The Silent Love (12 page)

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Hannah heard the knock on her door, but she turned on her side and ignored it. She wanted to see no one, speak to no one. Her suspicion about the Marquis' son was true; she knew it in her heart.

She had responded to his touch in a way that she thought she would never do again with any man... and knew that he was the man who had come to her in the dark. She had seen his knowledge of her in his eyes... for one brief moment.

David Strongbow... silent lover. She had allowed her own stepson such intimacy that God could surely never forgive her. The sin that lay heavy upon her soul crushed her with its weight. How could she live with this duplicity?

The pair of them had plotted against her, pretending that a stranger would be selected. Someone who would not know her true identity.

I was such a fool to believe them. Of course my identity could not be kept from the man. He would have to know why he was here, and who I am
.

Hannah thrashed about on her pillows, uncertain how to respond to this humiliation, but knowing in her heart that she had been ill used.

Suddenly, she felt dirty all over—as though she would never be clean again. It had been difficult enough when she knew not the identity of the man who had come to her in the night. Now she didn't think it possible she could face anyone—especially him.

She sat up with some difficulty as her door opened and her maid came in. Behind the maid, Darwin hovered, an anxious expression covering his features. She saw the Marquis as well, leaning against Dobson's arm at the opposite wall.

"Milady? Are you needing anything?"

"Go away... all of you. I am fine. I only wish to be left alone." Her voice strident, her manner cool and aloof, she fooled no one. The look in her eyes and the morose set of her shoulders told their own story.

"Close the door and leave me," she managed in a gritty voice, just as pain attacked her abdomen. She doubled over and nearly fell from the bed, an excruciating cramp reaching clear around her from front to back and then down her legs.

"Go for the midwife and the doctor, quickly!" The Marquis, moving with an agility normally alien to his crippled legs, shoved into the room and caught Hannah's right arm, as the maid caught the other, easing her back onto the bed.

Hannah doubled over once more, drawing her knees up, thrashing about with one arm pressed to her swollen middle, while the other clawed the air in desperation. Elspeth grabbed the flailing hand and pressed it with her own, astonished at the strength of her mistresses' grip and she clung to her. "Milord, perhaps we should get my aunt... she is closer by and has seen many a first birthing through with success."

The Marquis started at the suggestion, for the girl's aunt was Mary Strongbow. He took only a minute to decide, however, and nodded in compliance. Darwin, who had not yet quit the room—hovering over his master as usual—went into the hall and called for a footman, giving the order. Both the doctor, the midwife... and Mary Strongbow were sent for.

As the pain increased, Hannah withdrew more and more into a state of nervous collapse. Her eyes wandered the room and when they fell upon the Marquis, she sat up and pointed at him.

Hannah cried out, the terrible physical pain, coupled with the pain in her soul, tearing at her. The vindictive, hateful words that issued from her throat rang in the Marquis' ears, his heart sore to watch Hannah suffering so, her words ripping him to shreds.

"I am lost, for God will not forgive what I have done... and you have led me to this. You have taken my soul!"

Hannah tossed back onto the bed, her body heaving with each new pain, but it was her mind that was spent, for her eyes, though they were fixed on the Marquis, saw nothing in front of her. Her eyes were trained on a distant place... and place where only she could go.    

The Marquis moved to a chair in the far corner and sat, his head hanging low, his hands limp on the curved arms of the seat. He had not realized until now how much he cared for the girl, and her invective had pierced his heart, for she had become as a daughter to him. All for the want of an heir, he thought, so many people hurt, and suddenly wondered—for a fleeting moment—if it had all been worth it.

Hannah continued to thrash about, mumbling incoherently one moment, screaming in pain the next. Elspeth endeavored to hold her mistress still, with little success. The young woman was too lost in her dementia, too much a part of her pain, to be stilled.

When, less than fifteen minutes later, Mary Strongbow came quietly into the sleeping chamber, she ignored the Marquis, who still sat in the corner, and going straight to the bed, motioned for Elspeth to move aside. Taking the ranting girls hands in a firm grip she leaned over her as though to study her face.

 Her eyes trained on the girl, she told the others—in a firm voice—to leave the room immediately and so they did. She never looked to see that they were gone.

Mary then knelt by the bed and began to sing a lullaby, holding onto Hannah's hands. The girl quieted some at the soft sweet melody, but when a fresh pain took her, she wrenched against it, the muscles in her body straining for release her from torture.

It was all Mary could do to keep her from plunging to the floor, for the girl leaned into her, pushing. Mary, not a small woman, and very strong, inclined all of her weight against the bed, feeling her knees brazing against the carpet as she struggled to keep the young woman from falling, all the while listening intently to her ravings... her pain... her fear.

After a very long time, the doctor came into the room, surveyed the scene, quickly mixed a sleeping draught, and held the girls head up, forcing her to swallow. Within moments, she was quiet. He quickly examined her and confirmed Mary's diagnosis of false labor, for she had no bleeding and was not dilated at all. He gave the woman some packets and instructions for their use—instructions that she impatiently interrupted—her knowledge of herbs and medicines being greater than his.

