The carriage stopped at a cottage. No, a shack, that was - quite frankly - pathetic. Stepping out of the carriage after the footman opened the door, he glanced at the driver. "You are sure of the address?"
"Yes, my lord. This is the residence of Miss Tanya Hartwig."
He pulled on his gloves and wrinkled his nose. Not even a title or middle name. Even her name sounded poor and as rundown as this place. Why had he ever promised his father's crazy old friend that he would see after a spinster daughter was beyond him. It had been a moment of weakness when he'd been missing Anna. And he regretted it every moment for the past month, but none more than right now. He raised a hand to knock on the door when it swung open to reveal a quite frighteningly haggard woman. He blinked in surprise. She looked...irritated that he had the nerve to be on her doorstep. "Um," he cleared his throat in an attempt to regain composure. He never lost composure and hated her for it. "I'm here to call on Miss Hartwig, madam. Is this her residence?"
"Indeed. Who are you?" she snapped.
He blinked, again speechless. Never had anyone dared to be so rude to him before. "I am Marquess Mark Reynold Debonairo, madam. Please inform your mistress of my arrival, as she is expecting me."
She didn't flinch.
His brow furrowed. Never had a servant ignored him.
"I'll tell her," she said dryly but didn't move. Pause. "She doesn't want to see you."
He, a man who kept his composure even in a crisis, had no idea what to do with the wench. "Madam - "
"Marquess, my father overstepped his bounds. You wasted your time making this trip." She stepped back to shut the door.
"You're Tanya?" he blurted in shock.
She paused. "Yes."
How he was growing to dislike her - she kept him off kilter left and right. "Miss Hartwig, I gave my word to your father - " His words cut off and eyes bugged when she opened the door fully to reveal herself. And a slightly distended belly.
"As you see, you wasted your time." She swung the door.
He stared at a door shut in his face. No one had mentioned a baby. Nor how rude its mother was. He knocked again just on principle out of hating this woman for rendering him as speechless as a village idiot. The last time he'd been speechless, he'd still been in the nursery room.
The woman opened the door and glared.
"Madam, you are obviously in need of a good home and clothes, which I can offer. I gave my word to your father to grant you my name. I never go back on my honor." He stated it in his most iron-clad tone and desperately wished he was less than a gentleman so he could run from this disaster.
"I do not want your offer," she retorted with her nose in the air.
His mouth fell open, stunned by her rudeness. And the wench wasn't in a position to be choosy either. "And you have means to provide for a child?" he countered.
Silence. Her hand rested on her small belly and she looked at him.
She hadn't been able to obtain employment in her scandalous condition, and the last slice of bread had been eaten yesterday. He obviously didn't care for her more than he cared for the spider crawling on the wall. This man had the tall, dark, gorgeous and filthy-rich aura oozing from him. How many women would die for this man to offer marriage? Wouldn't she have four months ago? Here he was arguing for marriage - but a marriage of only honor. How she'd dreamed of a wonderful, romantic proposal since childhood. Four months ago, she'd been so ashamed that she would've cut off her right arm for a proposal from any man. Four months ago, she'd been naive and stupid.
"That's what I thought," he cut into her thoughts. He turned on his heel and threw over his shoulder, "I'll wait in the carriage. We can stop at a church on the way home."
And that was it - the only proposal she'd ever get. She watched her dreams and plans for her whole life go up in smoke in a heartbeat as she stared after him in despair. This man's pride kept him from accepting the fact that any woman could reject him. He likely also knew that turning him down meant starvation and death sooner than not.
The woman rode across from him in silence. Not once did this woman, technically now his betrothed, look at him. Instead, she seemed to prefer to look out the window during the long journey. And he preferred it that way. He'd set her up at home with fine clothes and a large allowance to see to herself and the babe, and then he'd move to his small country estate in the morning - far from the nosy eyes of Society where he could live out his life in peace. The less he knew about this woman, the better.
She had nothing, so she brought only herself. They rode forever. Forcing down the tears of misery, she stared out the window. A life of poverty and a death from starvation was surely better than a marriage of being the unwanted, obligatory wife. But how could she condemn the baby to poverty? She stroked her belly absently as the babe threatened to reject the half scrap of bread for breakfast in the swaying carriage.
"If you're going to be ill, do it out the window," he said tightly.
Her eyes flew to him in startled surprise. He looked back through cold eyes. She looked out the window and blinked hard. This was a man without a care for her other than disgust, like so many of the townsfolk since the baby had begun to show.
