Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, Awed, Guest and Old Soul in Wonderland!
The law Mark speaks of for women being able to obtain marriage separation from a physically abusive husband actually didn't pass in Parliament for about another decade after this time period. Mark is a completely fictitious character and had no true hand in that law passing. :) I just like to incorporate real historical things into my stories.
She sat at his desk with her head in the palms of her hands as Mark recited his speech that afternoon. Grandfather, having traveled to Europe several times in search of her over the years, had decent knowledge of the laws and was the most help to Mark writing his speech. Most of it was over her head, but his words compelled all the same. He had that aura of power and command when he spoke. No wonder why the King hated rivaling him - Mark proved to be an able contender. He even pulled Brigands in to help seal the holes. Brigands's wisdom and years of serving the high gentry offered valuable feedback, and he even helped Mark revise some parts.
When Mark finished, his eyes went to her. His cheeks stained when he spotted her elbows on the edge of the desk with her head in her hands as she gazed at him. Butterflies fluttered and she sighed. He was magnificent.
Grandfather broke the spell when he stood and clapped. "Bravo! Be a little more forceful, but I know you were shy in front of your lady."
Mark cracked a smile and looked away, his cheeks reddening more.
She scooted to the edge of the chair and pushed herself up, walking around the desk to Mark to kiss his cheek. "You'll win them over." She stroked his cheek and looked into his eyes, not caring one wit who witnessed the intimate moment.
His gaze fell in what seemed to be an uncharacteristic moment of shyness before he let the smile free.
In the washroom that night, she scratched her itchy belly again. It must be the winter air. Digging through the cabinet in Mark's washroom, she spotted a can of handcream. She pulled up her skirts and glanced in the mirror at the underside of her belly. Oh god. Pink streaks like infection. Something was wrong with the babe! "Mark! Mark!"
He burst through the door on his cane without a shirt, his eyes wide. "What's wrong?"
"Something's wrong with the babe. He's infected." She turned and showed him as tears threatened.
The man leaned down and his fingers ran over the lines. "No, sweetheart, those are stretch marks." He straightened.
"Stretch marks?" That didn't sound good. She touched them, unable to see them over her belly. "They don't hurt, but they itch. What's wrong with the babe?" Her eyes flew to him.
"Nothing is wrong. The babe is growing, but your skin can't stretch too much farther. These stretch marks come as a normal part of pregnancy. I can make you a cream that will help with the itching."
Oh. Dear. God. "You mean more of these will come?" Two more months of this?
"A few more may. Put cream on your belly a couple times of day will help."
She dropped her skirts, utterly mortified. It was bad enough having trouble getting around and being almost too big for Mark to fit his arms around anymore without having ugly lines like this.
"Tanya, it's nothing to be ashamed of. It's a good sign - it means the babe is growing well. After birth, the lines will fade away." He reached to lay a hand on the babe.
She took a step back and it all seemed overwhelming all of the sudden. Sobs burst out.
"No, Tanya," he cooed and stepped closer as he pulled her into his arms.
"I feel like a whale and..." She gulped in air, "and now I'm getting ugly and I don't want to give birth and the..." another chocked sob cut in, "babe probably won't fit and you'll have to cut him out and I've heard men say their wives scream and scream during birth - "
"Whoa, whoa. You're small for a woman, so carrying a babe will be a bit more physically demanding on you, but you're not a whale. You are not getting ugly - those are lovely lines because it means you're growing a strong babe. Almost all women get them. We are going to do everything possible to not have to cut the babe out. We men like to embellish how terrible we have it during birth - it makes us feel more manly for not doing anything while our wives created another life. Have you ever talked to a woman about childbirth? To know what to expect?"
She shook her head against his chest. Another wail broke out. "You can't even fit your arms around me!"
He immediately shifted to stand at her side and lay her cheek on his chest. "I can fit my arms around you just fine," he said in that matter-of-fact, manly way. "The babe is making you emotional. Word is that Mrs. Greymore, the butcher's wife, is expecting her third babe soon. I delivered her two other children. She had uneventful births. Shall I ask her if you may attend the birth? Perhaps it would allay your fears to see a birth."
A few days later, her nerves churned her stomach as Mark drove the buggy to Mrs. Greymore's house at sunrise. "Mark - "
"Tanya, the surgeon will be there. If something goes wrong, you can leave the room," he promised. "She's had smooth births before and an uneventful pregnancy. She's the perfect one for you to witness childbirth."
