When Love Awaits (24 page)

B
UT things were to resolve themselves in a manner no one could have expected.

No sooner had Leonie returned to Crewel and entered the master bedchamber than a maid frantically sought her out.

“My lady, she is dying! You must come—please,” Janie cried.

“It’s a ruse,” Wilda said quickly. The young maid was Amelia’s own servant, and not part of the Crewel household. “The woman has learned that she will be sent away, and she means to prevent it by claiming illness.” She cast a triumphant look at Janie.

Wilda stood firmly planted between Leonie and Janie, and Leonie was gratified that Wilda was trying to protect her, as she so often did. If nothing else had been accomplished by going to Pershwick, at least she had been able to bring Wilda back with her.

“Go back and tell that woman we are wise to her,” Wilda ordered brazenly, and Leonie saw she would have to put a stop to this.

“Tell me what has happened,” she demanded, and Janie wailed, “She will be so angry that I have come, because she wants no one to know what she has done. But she is bleeding and it won’t stop. She is dying, my lady, I am sure of it!”

“
What
has she done?” Leonie insisted.

“She—she took something. She said it was to make everything right again.”

Leonie paled, understanding at once. “God’s mercy, this is my fault. I had such bad feelings about the child because of the mother, and—”

“My lady, will you come?” Janie begged again, and Leonie shook herself. This was no time to indulge in remorse.

“Wilda, get my medicines, quickly.”

To Leonie’s surprise, Sir Evarard was waiting outside Amelia’s door. He looked very unhappy.

“There is something seriously wrong with Amelia?” he asked dejectedly.

“You are fond of the lady, Sir Evarard?” She had no idea what else to say.

“Fond? I love her!” he said emphatically.

Leonie smiled at him. “I will do all I can.”

“Will you?” he asked more anxiously than diplomatically. “I know you have no liking for her, nor she for you. And she can be childish and petulant, but—but she is not all bad, my lady.”

“Sir Evarard,” Leonie said gently, “please go below. If I can help Amelia, I will. You may believe that.”

Amelia’s quarters were larger than Leonie had expected, and cluttered with objects, most of which reminded her of Alain. He had always liked ornate things, and he had left most of his possessions behind when he fled Kempston.

The room reeked of sickness. The sheets had been changed recently, but the bloodied ones were left in a pile in the corner.

With just a glance at the gaunt figure in the bed, Leonie’s suspicions were confirmed. The face was a sickly gray, and there were huge dark circles under her eyes. Amelia’s body was racked with pain, and in her
half-conscious state, she thrashed around, whimpering and moaning, while the two maids standing near the bed looked at Leonie helplessly.

Leonie pulled down the sheet. Amelia was lying in a pool of blood. With the maids’ help, Leonie changed the linens once more and cleaned Amelia, packing her with bandages to staunch the flow of blood. She then forced Amelia to drink a syrup of marsh woundwort, hoping that would stop the hemorrhaging.

In a vial on the candlestand beside the bed was the decoction Amelia had taken, which Leonie had known would be spurge laurel, commonly used to aid the bowels and known to cause abortion. Too large a dose could violently flush the body with vomiting and bloody stools, and often proved fatal. The vial was nearly empty.

Amelia’s eyes, when she opened them, were wild with confusion. She saw Leonie standing beside her bed and whispered, “What are you doing here?”

“How much of this did you take?” Leonie asked, holding the vial up.

“Enough. I have used it before, but—but always when I first suspected. Never this late.”

“
Why
, Amelia?”

The older woman was startled by Leonie’s obvious concern. “Why? What do I want with a child? I detest children!”

Leonie’s sympathy began waning. “So you would kill my lord’s child?” she asked in disgust. “If you never wanted it, then why did you wait so long.”

“I needed it to…but with you gone…oh, leave me alone!”

“I am tempted to do just that and let you die from your own foolishness!” Leonie’s voice crackled with emotion.

“No, please, you must help me!” Amelia cried. “I have lost the child already, and now he will send me away.”

“Are you so sure of that?” Leonie wanted to know.