He felt like a damn brute when shame flitted across her face. "Oh, for Christ's sake, don't cry," he grunted in a gruff tone. His uncaring rudeness surprised even himself. He expected the floodgates to open as they would have if he'd spoken so harshly to Anna. Instead, this chit held his eyes.
"I never cry, Marquess." Her chin rose and her eyes flashed with challenge.
"Good, for I don't have the stomach for it." Good god, when had he become such a beast? Her gaze returned to the window, but not before he caught the flash of hurt in her eyes. It was then that it dawned - this woman had been as soft as Anna, but she'd learned how to build a wall to protect her heart. She'd probably learned in the recent months, if he had to wager a guess. He looked out the window. Anna would be ashamed of him mistreating this poor creature.
"Good, for I don't have the stomach to appease your bullying," she sighed as she stared out at the scenery.
His eyes flew to her profile. The sassy wench left him balking again, damn her! And, dammit, she intrigued him.
The carriage pulled up to a country church at noon. He exited before turning to offer her assistance.
"I can get out myself." She said it with a note of irritation.
"You are in a delicate condition," he argued begrudgingly.
She gave him a look. "You're astute, my lord," she retorted and slipped out on her own.
He bit his tongue and followed her up the steps.
"My lord!" the priest exclaimed as soon as he saw Miss Hartwig, "I will order a special license urgently today!" He must've had a blank look because the priest added, "The babe!"
"Oh," he mumbled in embarrassment and pulled at his neck collar, "Um, it's not mine." Since when had he turned into a fidgeting fool now too?
The priest gave her a dark look that left no doubts as to his thoughts on the matter.
Instant regret slammed in the gut the moment intense shame burned across the woman's cheeks so strong that her eyes dropped to the ground. He should've taken the blame to save her the slurs from a priest and town they'd probably never see again anyways. The moment she dropped her arms down to try to hide her small belly, the guilt hit tenfold.
The humiliation had been complete. This man didn't want to fulfill this obligation in the least, other than to keep his word. She turned to him, still unable to look anyone in the eyes and whispered, "You can go home now." She headed for the door.
"Where are you going?"
She turned and glanced at the priest, who still glared at the sinner in his church, and then at him. "You upheld your end of the agreement, my lord. You can go in good conscience."
"And leave you on the road?" He frowned.
With a shrug, she pasted on a face far braver than rang true. "I've been left in worse state." She set a hand on her belly pointedly. "I'm sorry to have wasted your morning." Then she slipped out the doors and hurried down the steps before the tears would start. It would take until nightfall to walk home, but physical work would keep her mind off of the panic of what to do for food and money tomorrow. And the next day and next.
He should've jumped for joy at having his freedom the moment the woman walked out, but he found himself going after her. The embarrassment that he held at the priest's misunderstanding must be a fraction of the shame she lived with every day. Anger bubbled up at every being who had ever caused her such heartache - including himself.
Catching her by the elbow at the bottom of the steps, he stepped in her path. "I came to take a wife. I pay him to wed us, and he will." He dragged her back inside. "Your job is to make an honest woman of her," he informed the priest as he pulled her down the aisle, "so here's your chance."
The marquess plopped her before the priest at the altar and shoved a bag of coins at him, to her mortification. Even a priest had to be bribed to marry a sinful woman.
Ten minutes later, they were on their way again in the carriage and she wore a gold wedding band. This man, this new husband, was a far cry the gentle man of her dreams, but she had a wedding ring now. She could go outside and not hang her head in shame and sin. Perhaps even making friends would be possible with this new beginning.
"Don't get ideas." He growled the words. She'd been glowing for a moment as she looked at that ring. She looked almost pretty with a soft daydream expression and the humiliation fleeing her eyes as she gazed at the ring. Her happy expression shattered the moment he spoke and looked at him. "You will be settled with the babe in my house, and then I will go to my country home. I'll send you a weekly allowance. You are free to write to request if you need more. Discrete lovers and no squandering your allowance are my two rules."
He would leave already? Of course. No man would want to stay and give the illusion of a real marriage to a woman like her. His immediate leave would make it clear to Society that it was a marriage of honor, not love or even convenience. "Yes, Marquess," she said softly amid shattered hope.
Her gaze returned sad and blank out the window again. He almost regretted his words. One day. He'd see her settled and stay for one day. Then he'd go. Already he'd proven in this short time that his heart was too battered for a woman.
It was better that the marquess was leaving. If he was this rude now, what would he be like in a temper? And so they rode on in silence.