She huddled deeper into her cloak, not for being cold but wishing to be anywhere else. Perhaps Mark had been away from medicine for so long that he forgot about childbirth screaming and gore and... The urge to vomit intensified. Think of something else. "Have you decided if you're going to get your license again?"
He shrugged.
"Come on, tell me!" She nudged his arm.
A smile broke free. "I submitted the papers, and there's a probationary period. If I trial well for several months, I can get a probationary license. The courts will check in on my cases periodically. If it goes well, I may be able to have full licensure."
"Oh, Mark!" She flung her arms around him. "Are you helping with the birth today?"
"If Mrs. Greymore and her husband consent." The man couldn't fully suppress his smile.
"That's why the messenger came to say she's in labor. What physician are you working under?" She linked her arm through his, the nerves disappearing. Mark would ensure a safe birth.
He cleared his throat. "You will be cordial."
She frowned. "Why wouldn't I be? I - "
"Dr. Englewood."
Jerking her arm from his, she turned in the seat to scowl at his profile. "The moment you have one tiny slip, he will report you! How - "
His voice took on a hard edge. "He was assigned to me and will follow through. If I am to be relicensed, this is how it works. It's his duty to see that I'm fit - "
"He almost sent you to the gallows!"
Those blue eyes shot to her. "As was his legal duty to report me! Enough! You will not distress yourself or Mrs. Greymore. No matter what he says, you will not participate in the conversation today, understood?" His gaze returned to the road. "He and I will be making decisions, with him having final say. You are not to interrupt if he disagrees with me."
Her blood boiled. "And if you believe what he is doing will kill her or the babe, I'm supposed to keep my mouth shut?!"
"Yes! He and I will handle it! You will leave your opinions of him at the door. Am I clear?"
Spinning around, she shoved back into the seat and crossed her arms over her chest under the cloak. "Don't worry - I won't have a single thing to say to him."
Mark released a deep, frustrated sigh.
When Mark knocked on the door, a girl of perhaps ten years opened it. "Mr. Dr. Debonairo!" She rushed at him.
He caught the girl, swinging her into the air with a chuckle. "Miss Evelyn, how big you've gotten." He held the girl in one arm as he ushered both of them in.
The girl giggled. "You still call me Miss Evelyn. I tell you a hundred times it's just Evie."
She stared at the friendly banter between the two of them. It hadn't occurred that Mark enjoyed children or had any kind of interaction with them.
"You should always tell a gentleman to address you properly. Soon all the lads will be clamoring for your favor." He set the girl down and then turned to help her off with her cloak. "Tanya, this is their oldest, Evelyn. Evelyn, this is my wife - "
The girl tugged hard on his sleeve, making him bend down. Then she whispered loudly in his ear. "She's pretty."
He smiled. "Yes, she is." Then he straightened.
"Mr. Dr. Debonairo when will you do a sleepover again?"
She blinked at Mark.
He flushed. "Evie came down with Scarlet Fever when she was four - "
Evelyn took her cloak from him as the little hostess and laid it over the back of a chair. "And he did a sleepover for three days! He colored pictures with me and then helped Mama have Ben." She pointed to a little boy of perhaps seven who peeked out from the kitchen. Then Evie took Mark's top hat and gloves.
"Mrs. Greymore went into labor hours after Evie came down with Scarlett Fever. I stayed for a few days to help Mr. Greymore take care of them and teach him proper hygiene so it didn't pass to Ben - "
"Every Tuesday when he passes our house for work, he still brings us sweets!" Evie reached in his pocket without asking and pulled out a peppermint. "You remembered!" She gasped and clutched the treasure.
She smiled. How very unlike the Devil Debonairo and very like Mark.
Then he looked at the boy and moved his hands in an odd manner as he spoke. "Come, Ben. Do you want your sweet?" He pulled a peppermint out of his other pocket and held it out. Then he glanced at her. "Since becoming deaf from an illness a couple years ago, Ben's grown very leery of strangers - some children are not kind to him." Regret filled Mark's tone. "I taught Evie to read so she can read the sign language books to her parents."
Books that Mark probably brought and obviously read himself. "How do I tell him 'hello' and my name?" She copied the signs that Mark made.
"Where are your parents, Ben?" Mark took her arm when Ben pointed to the bedchamber.
