Charlotte Louise Dolan (29 page)

Why had she kept it a secret from him? If her actions were fully justified, why had she not told Darius openly? How could she bear his anger, his contempt at her deceit? And there was no way to wrap it up in clean linen; she had not only stolen Amelia’s baby, but had also kept that fact a secret from her husband.

“It has just now occurred to me that I don’t even know the child’s name,” Darius finally spoke, reaching down with one large finger to touch the baby’s cheek gently.

Elizabeth let out her breath, which she had not even realized she was holding. “She has not yet been named. Only last Sunday the vicar was asking me when we meant to have her christened.”

Again there was silence, and her husband clenched his hand into a fist, and then, while Elizabeth watched, he forced his fingers to relax again.

When he spoke, his tone was mild and as emotionless as if he were commenting on the weather. “I believe it would be fitting to name her Louisa, after her grandmother.”

“But...” She looked up at him finally. That he was keeping himself firmly in check, she could not doubt. The tension was quite evident in his face.

“But? You do not approve?”

“I have no objections to the name,” she said, feeling confused. “But should we not consult the child’s mother? Perhaps she wishes—”

“She eloped this morning.”

Elizabeth felt a burst of joy at his words, but then recalled herself almost immediately. As soon as the honeymoon was over, Amelia and her new husband would undoubtedly return and demand the child.

“Aren’t you going to ask with whom she eloped?”

Silently Elizabeth shook her head, blinking to keep back the tears. Her husband squatted beside her and looked up into her face. She tried to turn her head away, but he caught her chin and pulled it back. Even so, she kept her eyes downcast, avoiding his gaze.

“Elizabeth, why are you so unhappy? I had not realized you harbored such affection for my cousin’s wife that you cannot rejoice with me that we are rid of her.”

Mutely she shook her head, still unable to force words past her misery.

“As the child’s legal guardian ...”he began.

Elizabeth looked up at him in astonishment, and the words tumbled out of her mouth before she could call them back. “You are the child’s guardian?”

With a smile he replied, “So Mr. Leverson informed me when I spoke with him in London.”

“Then ...”

He apparently could read the silent question in her eyes. “Which means that the child stays here in Colthurst Hall, and we shall have her baptized Louisa next Sunday. Unless you prefer a different name?”

“No,” she said, “that name will do nicely.” She would not have objected to any name he suggested, so long as she was allowed to keep the baby.

She felt her heart swell with love for her husband, and the only thing that marred her happiness was her ever-present sorrow that she had so far not been able to provide her husband with the heir he needed.

* * * *

It had been easier fighting the French. Darius lay awake in bed beside his wife, feeling totally baffled. His frustration had been growing for weeks, but it seemed as if he were struggling against a most elusive enemy, a veritable will-o’-the-wisp.

He was doing his best to be the very model of a husband and in no way could anyone fault his behavior, which was absolutely correct. And yet he could not delude himself into believing that his wife was happy. She seemed, in fact, to withdraw more and more into herself every day.

She smiled less and less, and only when they were with the child—with Louisa—did he ever hear Elizabeth laugh.

He had thought perhaps his wife missed London, but when they returned there for Florie and Simon’s wedding, Elizabeth had not wanted to prolong their stay even for a few extra days.

Reasoning next that it could be Dorie’s absence that was making Elizabeth downcast, Darius had written Aunt Theo extending an invitation for their young cousin to come for an indefinite stay. Dorie had arrived by return post, and although Elizabeth put on a good show of being cheerful, it still seemed to Darius that it was just that—only a show, with no real happiness behind it.

Now the last three days she had even made excuses not to join him for their usual early-morning ride, which was the only part of the day belonging exclusively to them, with no family or friends or servants intruding.

Elizabeth had claimed she was too sleepy to get out of bed, but since she had recently acquired the habit of taking naps virtually every afternoon, that was a very flimsy excuse, and he could not think she even meant him to take it seriously.