“Rolfe did not want me after he wed you,” Amelia moaned. “I thought he would, but he didn’t.”

“Explain yourself, Amelia.”

“I did not want to return to court,” Amelia gasped. “You don’t know what it’s like there, do you? Having to compete with younger women, always having to—”

“Tell me about Rolfe,” Leonie insisted, her voice rising.

“I lied to him,” Amelia said. “I told Rolfe there was a child when there was not.” She looked Leonie full in the face and told her the whole truth.

“The child is not Rolfe’s, but Evarard’s. I used him to conceive the child in case Rolfe took too much time growing tired of you. I really thought he would. When he came back here and didn’t go to Pershwick after you immediately, I was sure that was the end of his love for you, so I no longer needed the child as an excuse to stay here.”

Leonie warned herself not to react, keeping her features set. Her rival’s revelation had fired her love for Rolfe anew, made her want to rush to him and throw her arms around him. But she would not allow Amelia to know how much those words meant. There had to be, when all was said and done, some dignity left to both of them, so she told herself not to permit any show of emotion.

Deciding a swift change of subject was the only route, she said, “Evarard is terribly upset. Fool that he is, he loves you.”

“Love?” Amelia replied bitterly. “What is love? My
first husband loved me too—until he wed me. Then only other women interested him. Why do you think I was so sure Rolfe would want me after you married him? Men have no care for their wives.”

“I do not think that is always so, Amelia.”

Amelia sighed. “Rolfe certainly cares for you.”

“And perhaps Evarard would care for you, if you gave him a chance. He is not blind to your faults, but he loves you. Did he know about his child?”

“No. I would have told him, yet let him think it was Rolfe’s. I kept putting it off, because I did not really want to hurt him.”

Amelia had had no such hesitations about hurting Rolfe and her, Leonie thought wryly. But she began to believe she could be forgiving in light of what she had just learned.

“Then I see no reason for him to know too much about this,” Leonie told her.

“And Rolfe?”

“I am not so impartial where he is concerned. I will not tell him. You will.”

“But he will kill me if he knows how I have lied to you both!”

“I think not, Amelia. I think he will be relieved to learn the truth. But if you do not promise to tell him, I will leave you here to…”

“You are cruel, Lady Leonie.”

“Not so. I simply love my husband and will not have him grieving over a child he thought was his.”

T
HE little boy was beautiful. Leonie saw him the moment she came downstairs after leaving Amelia’s bedchamber. Rolfe was standing near the boy. The child had thick black curls, and the darkest brown eyes, which regarded her shyly as she approached him. He was an eight-year-old replica of Rolfe.

She turned a questioning gaze on Rolfe, and he said, “Before you reach the wrong conclusion, he looks like me because he is my nephew.”

Leonie smiled. “How could I have thought otherwise?”

Frowning, Rolfe introduced her to Simon d’Ambert, then pulled Leonie aside. “I sent him to Lady Roese these last few days because I was in no mood to have him with me. But now you are here, so—”

“But you didn’t tell me he was coming to visit.”

“My brother is dead,” Rolfe said simply, “and the child is not here only to visit. My brother and I had no great love for each other, but that is neither here nor there,” Rolfe went on gruffly. “His widow was concerned for her children’s welfare, and she sought me out. She left Gascony when my brother died and took refuge with a friend in Normandy. That is where I have been this last month, Leonie.”

Her eyes widened. “Then that is why…I did won
der why it took you so long to come to Pershwick. So all that time you did not even know I was there?”

“Not until I returned to England. Sir Evarard sent messengers, but they didn’t find me. My brother’s widow was near undone with worry. She trusted no one. She feared that powerful lords around Gascony would attempt to take control of her children or her in an effort to rape my brother’s holdings.”

“Was that likely?” she asked softly, glancing over at the child.

“No. The family lands in Gascony were held directly through the queen, and therefore through Henry. She need only have applied to Henry for a guardian.”

“Or contact you.”

“Yes, well, I have in fact agreed to take on the responsibility. I sent my three nieces back to Gascony with their mother, but I decided to keep the boy with me for a time. My brother had little time for him and he has been around women too long.”