"Mama and Papa are in their room with Dr. Englewood," Evie said. "Come, Mr. Dr. Debonairo."
She giggled at the girl's odd name for him.
"She doesn't quite comprehend that I used to be 'Dr.' but am not currently," he whispered as the girl tugged him out of the room. He paused next to the boy, who seemed to recognize the signal to climb up on Mark's back. The boy had a little crutch in one hand. Mark must've noticed her gaze because he said in hushed tones, "I didn't have a license anymore at the time. He had an ear infection that a physician assured the parents that arsenic would cure it."
She gasped in horror. "How did he not die?"
Mark straightened as best he could with the boy and leaned on his cane to walk. "A birdie got wind of it a week later and told the parents to cease treatment immediately and use hot salt and white tea leaves for the ear infection. Unfortunately by then, damage had already been done."
Evie stopped in the hall and turned. "It wasn't a bird - it was you. I remember you telling Mama."
He leveled Evie with a firm look.
Her hands flew over her mouth. "I mean, it was a birdie," she stated with certainty. Then she leaned closer to him and whispered behind her hand, "Is she going to send you to jail?"
Mark cracked a smile. "Luckily not. Watch your brother." He slid Ben down and Evie helped her brother limp into the other room.
A large man stepped out of the bedroom. He grabbed Mark's hand and pumped it. "So glad you're here. He insists she labor in bed, but...you know."
He nodded. "She gets back labor and needs to walk. I'll talk to him. Tanya, this is Mr. Greymore. My wife."
The man gave a quick nod, clearly distressed, and then led the way inside.
A woman about her own age pushed herself out of bed, her hair damp already. Mark and Mr. Greymore hurried over and helped her up. She started walking the small room with her husband.
"She will tire," Dr. Englewood protested.
"It relieves her discomfort," Mark said casually and rolled up his sleeves. "Pain will tire her far faster than walking. Tanya, I'm sure Mrs. Greymore would enjoy company while I wash." He went back out to the kitchen, taking the frazzled Mr. Greymore with him.
The woman held out her hand and actually smiled. "Come walk. I find it helps."
So she went over and took the woman's hand. "Is it terrible?"
"It's not so bad until the babe starts to actually come. I have trouble with my back hurting during birth. Dr. Debonairo lets me walk or sit or kneel or do whatever I need. The first babe takes the longest. Is this your - " The woman stopped and held her arms, bending a bit at the waist and breathing deeply. She seemed so calm, so at peace.
Mark walked in at that moment and pressed on the woman's lower back and looked at his pocketwatch.
Then she straightened, picking up the sentence. "Is this your first child?"
She blinked and glanced at Mark, who laid a hand on the woman's belly as if to feel the contractions. "Um, yes."
"Fred is watching the children," Mark stated, still eyeing his watch.
Mrs. Greymore smiled. "My husband is squeamish. Imagine, a butcher who can't handle childbirth."
She smiled at the woman's ease with labor. This seemed far less frightening than the rumors said. Mark and Dr. Englewood stood back while she walked with Mrs. Greymore.
When the woman would stop and breathe deeply, Mark would step forward and press on the woman's hips or back and time the contractions, which seemed to grow longer and more frequent. "It eases the pain to counter the pressure," Mark explained, as if sensing her question.
Minutes later, the woman's face contorted in pain and she grabbed Mark's arm as she panted.
"Deep breaths, Sandy," he said, completely calm and unflinching. "It's a strong one. Almost there. Twenty seconds. Tanya, grab the glass of water on the nightstand."
"A laboring woman shouldn't eat or drink," Dr. Englewood stated.
She stopped and glanced at Mark in uncertainty what to do.
Mark glared at the physician for so long that even she wanted to squirm. "And you've found dehydration to not cause erratic contractions and weaken the mother, thereby prolonging labor and resulting in a need for surgery should the babe even tolerate such prolonged distress?"
She winced and continued to the nightstand without a glance at Dr. Englewood. Clearly Mark had hard feelings of his own toward the man and didn't appreciate being contradicted when he had far more experience.
Mrs. Greymore practically gulped down the water until Mark pulled it out of her hands after more than half the glass was gone. "Easy, Sandy. Too much and the contractions will make you nauseous. You can have more in a half hour." He had a calm steadiness about him that seemed to rub off on Mrs. Greymore too.
"Do you need to sit?" The woman seemed to wish for conversation as she resumed pacing and rubbed her belly. "The end of pregnancy makes it uncomfortable to stand for long."
