Her Secondhand Groom (31 page)

Juliet blinked. “Sorry, Caroline. I was woolgathering.”

“
Yes, that was rather obvious,” Caroline agreed. She licked her lips, the color rising in her cheeks. “Umm, it’s a fact of biology that the man’s seed needs to find its way to the woman’s core. So perhaps if you want this to happen sooner rather than later, you should help encourage that.”

Juliet stiffened. Was her friend implying she thought Juliet was a rigid prude who denied Drake access to her bed? “Pardon?”

Caroline held her gaze. “I didn’t mean...” She cleared her throat. “Juliet, it’s obvious you two are being intimate. And there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re Drake’s wife now. It’s perfectly acceptable for you to share his bed.”

Juliet’s heart stilled. “Did someone say otherwise?”

“
No,” Caroline assured her, drawing out the word. “I thought you were implying such by the way you stiffened when I suggested you encourage Drake to―” She waved her hand in a circling motion through the air.

“
Oh,” Juliet said with a blush. “I...we...we’re intimate.”

“
We know,” Emma intoned. “A blind man couldn’t miss the looks that pass between the two of you.”

Heat crawled up Juliet’s face. “Then if you weren’t implying I allow him to share my bed, what were you implying?”

“
Nothing specific,” Caroline said. “Just that if you’re trying to conceive, you could lie on your back afterward, and pull your knees to your chest. That’ll force everything to your womb.”

“
Or make Drake question her sanity,” Emma broke in. “Truly, Caroline, if she does that, Drake will likely think she’s addled. I’m fairly certain Marcus would think so if I did such a thing.”

“
I doubt that,” Caroline said. “He’d probably take it as an invitation.”

“
Caroline Banks!” Emma said laughingly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The blush staining her cheeks suggested otherwise.

“
Emma’s likely right, though,” Caroline admitted. “Drake might not be so accepting of such a tactic.”

Juliet knit her brows. “What do you mean? Does Drake not want any more children?”

“
Sure he does,” Emma said. She swallowed hard, then cleared her throat. “Gentlemen take it as a point of pride when they father children. So, while Drake would love to have his heir, he’d rather believe it was because of him and his strong seed that you conceived, not your machinations.”

“
Oh.” Juliet said. What on Earth was Emma talking about?

Caroline cast Emma an apologetic look; for what, Juliet didn’t know, but then Caroline spoke again and all curiosity regarding Emma disappeared. “What Emma means is, like all men, Drake’s pride demands he be the one to ensure you conceive. Not that it’s a bad thing, mind you. It just means, if you want to tip fate’s balance in your favor, you’ll have to be a bit more discreet in how you go about it.”

“
Right,” Juliet agreed. Perhaps it was better to just let it happen when it happened. Truly they’d only been sharing intimacies for six weeks. That was barely any time at all, all things considered.

“
Here’s what you should do,” Caroline continued. “It’s easy and it won’t draw a hint of suspicion, I expect. Just wait a little longer before cleaning up afterward so his seed has time to take root.”

Juliet cocked her head to the side in interest. What was Caroline talking about? She didn’t clean up immediately after intimacies. There wasn’t anything to clean up.

“
There isn’t?”
Emma and Caroline asked in unison.

Juliet flushed. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. “No. Not really.”

“
You’re sure there’s nothing er...” Emma trailed off, piercing Juliet with her green gaze.

“
Yes,” Juliet said uncomfortably. What was there supposed to be?

Caroline coughed delicately into her hand. “I think it’s time we abandon this subject and move on to something else.”

“
Oh, I know just the thing,” Emma said, leaping off her seat. She scurried across the room and came back with a little scientific pamphlet of some sort, and handed it to Caroline before resuming her seat.

Caroline immediately started leafing through the treatise, hemming and hawing in interest as she went.

“
Caroline?”

“
Hmm?”

Juliet snatched the circular from her friend. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

Caroline didn’t answer, not verbally anyway. Instead, by looking into her eyes it as was clear as a three-foot snow blanketing the village marking the beginning of winter that something was amiss. Juliet’s gaze turned to Emma.

Emma’s eyes held the same glint Caroline’s had. Not a sign of sympathy, exactly, but more a look of uncertainty, and possibly compassion.

“
Ask Drake.”

Chapter 23

Patrick followed Marcus down to the pink drawing room to find the ladies. The physician had arrived thirty minutes ago and sent a note down to Marcus saying Olivia’s time was getting close. Thank goodness, because if he had to listen to much more of Olivia’s screaming, he’d go up there and put an end to it in a way that would benefit the eardrums of everyone in England in a permanent way.

Fortunately, more than six hours ago Marcus had offered him cotton for his ears which he readily accepted. Unfortunately, he could still hear Olivia, and her screams were about to get louder when he removed the cotton from his ears.

Following Marcus into the drawing room, Patrick plucked the cotton from his ears just in time to hear Emma say the words, “Ask Drake.”

“
Ask me what?” Patrick asked, eager for any type of distraction that would take his mind off Olivia and her wailing.

Three sets of wide, unblinking eyes turned toward him.

“
N-nothing, Drake,” Juliet stammered.

