Mrs. Drew Plays Her Hand (26 page)

She thought a moment, then nodded reluctantly. "Still, he frightens me," she said.

Winn put his arms around her. "I know, Roxie, I know. You're about to be reminded of one of the sterling benefits of marriage."

He tipped her chin up with his finger and looked right into her eyes. "You don't have to face things alone anymore."

There was nothing she could do except nod. He smiled and kissed her forehead. "Let's go face the lions, Roxie. I think you might also discover that they are not as frightening as you remember. At least, this is my suspicion."

She took his hand as they went down the stairs, clutching it tighter and tighter as they approached the sitting room, loosening her grip only when Fletch winced and declared, "If you cut off my circulation, I'll be minus fingers, too, my dear. How many parts can a man lose?"

She paused at the door for a deep breath. Helen was inside, playing Mozart, and it steadied her as much as Winn's hand on her shoulder.

"Excellent!" Winn said. "You always were one to ride toward the sound of guns, Roxie." He opened the doors. "Ah, Lord Whitcomb. Grand of you to come."

The door was open; there was nothing she could do but follow her husband inside, holding her breath until she felt light-headed, then letting it out slowly when Marshall Drew held out his hand to her. She hesitated, then felt the pressure of Lord Winn's fingers on her shoulder. You are a bully, she thought as she extended her hand finally and shook Lord Whitcomb's hand.

"Good evening, Marshall," she said, wishing that she could sound brave. I must say something. What's a conversational opener for a villain? "I'm glad you could hear how Helen has been progressing. That's lovely, my darling," she said to her daughter at the piano.

Helen beamed at her. "Shall I continue, Mama?"

Roxie felt herself relaxing. "Yes, of course." She indicated the sofa across the room. "Perhaps we could sit here?"

She sat as close to Winn as she could without climbing into his lap, recalling with painful clarity her last tete-a-tete with Lord Whitcomb in the vicarage. The memory left her unable to say anything. To her relief, her husband picked up the conversational baton and wielded it like a marshal. His voice was relaxed and genial, and she couldn't believe her ears.

"Lord Whitcomb, we wanted you to know how Lissy was. She seems to be gaining in strength, but it's still early days, I am afraid."

Whitcomb nodded. "We've had our share of influenza, too." He looked at her. "I heard that Tibbie was ill, but he must have recovered remarkably, Roxanna. Your fields are quite the envy."

Roxanna smiled in spite of herself and sat a little taller. "I was bailiff until a week or so ago," she said.

"You are to be commended then," Marshall Drew replied. He paused, then looked at Helen, who was concentrating on the sonatina. "She is well?"

"Yes, thank God," Roxanna said gratefully, warming to his concern. "The flu seems to pick and choose."

Marshall nodded. He-rose. "I do not intend to stay long, of course, but I would like to see Lissy."

"Of course," Winn said, when she hesitated. "I do have a favor to ask of you first."

Lord Whitcomb smiled, and she further relaxed her grip on her husband. She remembered that smile, too, and was glad to see it again. "Whatever I can do, please know that I will."

"I haven't asked Roxanna yet, but I am certain she will agree. Will you take Helen back to Whitcomb for the rest of the week?"

Roxanna bit her lips to keep from screaming out loud and dug her fingernails into her husband's hand. He merely raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.

But Winn was still speaking, as though he conversed with his best friend, and not the man who had tried to shame her and steal her daughters. "I'm sure you can see that Helen could use a change of scenery, and it would give Roxie some relief, too. Will you consider it?"

She held her breath, praying that Whitcomb would say no. To her amazement, tears came to his eyes. He looked away from them toward Helen, who was starting Scarlatti now, her head moving in time to the rhythm. He did not speak until he was firmly in control again.

"Yes, of course, Lord Winn," he replied. "I would be delighted, and I am sure I speak for Agnes, too." He turned to Roxie then. "If it is agreeable to you, Roxanna."