With hot cheeks, she forced a smile to hide the embarrassment. "I'm not due for a couple months yet." Taking a closer look as Mrs. Greymore ran a hand over her belly and nightgown, her belly didn't look much bigger.
The woman didn't miss a beat but smiled. "Good for you. Mark here insisted that exercise helped keep me fit longer. Do as he says." But her eyes flicked to her belly with a brief glint of concern.
"Tanya had severe illness in the first months of pregnancy that weakened her muscles - " Mark needed to offer no further explanation.
"Oh, you poor thing! And now everyone thinks - " She cut off as a contraction took over. Then she sighed when it finished and her look of concern returned. "Everyone thinks you're coming due. After Evie, I noticed that I showed much sooner with Ben. Mark said it was because of the muscles being weaker from being stretched." Then she waddled over and caught her arm, pulling her to a corner of the room. The woman lifted her nightgown on one side and showed light pink stretch marks. "Tell Mark to make you a cream," she whispered. "These were as red as fire, but he said how to make a cream and they're already getting better. They weren't as bad with Ben, and they turned whitish after a few months, just like Mark said."
"You have them too?" She whispered in surprise. "I noticed them the other day. Do you get them from nursing too?" Goodness, it was so wonderful to have a woman to ask questions that were too embarrassing to ask Mark. And someone who had been through it already. She glanced at Mark, who stood on the other side of the room and smiled.
The friendly conversation with Mrs. Greymore gradually ceased as her attention began to focus inward with the progression of labor. The woman turned to Mark and grabbed his arms again. He stroked her belly in purposeful, downward motion. A low groan of agony came from Mrs. Greymore.
She blinked as a puddle grew at the woman's feet and Mark's shoes. "Um, Mark?"
"Her water broke, it's alright, Tanya." He didn't seem to care at all and kept his attention on the woman.
When she made it through the contraction, Mrs. Greymore looked down with red cheeks. "I'm so sorry - "
"Sandy, if this was the worst I'd ever had on me, I'd be a happy man." He handed her off to Dr. Englewood. "Tanya, would you fetch a towel?"
She found one in the hall closet and returned. Her heart melted when he knelt as best he could and wiped Sandy's legs and feet before seeing to himself. He was so gentle, so calm, so compassionate with a birthing woman. When Dr. Englewood busied himself getting Mrs. Greymore in bed, she handed him another towel for himself. "You cleaned her first."
He looked up in confusion. "Of course."
"You don't flinch when she grabs you during contractions."
A smile cracked through. "No." Then he finished wiping his shoes and stood. "A man's place is to be supportive of a birthing woman. It's not proper by any means, but the poor woman's husband isn't here."
"But, she's not your wife or kin."
"Should I treat her with any less compassion then?" He seemed genuinely amused at her surprise.
While the men seemed busy with Mrs. Greymore, she slipped out of the room. Mr. Greymore paced in the front room as the children played on the floor with a spinning top. "Mr. Greymore? Perhaps you could try coming in. She's very distressed and I think wishes you were there."
He shook his head. "I can't take seeing her in pain like that."
"Not seeing it doesn't mean it's not happening. Wouldn't you rather be there to help her through it than make her do it alone?"
Those words seemed to crumble his walls a bit. "A man isn't to be present for childbirth - "
"And yet two men are in there delivering your babe. Your wife doesn't strike me as one overly concerned with convention. I'm sure your support would mean the world to her." She folded her hands over her belly. "I know that when I birth, I'll want my husband there to hold my hand and encourage me when I get exhausted. Come. At least try."
Mr. Greymore returned. By the time his wife labored hard in bed, she turned to him repeatedly for support. The man looked ragged and pale, but he held his wife's hand and wiped her brow and offered words of encouragement.
The woman's focus and quiet laboring left her in awe, and Mark's calmness through it all was comforting. When Mr. Greymore would look overwhelmed, Mark would step in and remind Mr. Greymore to massage the cramps from his wife's legs or stroke her shoulders to ease the tension. Otherwise, Mark listened to her and the babe and left her alone for the most part.
Mark stood beside her against the wall and watched with his arms folded over his chest and his eyes focused on the woman. "Is it as bad as you expected?"
"No, but aren't you supposed to check her progress?"
"Some physicians check frequently."
"But?" She smiled.