He cocked his head to the side. She’d never seemed so uncomfortable in his presence before. How odd. “Are you sure, Juliet? You’re welcome to ask me anything.”

She coughed and shook her head. “We can talk later.”

“
All right.”

Next to Patrick, Marcus idly rubbed his hands together, and stared at the settee. “Uh...ahem... Could I trouble you ladies to go attend Olivia?”

“
Is it time?” Caroline asked.

Marcus nodded. “That’s what I’ve been told.”

“
Praise the Lord,” Emma said, standing. She walked over to Marcus and exchanged a look with him before he squeezed her shoulder and watched her walk away. Earlier, Marcus had informed Patrick that Olivia had no desire to keep the child, so Marcus and Emma would adopt her baby. Then Olivia could go live in London where he’d made arrangements for her to live in a facility. There was much left unspoken, but Patrick understood well enough. Olivia had always struck him as addled, at least now she’d get the attention she craved. Even if it wasn’t the kind most people would enjoy, Olivia probably would.

Patrick stepped back so Emma and Caroline could leave, then his eyes narrowed on Juliet. She hadn’t joined her friends yet. Her face, though still slightly colored, looked different. He’d witnessed the many facial expressions she possessed and knew the difference between excitement, anger, fury, and yes, there was a difference between anger and fury, contentment, nervousness, and ecstasy, he’d also seen her look uncertain, confident, doubtful, resigned, or even just emotionless.

But right now, she had a look he
didn’t
recognize. Her eyes, though focused on him, were not focused on his. Instead, she was looking at his shoulders or chest. The warm gleam he’d come to know and love was gone; not replaced by the icy glacier that was once there, however, just not as shiny and bright as it had once been, almost dull, perhaps. Her mouth formed a straight line, no hint of a curve in one direction or the other.

She stood and crossed the room, her posture stiff and her movements rigid.

Patrick had the strangest urge to wrap his arms around her and ask what happened that had transformed her so. He flickered a glance to Marcus then followed his wife into the hall.

“
Juliet?”

She stopped her steps, but didn’t turn to face him.

“
Did something happen?”

“
No.” Her voice was clear and confident, but lacking something. What, he didn’t know, but something was off.

“
Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I need to be going upstairs now to attend Olivia.”

Patrick stepped in front of her. “Do you want to attend her?” A better understanding of her somber mood now in his mind, he wrapped both of his warm hands around her smaller chilled ones. “If she’s been beastly to you, or you don’t wish to go up there, you don’t have to, Juliet.”

“
I know.”

“
Do you?” He squeezed her hands then let go, and took a step closer to her. “Juliet, it is not your duty to be here. I understand your wish to help Emma any way you can, but if you’re not comfortable, going into that room, don’t. I’ll take you home right now if you ask it of me.”

Juliet’s eyes flashed with some emotion he couldn’t name, but before he had a chance to determine it, the gleam was gone. “I want to help,” she said simply, pulling her hands from his and continuing her stroll down the hall.

Patrick watched her go, emotion clogging his throat. He shook his head, then with all the force his tension-filled body had, he all but flung himself against the wall. Bracing both hands, palms-down, against the wall, he hung his head, and with a force similar to that of the bulls he’d heard about in Spain, the emotional dam he’d built burst. All the memories of that fateful day more than five years ago flooded his mind...

***

April 2, 1810

“
Patrick!”

Abigail screaming his name jolted Patrick straight from his seat.

Heedless to anyone or anything in his path, Patrick bounded through the halls of Briar Creek, not slowing until he reached the viscountess’ room. “Yes?” he choked, gasping for breath.

“
It hurts,” was her only response.

Patrick nodded his understanding, and walked to his wife’s side. An empty chair was positioned to her right and he sat down. He averted his gaze as the doctor lifted the sheet and pooled it at her waist. Abigail had always been sensitive about him seeing her unclothed. Whenever they’d been intimate, she’d insisted on wearing her nightrail, then had made him snuff all the candles before joining her under the covers. Once they were through, she’d go behind the dressing screen to attend her feminine needs and insist he put his nightshirt back on, too. He didn’t wish to cause her any undue worry at a time like this, so he forced his attention on her chalky face and used his fingers to brush the hair stuck to her damp forehead behind her ear.

The doctor continued his exam, and Patrick studied Abigail. He may only be a young man of three-and-twenty, with more knowledge of knitting than the process of delivering babies, but if he, the father, was called into the room, something must be wrong, indeed. For both Celia’s and Helena’s births he’d been in the drawing room or his study, waiting to be informed the birth had occurred.

His eyes did a slow sweep of his wife’s sweaty face. She looked
tired—no
, not tired—exhausted. She looked positively exhausted. Her red-rimmed eyelids were so heavy they appeared to be almost closed. Her mouth was hanging open a touch. Her skin was nearly translucent, and a dark half-moon rested under each of her eyes.

Swallowing, Patrick pulled his handkerchief from his breast pocket, dipped it into the pitcher of water resting near him, and then ran the edge of it over her dry, cracked lips.

“
Lord Drakely.”

The doctor’s scratchy voice startled him. “Yes?”

“
Can I speak to you a moment in the hall, my lord?”