“There are women here, my lord,” she teased.

“I want to get to know him, Leonie,” Rolfe said brusquely. “Do you object?”

Leonie looked down at the floor, hiding her smile. “Of course not, my lord.”

Rolfe shook his head. What had brought about this change in her? Where was the hot-tempered woman of only that very morning? She was so subdued, so agreeable.

He continued warily, “I must find a man I can trust to send to Gascony to oversee the estates and keep a watchful eye on the widow and my nieces until they are ready for marriage.”

“Might I suggest Sir Piers?” Leonie offered. “He is the perfect one to supervise a household full of women.
He might even take a liking to the widow and think of marriage.”

“
Piers?
Think of marriage? Never!”

“You never know, my lord. But now, please, leave Simon here in my care while you visit Lady Amelia.”

Rolfe frowned. “I will tell her soon enough that she must leave here. You need not think I have forgotten, Leonie.”

“I did not think it, my lord. But she is—ill. I have warned her to stay abed for some days, perhaps a week.”

He looked shocked, and before he could speak, she said firmly, “Go to her, my lord, for she needs to speak with you. But when you are finished”—she paused here—“come to me, for I have much to say to you.”

Rolfe was so confused that he decided not to argue. He turned and went toward the stairs, and she watched him.

Leonie sat in the hall with Simon, talking gently to him. He was shy, and spoke very little. She tried to make him feel at ease, but that was awfully difficult because she was so jumpy herself.

Rolfe returned to the hall thirty minutes later, his temper nearly beyond his control. He said not a word to Leonie as he grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the hall and all the way to the garden. There he let her go, and actually kicked at the dandelions at his feet.

“Do you know how much I resented this garden of yours when you took it in hand?” he stormed. “Amelia told me you could not be bothered with the running of my household, yet you could waste time here! Many times I thought of setting my horse loose on these blasted plants!”

Leonie nearly choked on her laughter. “Your horse
would have gotten very sick, indeed, if you had, my lord.”

He glowered. “Do not jest, Leonie. Why did you think I asked you to clerk for me when I could have managed myself? I thought it was the only thing you could not refuse to do for me. You had refused everything else. And when it would have meant the world to me to know that you had made my home livable, you let
her
take the credit! Why, Leonie, why?”

“Well, you were fool enough to believe she was capable of putting this place to rights,” she said archly.

“I a fool, madame? What does that make you for believing the absurdity that I would not want you to run my household?”

“Another fool,” she said.

“Damn me, I find nothing amusing in any of this! Why did you never once mention to me the nonsense she was telling you? She would have been proven a liar if you had spoken to me, and then you might have believed me when I told you I did not love her.”

“I could ask you the same question. You believed her nonsense as much as I did.”

“That is beside the point!”

“Is it?” She moved closer and hesitantly placed her hand on his chest. Eyes soft and luminous, she asked, “Why are you so angry, my lord?”

He lost himself, gazing into those eyes. “Because—because I finally believe you love me…yet you have never said so. I have told you I love you—”

“When did you tell me?” she cried.

“That night in London.”

“You were drunk,” she insisted.

“Not so drunk I can’t remember that. And I asked you if you could love me as well. It—it is your answer I cannot remember.”

Joy washed over her, glorious waves of joy. “I said then that it would be very easy to love you,” she said softly. “And so it was. I love you, my lord.”

“Rolfe,” he corrected automatically, even as he gathered her into his arms.

“Rolfe.” She sighed breathlessly, and then her husband kissed her with all the warmth and love he felt.

He picked her up and carried her back through the hall and up to their chamber. Everyone who watched them pass smiled, but no one spoke. It was time to stop gossiping about the lord and his lady.

As Rolfe swept her up the stairs and into their room, she held him tightly and smiled, thinking how stubborn he was—as she was—and how gentle he was, yet how strong. Later, she would tell him about their child, and about the foolish pride that had kept them at odds for so long. Later.

For the time being, she wanted to think only about their love, and show him how deeply and passionately she loved him.