"But there seems to be a correlation with frequent checks and childbed fever. The less interference, the better. Even during birth, I leave the mother alone if everything is going well."
"Push," Mrs. Greymore panted.
Mark didn't move as Dr. Englewood stepped forward and checked her progress.
She set a hand in his upper arm. It must be degrading to have been one of the world's best and now have to be supervised like wet-behind-the-ears physician. He took it with grace and dignity, however.
Dr. Englewood wiped his hands and then came over. "Prep for surgery," he said under his breath.
"No." Mark didn't even blink.
Dr. Englewood's eyebrow rose. "The babe turned breech. Prep for surgery."
"The babe was breech when we arrived. Her pelvis can adequately fit a breech. It's presenting bottom first, so there is low risk to the babe as long as a leg protects the neck from her cervix clamping on the neck." Mark looked as calm as ever.
"This is another one of your hairbrained notions - "
"That I've done dozens of times," he said dryly. "You won't get in there on time before she births, and surgery puts Mrs. Greymore in unnecessary danger."
"Mark, I do not have time for your theories. You will prep for surgery."
His eyes finally narrowed. "I cannot act without your consent, but I am not legally bound to act on what I disagree with," he said through clenched teeth. "If you do surgery, you do it without me. If the parents ask my opinion, I'll advise against it."
She glanced between the men, her nerves winding tighter. Sandy panted harder and her face contorted. "Um, hurry up - I think she's pushing."
"Fine. Anything goes wrong, and I start surgery," Englewood said.
Mark flew to the kitchen, grabbing her hand and dragging her along. "Wash. I don't think he'll be much help." A thorough scrubbing and then she followed him back into the room. He flew setting tools out on a fresh linen and climbed on the bed. "Sandy, on your knees to better fit the babe. Tanya, be ready to hand me tools."
She watched, completely fascinated as Mark coached the woman. He encouraged and praised and directed Mrs. Greymore flawlessly. This was where his work came in.
His hands flew as delivery progressed fast. Then he grabbed scissors and blood dripped a moment later. "That's normal. Don't faint, Tanya. Give me the towel." He took it, his bloody hands wrapping around the babe's bottom as he slowly wiggled, seeming to help Sandy get the babe out. "One hard push, Sandy. Just the shoulders left."
The babe emerged in his hands. And didn't cry. He unwrapped a cord from around the neck and used some kind of bulb apparatus to suction mucus from the mouth and nostrils.
"Is it a boy or girl?" Tears fell from Mrs. Greymore's eyes as her husband helped her lie back.
"A girl," she answered and swallowed hard as Mark seemed entirely focused on the babe that still didn't move. Then he set his mouth over the babe's mouth and nose and blew.
The babe coughed and choked. Mark flipped the babe upside down and swatted its back. More mucus came out and then a solid wail filled the air. He smiled and wiped down the babe before handing the infant to the parents. They cried and fussed over their new daughter.
Some kind of cord ran from the babe's belly down to Mrs. Greymore. Mark clamped it and then picked up fresh scissors.
She grabbed his shoulder in horror - he was going to cut them. "Mark."
He smiled and paused to look at her. "It doesn't hurt either of them. It's the umbilical cord - how Sandy and the babe shared food and blood during pregnancy. It will dry up in a few days and fall off the babe, leaving a belly button."
She leaned forward, fascinated and disgusted, as he tied it off at the babe's naval and then cut. The babe didn't even seem to notice, already rooting to breastfeed. Then she stepped back as Sandy birthed something without notice. "What is that?" she whispered in morbid curiosity.
"This, Tanya, is what sustains pregnancy," he said in fascination. "This is the placenta. See the blood vessels? This side is where it attached to Sandy's womb..." The man explained amazing details, and the bloody glob became less disgusting as he pointed out everything it was thought to do during pregnancy. "My theory is the mother's and babe's blood never crosses."
She blinked. "But the textbooks say - "
"Yes, but how do you explain the mother having illness such as influenza during birth and the infant being born without it? It makes no sense to have them share blood. And look - the maternal side appears to have a different vascular structure than the fetal side. This is the amniotic sac that is filled with fluid that the babe lives in. That's what all that fluid was from her water breaking."
His face lit up. This is what he was meant to do - not sit behind a desk and run a bank, but learn and discover and test medicine to bring healthy babes into this world. "Is it really water?"