If he did not know better, he would think she was pining away for a lost love, but that was patently ridiculous.  If she had ever shown a partiality for anyone other than Simon, the gossips would have ensured that Darius heard about it. On the other hand, no one watching her at Florie’s wedding could believe Elizabeth still cared the snap of her fingers about that strutting popinjay her cousin had been so determined to marry.

Carefully Darius slipped out of bed, not wanting to disturb his wife’s sleep. Retreating to his own room, he found Munke waiting, a rather bellicose look on his face.

And that was another thing. Even the servants could tell something was bothering Elizabeth. And if forced to take sides, they had made it obvious to him that they would not hesitate to range themselves protectively around his wife.

So what he deuce had he done wrong?

He remembered the episode at Christmas with the little matter of the letters he hadn’t written, and he decided the time had come to get to the bottom of this. “All right, Munke, spit it out.”

“I beg pardon, your Grace?”

Your Grace. It was even worse than Darius had thought. “In some way I have upset my wife, and apparently you and all the rest of the servants know better than I do what I’ve done this time to cause offense. So wipe that Friday look off your face and tell me what everyone is mad at me about.”

Munke eyed him skeptically. “You mean you don’t know?”

“Blast it, man ...” Darius caught himself and lowered his voice, lest he wake his wife. “If I knew what I was doing wrong, I’d stop doing it.”

“You mean ...” Munke hesitated. “You haven’t... What I mean is, we all thought you must have—when you’re alone together—that is to say, we thought you must be arguing or fighting or whatever.”

A vivid memory of what he and Elizabeth did when they were alone together in the privacy of her bedroom made Darius discard that suggestion instantly. Every time he made love to her, it seemed right, and she gave every indication that it was as perfect for her as it was for him. There was no tension between them when they were in bed.

“No,” he said flatly. “We have not been quarreling secretly.”

“Well, I’ll be blowed,” Munke replied. “Then that puts a different light on it altogether.”

* * * *

Feigning sleep, Elizabeth had lain motionless until her husband left the bedroom. Then she opened her eyes and stared at the shadows of early morning. She had never been more miserable in her life.

After the turmoil of the house party, things had been very quiet at Colthurst Hall for the last several weeks. Darius had treated her with the utmost consideration and respect, but instead of that making her happy, she had become more and more miserable.

No matter how he smiled and chatted with her, no matter how careful he was to consult her and find out her wishes before making any plans, there was always a reserve, a wall between them that she could not breach.

Never had his thoughts been more concealed from her. She almost wished he would lose his temper and rail at her, just so she could know for a few minutes what he was really thinking.

She rolled over in bed and buried her face in the pillow where his head had so recently rested, and the scent that was uniquely his filled her nostrils.

She didn’t need to have him tell her what he was thinking; she knew very well what secret thoughts were behind his absolutely correct politeness.

Darius was making the best out of a bad situation, doing his best to endure without complaint this marriage she had forced him into, but true happiness was lacking in his life.

How long could she make him suffer like this? How long before she gave him his freedom? How many more weeks and months could she watch him bravely hiding his unhappiness?

No more. She loved him too much to keep him trapped. She had to offer him a divorce.

No, she couldn’t do that. If she offered, he would refuse. She had to tell him it was what she wanted. She had to insist.

With a lump in her throat, she pictured the relief that would be on his face when he realized he would be free to find a woman he could love.

She could not bear the thought of life without Darius, but she could not go on this way, watching him trying to pretend that he was not miserable.

The door opened quietly, and for a moment she thought her husband had entered, but then she recognized the lighter step of Maggie.

Fixing a smile on her face, Elizabeth sat up in bed and stretched, as if she had just awakened. “Good morning, Maggie.”

“ ‘Morning. Not riding out with his Grace this morning?” Maggie handed her a cup of hot chocolate.

“Perhaps tomorrow.” Elizabeth took two sips of her usual morning beverage, and unexpected nausea overwhelmed her. Luckily Maggie was quick with the chamber pot, and equally quick with her diagnosis.