Suddenly she understood, and felt tears of her own. And I thought I loved Fletcher Rand before, she told herself as she looked at her brother-in-law. I wonder if I would have the magnanimity to attempt what he is doing? Anthony would; surely I can do no less. One mustn't be outdone by one's husbands.

"Yes, by all means, Marshall," she replied. "It would be a relief to me to know that Helen was in good hands while we are so occupied with Lissy right now."

Marshall sighed. "Very good. May I go invite Helen myself?"

She nodded. "Do tell her that we will let her know how Lissy goes on."

He went to the piano and sat next to her daughter, their heads together. She watched them and swallowed, reminded of other days.

"Does he resemble Anthony?" Winn asked quietly.

She nodded. "Sometimes it gives me a start." She looked at her husband. "When was the last time anyone told you that you are remarkable?"

It was his turn to blink and look away. "I never was remarkable before I met you, Roxanna," he said finally as Lord Whitcomb returned to the sofa.

He was smiling. "She agrees. I will send 'round my groom in the morning for her. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Roxanna said, when her husband seemed unable to respond. She took another deep breath and held out her hand to Lord Whitcomb. "Come, let me take you to Lissy. Fletch? I think Helen is stuck on that andantino. Can you untangle her, my dear?"

She climbed the stairs slowly with her brother-in-law, thinking her own thoughts, grateful for the gathering dusk, but more at peace than in months. They entered Lissy's room, where Mrs. Mitchum watched.

Roxanna remained in the doorway while he sat on the edge of Lissy's bed, touching her cheek, then kissing her forehead. He spoke softly to her, and she couldn't tell if Lissy was capable of response, but her heart went out to him. I can forgive, she thought. It costs nothing except a little pride, and the rewards are infinite.

Lord Whitcomb joined her in the doorway again and they went silently down the stairs. He paused at the bottom and took her hand. "Roxanna, please let me know how she goes on. If there is anything I can do ..."

She smiled. "Remember her in your prayers, of course. Beyond that, we can only wait. Thank you for coming."

She opened the door for him. He looked back at her, some of the bleakness gone from his eyes. "Roxanna, I hope you can forgive me someday," he murmured.

"I will work on it," she promised. "Good night, Marshall."

She returned to the sitting room, standing in the doorway to watch her husband and Helen practice the andantino. I would like to hold moments like these in my hands forever, she thought as she stood there. I love him so much, and must face the blinding truth that if we can somehow go on this way, I will only love him more.

He turned around then at the piano bench and motioned her forward. She shook her head. "You two continue," she said. "Since everything seems to be in control, I will sit with Lissy for a while and then go to bed."

He nodded and blew her a kiss. "I can recommend the Fielding, if you like a ribald tale. Only don't lose my place. I'll be up to take over in an hour."

She smiled and turned away, but he called her back. "I meant to tell you, my love. David Start thinks you are a fine bailiff." He turned back to the piano and played a lavish chord while Helen giggled. "Yet another male shot from the saddle by Roxanna Rand. Good night, my dear."

By rights, the week that followed should have been a dreadful one, but it was not. She could only marvel what a little more sleep and the support of people who cared did for her outlook. The first night she woke up after midnight, her heart pounding, terrified that Lissy was alone. Snatching up a shawl, she ran to her daughter's room, only to discover Lissy sleeping and Lord Winn involved in Henry Fielding. He merely looked at her standing in the open doorway, put his finger in the place, and whispered, "Do I have to take you back to bed?"

That only gets me in trouble, she thought as she quietly closed the door behind her and returned to her room.

And while Lord Winn slept during the day, Clarice divided the time with her, making her eat, with a certain loving tyranny that made Roxanna suspect that ail the Rands were cut from the same cloth. Annie cleaned, Mrs. Mitchum cooked and supervised, and Roxanna found herself with little to do except tend her daughter and rest.

Lord Winn joined her in Lissy's room in the afternoons, doing nothing more than sitting with his long legs propped up on the bed, reading aloud to Lissy from a book of nursery rhymes. "I am not sure she hears me," he explained, "but one never knows."