"It's thought to be composed of water and likely salt and other things." He turned the placenta over and over, seeming to search.
"What are you doing?"
"Making sure pieces aren't left in that will infect her." He pointed to a spot no bigger than his hand. "There." He wiped one hand and then massaged Mrs. Graymore's belly. "Go ahead and nurse, Sandy. There's a bit in there that we need out." Then he said to her, "Nursing causes contractions."
It was mesmerizing and amazing as the babe just took to her mother, cuddling up and closing her eyes as she nursed. It was like she knew she was safe and loved. Realizing she stared, she flushed and stepped back.
"Have you ever seen a babe nurse?" the woman asked.
"No. I didn't mean to..." She backed up and dropped her gaze.
"Come. Dr. Debonairo had to teach me with Evie. Just like this. Make sure the babe doesn't smother herself..." The dear woman showed exactly what to do.
"Doesn't it hurt?"
The sweet lady answered questions and offered a wealth of knowledge as Mark worked. "Just three sutures, Sandy," he said.
She returned to where he picked up a needle and thread to watch what he was up to now.
He smiled and shook his head when Mrs. Greymore didn't even seem to notice him put in the first stitch but looked at the babe's little fingers and toes with her husband as the babe nursed. "It never fails to amaze me the pain threshold that women have when first holding their newborn. You could do surgery and not have them bat an eye.
She smiled and laid a hand on his back. "You really love this, don't you?"
How perfect and sure he stitched - with the precision of a true surgeon. "Look at what a woman's body can do in nine months - it just knows how to create a babe." Then he glanced up at the babe. "And look at her - she just comes into the world and knows her mother's scent and voice. Have you ever seen a bond as strong and fast as when a mother holds her babe for the first time?"
She studied the family as Mark returned to work. "You sound a little jealous."
He shrugged under her hand. "Women carry the babe for nine months, feeling every kick and twinge and having this physical bond with the babe, and then after birth they hold the babe against their breast and sustain the babe with nourishment. Look at how content they both are. Men are bystanders more than anything in their child's lives."
"Is that what your father was like? You never speak of him."
"Because that's what I knew of him. Children were meant to be heirs. He disapproved of me taking a profession and not living off of investments."
Like a 'high-bred gentleman' was meant to do by Society's rules.
"Would you like to hold her?" Mrs. Greymore's voice cut in.
She looked up. The babe must've fallen asleep in the middle of nursing. Her heart beat faster. "Oh, no. I've never held a babe - "
"Just support her head. Cradle her in your arms." She handed over the newborn.
The tiny sleeping babe weighed almost nothing. A warm feeling washed over - like her heart splitting open with love. But a different kind of love than what she felt for Mark. This must be the love of a mother. Tears welled. Papa said that Mama held her once before dying. This must be what Mama's love had felt like. Suddenly, the feeling grew stronger and a longing to hold her own babe blossomed.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Mark's words cut in.
She looked at him, cradling the precious treasure in her arms. For the first time, there wasn't resentment or tainted horror associated with a terrible man's babe growing in her belly...simply love. The emotion was so overwhelming. She turned to Mrs. Greymore and handed over the infant. "She's perfect." Holding her belly, she hurried out.
Mark came out to the kitchen minutes later all cleaned up and knelt before her chair, despite the pains it took him. "What's wrong?" He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at the tears.
She sniffled and met his eyes. "I always wanted what she has and then seven months ago..." More tears flowed as she choked on a sob. "I never thought I'd love the babe, but I do."
"Of course you do." He swept a stray lock of hair behind her ear and searched her eyes. "That's our babe." His hand rested on her belly.
"And even after we married, I thought I'd be alone for the birth. For forever." She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, needing to cling to him. "Holding her, it made me really love the babe for the first time. But I wish he was yours."
He held tight, cupping the back of her head as she wept on his shoulder. "Oh, my girl, he is mine," he whispered in a thick voice. "I will love him as if I sired him. I'll be right there for the birth. I'll always be there if you need me."
Slipping her arm through his on the way home that evening, she scooted closer to his heat. "Mark?"
He grunted.
"I'm glad you're going to try for your license again. If you should need an extra set of hands on occasion and it won't be too bloody, I can help."
His head whipped to her with wide eyes. Then he blinked. "You would want to come on calls?"
"If it's not someone's hand got mangled or head kicked in. But maybe something like Brigands's wife's surgery or a birth..."
