's right, holding tight to Malcolm's hand. She would be back in a month to wed Malcolm and move into the Entwistle's farmhouse.

The vicar called Morgan and his wife forward. Morgan flashed Richelle a look he hoped conveyed the mingled uncertainty and solemn pride in his soul and rose to his feet. He waited as Lorella transferred the chubby bundle from her lap into Richelle's arms. Silently Morgan laid his cane across the wooden pew behind him. He heard several audible gasps. He ignored them, moving stiffly to join his wife and David Entwistle in the nave. The vicar asked David a question.

"Regan Hardwick Tremayne," came the resonant answer.

Richelle barely heard the words. She saw Morgan standing tall with nothing in either hand. Balancing Regan in the crook of her arm, she reached for Morgan's right hand with the fingers of her left. Their twin signets came together in one soft, burnished glow. Morgan had insisted upon naming their son Regan—half Rachel, half Morgan. It was a good name, she reflected as the baby loudly voiced his complaint at the rush of water over his brow. A strong name for the son of a strong man.

They stepped into the crisp spring air. Chrissandra tugged at Richelle's sleeve and whispered something in her ear. Richelle smiled broadly and nodded in the direction of her husband and Dr. Rowe. The women moved to where the men stood talking. The doctor cautioned Morgan about pushing himself and the leg too hard.

Richelle drew her husband aside. "He's right, Morgan. You're not overtired, are you? You haven't been without the cane for so long before."

"I'm fine, love."

She gave him her warmest smile. "We'll be attending another christening before long. Your partner's going to be a father, if Dr. Rowe confirms what Chrissy suspects."

Morgan glanced at Chrissandra, then at Lorella holding hands with Malcolm. He shook his head in exasperation. "You've managed to hasten the demise of our bachelor population, Richelle Tremayne," he scolded in mock severity. "We allow one little Colonial widow into our midst, and look what comes of it."

Thomas and Emily stepped up beside them. "Aye! Little American's the best thing ever befell this village," Thomas declared. "Told Emily for years Swanson was cheating on the ale shipments. Rachel finally got the figures to prove it. Won't cheat me again, now that I own the bloody place!"

"Want to thank you again for your help with the banker, Mr. Tremayne. I'll have the last of your funds to you next week. We're honored you offered the place to us, rather than selling to strangers. Know it wasn't easy for you to part with the inn. We'll take good care for you, and in Andrew's memory. You're welcome to drinks on us any time, sir. In moderation," Thomas winked.

Morgan frowned. "What's this 'sir' and 'Mr. Tremayne' business? When did I stop being Morgan?"

Emily went red in the face now. "It's not that we're not fond of you as ever, Morgan, but you're the
mayor
now! I mean sir, eh...Your Honor," she stammered. She held up an elegant silver and ebony walking stick. "And you forgot your cane, Your Honor, sir."