"I shall just go and tell the Marquis... " the doctor moved toward the door as he spoke.

"Nay. I will do it myself, doctor. 'Tis better." Her tone brooked no argument, and the doctor, knowing Mary many years, having delivered her own child, was not disposed to argue.

Mary Strongbow had a very commanding presence for the daughter of a village smithy. She was regal, if nothing else. It would take more than this elderly doctor to gainsay the woman. Better men had tried.

Chapter Eight

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 "She will not deliver, it is a false labor. It happens sometimes with the first one... especially if the mother has endured great stress. If she's kept quiet, she will not lose the babe, and all will be well."

Mary spoke to the air behind the Marquis, unwilling to meet his eyes. It had been many years since the pair of them had met, and she was wont to ignore him.

He had taken David from her... taken her reason for living and given her father gold for his purchase. If David had not come to her for advice and she had not discovered the secrets of this house, she would never have answered the summons.

 She looked at the butler, her eyes meeting those of yet another cousin, with some understanding. "Fetch a small cot, and I will stay with her tonight. Keep this fire built up and keep everyone away. No need to keep Mrs. Hutchins from her own bed. Send her home."

Mary went on in this vein for some moments, giving curt instructions in a no-nonsense voice, her eyes fixed firmly away from her long-ago lover. His gaze never wavered, though look at him she would not.

 "As you wish." The Marquis answered her, though he knew she did not speak to him. "I shall have all done immediately."

His voice betrayed none of his feelings. And though he was much past the age of passion, he still held a deep and painful longing for the woman who stood so stoically, averting her gaze from his.

She had changed very little, though her hair was streaked with silver, her deep ebony eyes had tiny wrinkles at the corners and her mouth was a bitter, down-turned line. But her complexion was still a smooth olive, and her lashes still swept long and curling against her cheeks when she lowered her eyes from his scrutiny.

The Marquis, realizing that too much time had passed, and they were now as strangers, turned away, leaning heavily upon the cane David had brought him from the Orient. It was quite a unique device, with a dragonhead handle, carved from ivory, and its three-legged bottom gave him great purchase, lessening the chance of a fall. There were gifts for Hannah as well, but David had stowed them in the bottom of his sea trunk, knowing she would not accept them.

 "Clayton," she  called to him and he turned back at the sound of her voice, no matter that the tone was cold and distant, "you must get David here. He would want to be close... in case."

 "In case? What do you mean?"

 "Though she appears stable... sometimes these things do turn nasty. I would that my son... " she emphasized
my son
with a haughtiness that clearly stated her claim, "... not be kept from the woman he loves while her suffering might be eased by his presence."

 "I did not send him away... but I will call him back." Irritated at her inference that David's departure were his fault, the Marquis experienced a quickening of the old spark between them, for they had argued often and made it up in the small cozy bed of the cottage.

Memory came to him in a rush, of the girl, supple and golden in the afternoon light, naked beneath him, her eyes closed in ecstasy.

Something must have shown in his look, for she turned away abruptly, returning to her ministrations with a purposeful stance, his dismissal a clear communication.

But, he had glimpsed an answering memory in her own eyes, and he was perversely pleased that she mayhap was not as indifferent as she would have him think. Though, truth be known, they  were well past  reconciliation. Still... they might become friends.

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The messenger watched David mount the blooded stallion and ride bare back, at a breakneck pace, across the fields. He then followed the young master at a much slower pace.

The hooves of the stallion kicked up great clods of dirt, filling the air behind horse and rider with a dust cloud that could be seen for miles.

David slowed some as he entered the woods but his speed was still dangerous, for the trees were old and thick, their gnarled roots sticking up from the forest floor in a treacherous obstacle course.

The horse, sure footed, and accustomed the spirited rides of his passenger, kept his pace, and his footing. They arrived at the edge of the manor house lawn within minutes. He waved to the footman that hovered near the kitchen door and trotted the panting animal forward, dismounting in a rush.

"Walk, water and feed him." His directive was curt, but his mission was desperate and the footman, sensing his distress and taking no offence, accepted the reins of the skittish animal, leading him to the stables, calling for the groom.

Through the kitchen, along the servant's passage way and up the back stairs he bounded, his route familiar, his purpose to be with Hannah. It was the first time he had ever entered this way before the prescribed hour of nine o'clock of the evening.

He turned right at the first landing and opened a small door which led to a steep staircase and coming to the top, opened that portal to find himself in the anteroom of Hannah's private suite.

His mother raised her eyes from her sewing, looked at him with a flicker of compassion for a long moment, and jerked her head wordlessly toward the inner chamber door, a door he knew quite well. He opened it timidly and peered around its edge, never having seen it in daylight before, indeed, never having
seen
it at all.

Elspeth, who sat dozing by the bed, gave a start as he shut the door, the noisy latch bringing her awake.