"I never took you for a reader of nursery rhymes," she said as she gathered herself comfortably in the chair and admired the way her husband's hair curled so neatly over his collar. He needed another haircut.

"There's probably a lot you don't suspect that I know, Mrs. Rand," he replied, a twinkle in his eyes. "Besides that, she's a little young for Fielding."

Clarice's husband, Lord Manwaring, arrived two days later in a post chaise, fortified with more lemons and oranges and another Fielding novel for his brother-in-law. He took his turn in the sickroom, too, moving with surprising agility for one so formidable.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Roxanna," he insisted, when she assured him that they could manage without troubling him, too. "Clarice and I have been through enough of these sickroom dramas to easily outdistance you and Winn." He kissed her cheek. "Besides, m'dear, what are relatives for?"

What indeed? she asked herself as she tied on a bonnet for a stroll in the orchard at the end of the week. She thought then of her brothers in India, and those wretched card games they forced her to play, when they were all young together in Kent. I have been dealt such a hand this year, she thought as she admired the little apples. It was not a hand I would ever have chosen willingly, because of the force of circumstance, but I have done the best I could with it. I will have to face Lord Winn and tell him about the baby. If he chooses not to remain with us, I can manage that, too, because I have to. Fletch is always insisting that I never do things by halves, and he is right. There is no other way to live.

She looked across the Plain of York, hazy now in July's welcome warmth, a checkerboard of fields and pasture. I hope I am lucky enough to hang onto my husband and my daughters. When he says he does not want children, perhaps he does not mean it.

"Oh, I say, Roxanna," called Fred from the front steps. "Please hurry!"

She looked up, her nerves snapping suddenly at the unexpected tremor in his voice, shouting to her across the lawn. Please, God, she prayed silently, as he hurried toward her. She looked up at the open window in Lissy's room, and there was Fletcher, leaning out, his head bowed. "No," she said out loud. "It cannot be. We have all worked so hard."

She ran past her brother-in-law, and into the house, bursting into the room to stop in horror at the sight of Clarrie in tears, clutching her brother, who was sobbing, too. They stood in front of Lissy's bed, as though to hide death from view. "No," she insisted, as though there was no other word. "It cannot be."

Lord Manwaring pounded up the stairs behind her and stood, leaning against the door, trying to get his breath.

"Oh, I declare, you two," he said in disgust, shaking his head at his wife and brother-in-law. "Lissy, I hope you do not think all adults are cloth-witted. Maybe your mama has more sense."

Roxanna gasped and pushed aside her husband to gape at Lissy, who sat up in bed staring at all the commotion. She pursed her lips in that familiar way that made Roxanna sob out loud, and looked at her mother.

"All I did was ask for some food," she explained. Her voice was rusty from little use, and her head wobbled from
weakness,
but she was completely coherent, and even a little impatient. As Roxanna put a shaking hand to her cool forehead, she smiled at her mother. "I really would like a cinnamon bun."

Clarice sobbed louder. Fletcher threw himself into a chair and stared at the ceiling, tears on his face. Roxanna found herself weeping, too, even as she clung to her daughter.

"Lissy, let me speak to Mrs. Mitchum about a cinnamon bun," said Lord Manwaring, picking up a bowl. "In the meantime, perhaps you would let me feed you this applesauce?"

Lissy nodded and opened her mouth obediently, like a little bird. Even Lord Manwaring had to pause a moment, and his voice was less assured. "It seems that we are the only sane people in the room. There is no accounting for relatives. How sorry I am that you had to learn this at such a tender age. Open wide for your Uncle Manwaring, Lissy."

"Well, my dear, let us take these glad tidings to Helen at Whitcomb," said Lord Winn as he helped her into the barouche. "I think I am sufficiently recovered not to make a cake of myself in front of Helen's uncle."

She smiled at him and scooted closer as he rested his arm across the back of the seat. “I know I cried enough for two," she said, then blushed. And heaven knows I have been eating enough for two lately. I simply
must
speak to this man.