A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "I should like that. Mind that I won't drag you out in the middle of the night and a surgeon's wife does not have a glamorous life - "
She laughed and patted his arm. "Yes, coming from poverty to becoming a surgeon's wife is very much a step down."
But he didn't smile and returned his eyes to the road.
The laugh faded. "Anna didn't approve of your profession either."
He cleared his throat, that gruff, cloaked aura overcoming him again. "We wed once I finished university studying how to run a bank like Father wanted. Neither of us expected my father to cut off my inheritance when I announced I was continuing on to medical university. They likely both thought it was a flippant notion that would pass. She never voiced opposition but after I had to work to provide our income, refused to have anyone find out about our limited means. I was invited to serve as a professor after a few years, which is apparently appropriate for a woman to brag about at balls. Once my reputation grew internationally and then invitations to Society's finest balls came pouring in, it then became appropriate to talk about my occupation as a physician. Nights when I came home from late calls to patients were met with a locked bedchamber door." He cleared his throat, as if realizing he'd spilled too much, and snapped the reins to speed up the horse a bit. "Eat extra at dinner - I was so caught up that it didn't occur I didn't feed you lunch," he grunted, his voice hard.
"Mark?" She set a hand on his arm. "I have no place to judge and I won't speak of it to anyone."
He kept his eyes ahead and didn't speak.
"I am very uneducated about the ways of the Upper Class. Knowing what it's like to not have food and shelter and to carry a bastard, I am quite happy with a husband who has taken away those hardships. Should he wish to join a circus to provide for a family, I would not know any better if Society would say I should regret his profession. I would only care that he is happy and the children have full bellies. I am an ignorant simpleton, which sounds like is for once probably a good thing for you - "
"You're a woman who cares more for the happiness of her family than Society's superficial rules," he snapped.
Her eyes widened. "I didn't mean to speak ill of Anna - "
"You didn't," he growled, "I did."
She kept quiet for several minutes to let the storm pass, completely baffled what to think of his comment. Then that comment he'd made about Anna the other day that had sounded resentful...it didn't sit well that Anna seemed to be falling out of his good graces. "Mark, if I've ever made you feel like you need to choose between Anna and I, I never meant to. You've made comments a couple times now that seem like you're resentful. I've never meant to make you think less of her or - "
"I was happily married because I knew no different," he barked.
This was a first to have an incredibly uncomfortable conversation with him. "Mark, I apologize - "
"For what?" he snapped. "For not abandoning me when things get hard? For not resenting me pursuing a profession that makes me happy? For not caring that I'm crippled? For making me goddamn happier than I've ever been?" He bit off his words and his leather gloves creaked as his hands choked the reins.
She looked down at her lap, utterly confused. Guilt welled at somehow having made Anna fall in his eyes.
He pulled up the drive and worked his way down. Then he turned and offered a hand, his eyes hard.
Taking his hand, she held his arm on the steps up to the house so he wouldn't bark that she'd slip on the ice. Once inside, he let go and headed straight for his study while still wearing his cloak and top hat.
Brigands helped her off with her things, his expression solemn.
"What's wrong?"
He looked away. "Parliament sent a letter. I left it on the Marquess's desk."
She frowned. "Isn't it probably about his speech he'll be doing?"
"A letter this close to a speech is never good, my lady."
Handing him her muff, she hurried into the study. "Mark - " She stopped in her tracks. His things had been discarded in a chair and he stood at the window looking out at the clear winter night. A letter sat open on his desk.
"You really should learn some Society decorum. You should be thoroughly ashamed and embarrassed of your husband - not every man is disinvited a week before he's to speak in Parliament," he stated, his voice matter of fact.
"What? I thought - "
"Word got out of things that happened in prison. We are quite thoroughly and irreversibly ruined, Tanya."
"Take the guards to court! They abused you!" The angry scream ripped out with such force that even he spun around in surprise. "They beat and tortured a Marquess and cannot ruin you! You did nothing wrong! Even the Court said you didn't deserve to be in prison!"
His brow furrowed with regret and shoulders slumped as he shook his head. There was no spark in him, not even his usual gruff demeanor.
She stormed over and grabbed his lapels. "You have the title and wealth to take this to Court! Why aren't you going to fight this?!"