Another hour passed and the carriage stopped, to her vast relief. Her back ached fiercely and the babe caused endless waves of nausea. Not to mention that it was half past two and he hadn't stopped to offer her lunch, which was probably the problem.
The man exited and didn't offer to help this time but waited with his back to her. She moved and held her screaming back. The footman had mercy and offered his hand.
She was taking forever. The brat probably disliked the house and was about to have a fit. He turned. Embarrassment and shame crept up. The woman looked stiff and like she tried to mask pain as the footman helped her out of the carriage. She held her back - he had heard about women in the family way having such pains during carriage rides. He stepped forward and the guilt flooded for not helping her. Or stopping for her to rest. Or feeding her lunch. As he offered his arm, he snapped, "You could have said you hurt." Where on earth had his gentleman's manners gone?
The marquess looked displeased and mightily irritated. "There was no need for me to hold us up." She overlooked his arm and instead looked up at the massive home tucked among acres of countryside just outside of town. "Oh my," she breathed.
He watched the small creature gaze upon his home in awe. The chit probably had never seen anything so massive. He tried to see it through a poor girl's eyes and could well imagine her amazement.
"This is your home?"
"Yours now. I'm moving out." He headed up the steps. Why was he being so unkind? He didn't intent to keep saying the things he did to her. Thoughts pulled him in so deep that he startled at the touch of a small hand on his back. He spun around to see the woman.
"My lord, you don't need to go on account of me," she said softly. "I can go to the country estate."
He scowled. "We aren't going to stand on the step and talk like beggars. Besides, I like the country estate better." Perfect - he'd just insulted her financial status and said he was giving her the unfavorable house all in one sentence. Why she didn't bash him over the head was a mystery. The butler opened the door and he stepped inside. His guilt fled the moment she entered.
The butler smiled. "This is our new lady?" He turned to her.
His hands fisted. An alarming urge to smash something surged up. Or to scream, No! Your lady is dead! Dead! He glared at this stranger coming in to take Anna's place.
She took a step back as his look turned to one of rage, although she had no idea why. He looked like he might hit her. She turned to the butler, eager for an ally from this white-haired, gentle expression man.
One glance at her belly, however, and his expression fell flat and emotionless. There went that ally. "Shall I show her to the Blue Room, sir?"
"No," the marquess snarled, "the room in the East wing."
The butler bowed to the marquess and then started to lead the way toward the massive staircase. She turned to her husband. "You will be going now?" she asked carefully, his eyes still harsh.
He glared, turned on his heel and stormed into a room off the foyer, slamming the door.
"My lady, it's best to leave him alone," the butler said from the bottom stair. So, she followed him to her new room.
"The lady sends her regrets, my lord," the butler announced minutes before dinner.
He stood at the window of the library with his hands behind his back, staring out over the fields and forest. He rocked on his heels in irritation. "I marry the chit out of the honor of my word, and she cannot stomach dinner with me?"
"You have been holed up in here all day, my lord - "
"Answer me, Brigands," he cut in without turning around.
"Sir, 'tis the babe upsetting her."
He turned at that. "Pray tell it is not coming," he barked in anger.
"No, my lord. The lady is barely able to keep water down."
He ground his teeth. "Have Cook throw something simple together, and I'll eat on a tray."
"Sir, it's not good for you to be locked in here - "
"Go!" he snapped.
Once alone again, he battled his conscience. He could escape now and never have to see her again. But then she was ill and a gentleman's honor required that he stay until she improved. The dilemma still hovered when Brigands brought in a tray of bland food. The butler knew better than to disturb him and left quickly. He grumbled as he picked up the tray and headed for the stairs.
When he reached her room, he knocked. "Miss Hartwig?" He practically barked.
The door opened, and alarm shot his stomach to his throat at how pale she was. She held the doorknob for support and said weakly, "I'm sorry. I asked Brigands to send my regrets for dinner - "
He barreled into the room and set down the tray. "Do you need a doctor?" He turned from the nightstand to see her still at the door.
"No. Sometimes the babe makes me unwell, my lord."
"You look as if you're on your deathbed. Sit."
She shuffled over and sat on the bed. The man laid a hand on her forehead gruffly, likely to make sure she wasn't contagious to him.
"You're clammy," he frowned.
"One does that when ill, Marquess."
He turned to the tray. "I brought you bland food - "
"Thank you, but I can't keep anything down." She drew a shallow breath, the scent of anything causing her stomach to roll.
He scowled. "I brought bland food," he continued, "You didn't have lunch."
"Do you not eat?" The words blurted out. His physique was large and muscular, even through his undershirt, vest and dinner jacket it was apparent.