“I thought you were increasing, as sleepy as you’ve been lately, and this confirms it. Now you just lie back there and rest a bit, and I’ll bring you some dry toast, and before you know it, you’ll be feeling more the thing.”

“Increasing?” Elizabeth went cold with reaction. She couldn’t be breeding. Not now—not when she had just decided she had to divorce her husband.

“To be sure, and it’s about time. Louisa is a dear little girl, but it’s a boy of your own that you’re needing. Your husband will be well pleased with you when you tell him the good news.”

Without warning Elizabeth began to cry—great gulping sobs she could not even begin to control.

* * * *

“Have you told her you love her?” Munke persisted.

“Not in so many words, but she knows perfectly well I do,” Darius hedged, feeling uncomfortable discussing such things, even with his long-time companion. How could any man make love to his wife the way Darius did if he were not wildly in love with her? And how could any woman doubt that love? “No, I’m positive that cannot be the problem. But there must be something seriously wrong or Elizabeth would not be acting this way.”

Beside him Munke began to chuckle. “It’s hard to believe someone so quick to understand the significance of enemy troop movements could be so green when it comes to understanding women. Even a confirmed bachelor like me knows women need the sweet talking.”

Somewhat miffed by the older man’s tone of superiority, Darius began to reply, but a slight sound from the other room caught his attention.

It sounded almost as if someone were crying ...

Bolting to the door, he threw it open only to be greeted by a most appalling sight. Tears streaming down her face, Elizabeth was sitting forlornly in the middle of the large bed, her entire body racked with grief.

Darius, who had never understood how other men could be so easily swayed by a woman’s tears, now stood rooted to the spot, feeling as if the breath had been sucked out of his body. Then he was across the room and onto the bed, no thought in his mind except the desperate need to comfort his wife.

Pulling her into his arms, feeling her slight body still shaking with the intensity of emotions, he was ready to do anything, say anything, promise anything, if only she would stop crying.

He held her and rocked her and stroked her back and felt as if each sob was piercing his heart like a musket ball. Elizabeth started trying to talk, but he could understand nothing of what she was saying. Then he caught the word “divorce” and felt as if a cannonball had struck him.

Jerking his arms away, he startled her into momentary silence. “Divorce? Did you say divorce?”

Eyeing him warily, she nodded and started to open her mouth to say the words again, but he cut her off.

“The devil you say! I’ll never give you a divorce.”

To his amazement Elizabeth, who had always been so easy to get along with, so compliant, now stuck her lower lip out mutinously and repeated her shocking demand. “I want a divorce.”

“On what grounds? I’ve done nothing to give you causes for complaint. In fact, I’ve been an absolutely perfect husband.”

Elizabeth stiffened her spine, and her glare positively scorched him. It would appear that he was in error. She did not have the look of a wife completely satisfied with her husband’s behavior. In some way she apparently found him lacking.

Suddenly the answer came to him. He had failed her in the most basic way. She had married him only because she wanted children, and he had failed to plant his seed in her womb.

Was that legal grounds for divorce? He suspected it might be.

“I have failed you,” he said softly.

Turning her head away, she wiped the tears off her face with the back of her hand. He pulled her chin back gently and looked into her eyes.

“I’ve failed as a husband because I haven’t given you a child of your own.”

To his astonishment, she again burst into tears and threw herself into his arms, clutching him and talking incoherently.

Baffled, he looked around desperately for help and discovered to his chagrin that he had an audience. Munke was leaning negligently against the doorjamb, and Maggie was standing beside him, her arms crossed, a strange expression on her face that looked almost like amusement. She turned and said something to Munke, too softly for Darius to hear.

A slow grin spreading across his face, Munke pointed to Darius, then to Elizabeth, then mouthed the words, “I love you.”

Darius made a sign with his hand, and Munke took Maggie’s arm and escorted her out of the room, closing the door silently behind them.

Gradually Elizabeth grew still in his arms, and Darius knew the time had come to tell her what was in his heart.