He searched her eyes like his heart was breaking. "What you think they did in prison...it was not to that extent. I witnessed them do it to other men before hangings, but they knew better than to do it to a Marquess not yet sentenced to death." Tears shimmered in his eyes. "I was too ashamed of what they did do, and it's not far off from what you think. There's no way to fight a rumor this devastating."
"Granddaughter." Grandfather stood in the doorway with a newspaper in his hand. "I need a minute with your husband."
Her stomach clenched and she crushed his lapels in her hand. Letting go would lead to something terrible happening. She shook her head even as Mark pried her hands off. He looked hopeless, as if the same dreadful thought entering his head. As a male relative, it was Grandfather's duty to take her away from such ruin. "No, Mark, I don't care. We'll go to America and start over - "
"You're in no condition to travel, and things are going to get worse fast." He held her wrists away and let Grandmama and Brigands drag her out.
"No, Grandmama, he's already been ruined and we're fine," she sobbed. "He has enough money that he won't need to have work. We can stay here or go to Spain or America - "
"Hush, child." Grandmama lowered her head to her shoulder and rubbed her back as she cried and took her upstairs.
No amount of weeping or protesting stopped Grandfather from ordering Brigands and Becky to pack trunks of her clothes. So she rushed downstairs to the study. Mark wouldn't make her go.
She stopped in the study. Empty. So she hurried up the steps.
"Tanya," Grandfather ordered and tried to catch her at the landing.
She pushed his hands away and ran down the hall to Mark's chambers. The sobs prevented any words, so she pounded on the locked door with her fists.
He opened the door, his eyes red and eyelashes wet as if he'd been weeping.
She flung herself into his arms. "I'm staying with you. I don't care where we go or if we stay here." The tears choked. "I'm not leaving you."
Those warm, gentle hands stroked down her back. "You will go with your grandparents," he said in a gravelly voice. "They will take care of you while we wait to see if this blows over. It's the best chance of you and the babe not being ruined."
"No, the bondslave papers say I'm yours." Oh god. Anything to make him not let her go.
"Only if I protest do you have to be returned. Please, Tanya, don't make this any harder." His voice cracked.
Grandfather came around the corner. "Tanya."
"No," she sobbed and grabbed handfuls of his shirt.
"I promise I'll come for you if this gets better." He pressed a kiss to her lips and held tight for an instant. Like how he had said goodbye before leaving for the gallows.
She clung to his hands when he pulled her off. "You aren't going to come. Mark, please." She sank to her knees, the loss so painful that it hurt to breathe. Hysteria set in from the grief. "You promised to never leave me. Whatever I did, I'm sorry. Please. Please." She braced her hands on the floor, the sobs coming so hard that the room spun.
He knelt and cupped her face in his hands. Tears welled in his eyes. "I'm not leaving you. This is me protecting you." Then he pressed his lips to hers and pulled back to search her eyes. "I love you," he whispered. A tear rolled down his cheek. Then he looked up at Grandfather. "Take her before she sends herself into labor."
Grandfather scooped her up.
"No! Mark!" Struggling against Grandfather's lean strength prove fruitless.
Mark didn't move from where he'd knelt but bowed his head as tears fell onto the carpet at her sobs for him.
"Tanya, hush before you harm the babe," Grandmama said out on the front step at the carriage. "It is not forever, only until this blows over and he says it's safe to bring you back."
But they didn't understand. In England, this would ruin him forever, much more so than being labeled a drunk murderer. She looked up at the bedchamber window.
The curtain pulled back, a faint outline of Mark visible. The tears, however, glinted the candlelight off his face. She pushed free of Grandfather to run back into the house.
But Grandfather caught her wrist. "Don't torture him, Tanya," he said softly.
His words stopped her with the force of a punch to the gut. She looked from him up to the window. Mark broke down in sobs and the curtain fell back over the window.
"He asked me to take you away to keep you from ruin. He's ashamed and humiliated and ruined. Let him be able to give you this. He knows you would stay and it is enough for him."
She looked at Grandfather through the blur of tears. Grief lined his own face.
"I do not wish to do this to you. I promise to bring you back - "
"But don't you understand? This won't blow over!"
"Granddaughter, have faith that he won't let you go." Grandmama pulled her inside and Grandfather followed. The carriage started forward.
"You don't know him," she wept, the gaping hole inside bleeding out. "He will do what's honorable and what he thinks is best for me, not what he wants. He's letting us go. Please, you have to believe me that what is best is to not listen to him. If we leave, he won't come." But the carriage didn't stop.