The man appeared disinterested. "My mind gets busy with other things. If Cook does not set food before me, I forget to eat."
So he hadn't meant to be rude not feeding her lunch. "Thank you for the clothes. They are beautiful. I've never had things so grand - or warm."
A pang hit his chest, and the tension in his shoulders faded a little for the first time all day. For some reason, it was disturbing that she had known the cold. And for some reason, it was pleasing to be able to take that hardship away for her.
"Were they your wife's things?" she asked in a soft tone, careful to not disturb this softening expression that overcame him for the first time since meeting. "I promise to be careful with them." Oddly enough, a need to see more of this gentle side of him surfaced. Apparently that wasn't meant to happen.
The marquess's face stoned over and he walked out, yanking the door shut behind himself with a slam. She sank onto the bed. "Good, now he hates you without question," she whispered to herself. The scent of food wafted this close to the nightstand. Slapping a hand over her mouth, she ran for the washroom.
He stood on the other side of the door with his heart still thundering. She'd brought up Anna out of nowhere. The last thing he wanted was to tell her anything about his sweet Anna. Retching came from within her room. Composing himself and steadying his shaky hands, he returned downstairs.
She laid in bed in complete misery when a knock came an hour later and a man in perhaps his late sixties entered. "Marchioness Debonairo, I'm Dr. Englewood. The marquess sent for me."
She pulled the rag off her forehead and gingerly sat up. "I don't need a doctor."
"He insists that I check you, my lady." He walked over and set down his bag. "What seems to be the trouble?"
"Tis only the babe that makes me ill, sir. I'm fine."
The kind man frowned. "How far along?"
"Five months."
Sitting at his desk going over ledgers in the study, he set down his quill when the doctor walked in. He waited as the physician walked over to his desk.
The doctor didn't say anything.
"Well, what's wrong with her?" he demanded.
Dr. Englewood looked troubled. "Mark, this girl has not received any kind of care since she was impregnated."
"Many of the poor don't," he answered dryly.
"Yes, but she is very thin. Have you seen her?"
"Naturally not."
"She is underweight. On top of what the babe is draining from her, she has severe morning sickness and can't get in much for food."
"What are you saying?" he cut in without any patience.
"I'm saying that I'm concerned how healthy she is. Or, rather, isn't. The babe is significantly small for gestation. If they keep up at this rate, the babe will abort in the next month and she may not pull through either."
"You want me to overfeed her?" He cocked an eyebrow.
"Yes. She needs to gain twenty pounds to get to a healthy weight, and about twenty more by the end of pregnancy."
He blinked. "She's twenty underweight even without pregnancy?"
"Yes. I told her to try peppermint tea for the morning sickness. If that doesn't work, I have a few other things. A last resort is a recent invention - a feeding tube. That's something I'd rather not try with a gestating woman, however."
Sitting back in his chair, he steepled his fingers under his chin. "It's that serious?"
"Mark, if this was a month from now that you brought her here, I'd likely be delivering you a dead child and trying to save your wife."
"It's not my child."
"You married the girl, so by law it is."
"I'm moving to the country estate and she's staying here," he countered.
The doctor gave him a patient look. "She can't be left alone in her condition."
"Brigands, Cook and the housekeeper are here."
But the physician just stood there looking at him.
A sigh of disgust released. "Don't look at me like that!" He stood and walked away to stare out the window.
The doctor's reflection appeared in the pane and a hand rested on his shoulder. "You know the right thing to do is stay and keep an eye on her, if only while she's getting to a safe weight."
"She can do that without me playing nursemaid."
"You don't have to play nursemaid. You just have to make sure she can eat and eat well."
"Brigands can do that," he said stubbornly.
"She's a sweet girl. Very intelligent."
"She's a brat."
"Very pretty - even prettier filled out."
"She looks like a beggar."
"Becky helped her clean up. She looks very pretty, Mark. Perhaps you should see."
He snorted. "I don't need to see her - I'm leaving in the morning."
"Do you know who she reminds me of?"
Whirling around with his hands fisted at his sides, his eyes shot sparks. "Don't."
"She reminds me of a more spirited version of Anna," the old man said calmly.
"Don't you dare speak of her," he hissed.
"Why? She has been gone for so long. She'd want you to start living again, Mark. She'd be proud of what you've done for this girl."
"She'd be in fits that I took a fall woman," he snapped and returned to his desk.
The doctor followed him over. "She'd want you to fall in love again."
His eyes snapped to the old man. "Don't even dare." He pointed angrily upstairs. "That girl was an obligation and it's all she'll ever be!" he shouted.
The doctor smiled. "You're scared because she makes you feel again."
For the first time in his life, he truly lost his temper. Snatching the Scotch cup on his desk, he hurled it at the fireplace burning to the right of his desk. "Get out," he snarled.
Picking up his bag, the doctor suppressed a smile. "Ah, Mark, you can't scare this girl away with your temper. The Marquess Debonairo is as unglued as I've ever seen him, and I think it's because of your 'obligation,' who is more than that to you, perhaps? Admit it - she got under your skin and you fight it because you like it. She woke you from the dead. The first breath you draw will be the hardest, but it will be sweeter after that."
"What the hell does that mean?!"
"You'll see," he smiled and turned.
He blinked in surprise when the doctor moved, revealing a beautiful woman standing in the doorway. Her hair shined a golden brown with soft curls that cascaded to her waist. A warm but feminine cotton nightgown covered her from neck to ankle, and delicate feet were bare. At first, embarrassment rushed up at seeing her in nightclothes, but then he spotted tears on her pink cheeks.
"Is it normal to bleed after an exam?" She hiccuped through the tears.
His eyes flew to between her feet where drops of blood collected on the wood floor.
Before the doctor even spoke, he tore across the room and scooped her up, taking the stairs two at a time. The doctor followed on his heels. This woman was dangerously light - her skeleton easily felt through the nightclothes. Right then it became clear that he couldn't leave her - without a guilty conscience.
Laying her on the bed, he stepped back for the doctor to work. She wept as the doctor tried to figure out what was wrong. "Keep her calm, Mark!"
He stepped forward and patted her hand, having no idea how to offer a woman comfort anymore. "There, there. He'll take care of the babe."
She grabbed his hand and gave no choice but to sit on the edge of the bed. "What's wrong with him?" The damn woman looked up with big, tear-filled brown eyes overflowing with fear.
"He's figuring it out," he said gently and brushed a stray lock of hair from her brow.
"She's going into labor. I have to sedate her to stop it." The physician looked at him and waited for permission.
He looked down at her. "Can he give it?"
She nodded, tears soaking her cheeks.
"No, I need your permission."
His eyes flew to the doctor. "What?"
"You're her husband and have say over her treatment. Can I give it?
"Yes! Yes, do it!" he barked in a panic.
He held her hand as she fell asleep from the chloroform rag the doctor held to her face. Letting out a shaky breath, he released her hand. It took a moment to have cohesive thought again.
"The labor stopped."
"They're fine now?"
"For now." The doctor continued an exam.
Walking into the hall, he paced. His hands still shook. His hands never shook. The doctor came out fifteen minutes later. "They're both quiet. She'll be asleep another half hour or so with the dose I gave."
"What happened?"
Running a hand over his face, the doctor sighed. "The pregnancy is more fragile than I thought. The exam disturbed the babe enough to cause labor. Mark, I need you to monitor her and the baby's heart rates. I'll be by every day to check on her. She needs to be on bedrest of a week, only getting up for the washroom - "
"Becky can check her."
The ever-patient man let out an irritated sigh. "Becky isn't the brightest woman. I want you checking on her."
"I'll get her a midwife."
Throwing him a look, the physician grabbed his arm and dragged him inside. "Check the baby's heartrate for a baseline right now." He pulled up her nightgown to bare her belly.
"This is indecent!"
"She's your wife."
"No, she's not," he huffed.
"Check the baby," the doctor ordered.
Taking the end of the stethoscope, he kept his fingers well away from her bare skin. His cheeks burned in embarrassment at seeing her naked belly. The damn woman flustered him even in her sleep. He glanced at his pocketwatch to time the heartbeat. "One hundred fifty."
"Good. Send for me if it drops near one hundred or lower. Make sure she feels movement every couple hours. If not, check the baby's heartrate. Bleeding, cramping, all of that, call me. Let's check her pulse." He waited a moment. "She's coming to." Then he packed his bag.
"Wait, you're leaving?" he panicked.
"Do you want to pay me to sit and watch her sleep?"
"Yes! What if she - "
The physician smiled and clapped a hand on his back. "You know what to do. Send for me if you're concerned. I'll be by in the morning. Welcome to fatherhood where worry is the territory."
"It's not mine. I'm leaving as soon as she's off bedrest," he insisted.
The doctor looked him in the eye. "Being a father doesn't mean he came from your loins. I only saw one man here when she was losing the babe."
"Because you needed help keeping her calm," he retorted.
The physician just smiled and left.
