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June 10th 1872

Boston

After the unseasonable coolness of Colorado, Boston couldn't have been more different. Ever since they had arrived the weather had been simply glorious with blue skies and warm breezes that made the city come alive. The streets were bustling, the parks full to the brim with families enjoying the sunshine and yet Rebecca found that she couldn't seem to muster any joy for it. She and Preston had been in Boston for over three weeks and during that time, she had spent most days sitting in the Lodges' library, unwilling to venture outside. It was almost as though she didn't want to meet anyone lest they be able to tell what a failure she had been at the most natural thing in the world.

Preston had busied himself with work, attending various meetings and locking himself away with his father and brothers discussing financial affairs. Sometimes a whole day could pass and she would only see him at supper time. In the past, that would have irked her, but right now, she was content with her own company and resisted Alice's attempts to include her in her day-to-day activities. The only time she had felt vaguely comfortable was when Louisa had come to the house for lunch and the two women had shared their grief as only two people who had been in the same situation could. She found she could talk more easily to Louisa about Caroline than she believed she could ever talk to her husband. Despite him telling her that their daughter's death wasn't her fault, she couldn't help blaming herself.

This particular morning dawned as bright and fair as every other, but Rebecca pretended to still be asleep when Preston rose as she had done every other morning. Her actions were borne out of a marriage where her husband frequently enjoyed indulging in so-called 'morning delights', something which she couldn't, at this time, reciprocate. Not that she needed to worry, as not once had Preston tried to claim her since they had arrived. He clearly didn't find her as physically attractive since the loss of their child.

Once he had left the room, she drew the drapes and then sat up in bed watching the clouds roll by in the sky outside. The action calmed her, and allowed her to think about something other than her own grief. All of a sudden however, the bedroom door opened and Preston reappeared carrying a breakfast tray adorned with a single rose in a long stemmed glass.

"Ah you're awake!" he said, clearly pleased. "I brought you some breakfast."

Rebecca pushed herself further up into a seated position, while unconsciously pulling the covers closer around her, and watched him curiously as he brought it over and laid it on her lap. "It looks lovely," she replied, lifting the rose and smelling it. "What's the occasion?"

Preston smiled indulgently at her, "I thought it was more common for men to forget these occasions than women?" She looked at him. "It's our first anniversary. We've made it through twelve months of marriage."

"Oh…" Rebecca said, somewhat embarrassed at her own forgetfulness. "So it is. I'm sorry it…it completely slipped my mind."

"Not to worry," he said, reaching forward and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "We have all evening to celebrate."

"Celebrate?"

"Yes, I've booked a table at La Gardenia for us tonight, only the best restaurant in the city, and then I thought we could go to the new opera. Henry was raving about it last week, though his opinion is not often to be trusted."

"I see."

"I thought you could wear that new dress I bought you," he continued, referring to the exquisite and expensive green gown he had purchased as a present for her the day after they had arrived in Boston. She couldn't help wondering at the time why he had bought it for her.

"Yes…"

"And of course…" he reached into his pocket, "a little something to go with it?" He held out a small box. "Take it," he encouraged as she stared at it. Taking it from him, she opened it to reveal emerald earrings. "Aren't they beautiful?" he said. "A Spencer design of course."

"This is too much," she said faintly, closing the lid of the box. "I don't deserve these." Not when I haven't been able to give you your child.

"Nonsense," he replied, "there is nothing I enjoy more than spoiling my beautiful wife." He leaned over to kiss her, but she turned and offered her cheek instead, causing his lips to brush briefly against it. Her action caused her to miss the look of hurt that flickered across his face. "Rebecca…" he began slowly, sitting back.

"Not now, Preston, please," she interrupted, not wishing to discuss their physical relationship, or lack thereof.

He sighed heavily, but chose not to pursue the matter any further, though it ached inside to know that she seemingly now found him so undesirable. "I'm afraid I have another meeting this morning, but it's such a beautiful day. Why don't you take a walk around the park?"

"Perhaps I will," she replied, eager for him to leave her alone. "Thank you," she forced a smile, "For breakfast and the earrings."

He smiled tightly back at her, "Well…I shall see you later."

Once he had left, Rebecca ate as much as she could stomach of the food and then rose to get dressed. As she removed her nightdress she winced at the tenderness of her breasts and her eyes burned with unshed tears at the tiny pinpricks of milk that appeared from her nipples. Once dressed, she decided to take Preston's advice and go to the park, much to Alice's surprise.

"Do you want some company?" she asked when Rebecca appeared in the parlour.

"No thank you," Rebecca said, waving the book she had selected from the library. "I thought I would walk and then read a while."

"The fresh air will do you good," Alice said with satisfaction and so Rebecca had left the confines of the house and breathed in the warm June air for the first time since her arrival.

The walk to the park was pleasant and once there, she found herself invigorated and proceeded to walk around the pond and watch as children fed the ducks that lived there. Despite her pain, she felt able to smile at their innocence and appreciate that, for some people, family life went on. Finally, she found a quiet spot under a large oak tree and, spreading the blanket she had brought with her, settled down to lose herself in Jane Austen's Emma. She had only read a few pages, however, when a familiar voice broke into her reverie.

"Rebecca!" A woman's voice called out, "Rebecca Lodge!"

Rebecca looked up and immediately felt her heart sink as she saw Helen O'Connor striding across the grass towards her, pushing a pram.

"How lovely to see you in Boston!" Helen exclaimed with faux sincerity. "I had heard you were back. You look far more accustomed to our fair city than I would have given you credit for I must say!" Rebecca tried to return her greeting, but her throat closed up and all she was able to do was nod. "I was so dreadfully sorry to hear your news."

"How did you know?" Rebecca asked stupidly.

"Preston's father spoke to my father at the club a few days ago and he told me," Helen's face took on a look of forced sympathy. "It must be a terrible loss for you, for both of you. I can't imagine what I would have done if anything had happened to Jackson." She jiggled the pram in front of her almost for emphasis. "Still, it's nice to see you again. Do you intend staying long?"

"I…I don't know," was all Rebecca could say. "I'm just taking one day at a time."

"I see," Helen nodded, "Well I do hope that we'll see you at the opera sometime soon. You've been away from the city for so long that you must be longing for some culture. I must say it's all I can do to have an evening away from the rigours of motherhood." She flashed Rebecca a smile. "Good day!"

Rebecca watched as she walked away from her feeling nothing short of hatred for the other woman like she had never experienced before. Why should a woman like Helen O'Connor, a woman who was separated from her husband, have the privilege of a healthy child while she had lost hers? Any joy that she had might had had from her trip outside was now lost to her and so she gathered up her belongings and made her way out of the park and back towards the Lodges' house. She barely stopped to greet Alice before returning to her room and refusing lunch.

XXXX

"How's Rebecca this morning, Preston," James said as the two brothers sat enjoying their cigars and brandy in their father's club. "I thought she looked terribly pale the other night at dinner."

"I know," Preston replied, staring into his glass, "You don't have to tell me. It's so different from this time last year."

"Are you sure she's getting over it all right?"

Preston sighed, "We don't talk about it much. I find it…difficult…to know what to say." He refrained from adding that it came as no surprise to him that Rebecca was behaving as she was towards him. He could hardly blame her after everything that had happened.

James nodded understandingly. "I know what that's like. I didn't know whether to cry with Louisa or tell her to buck up." He shook his head. "Lord knows we shouldn't need to find ourselves in these situations."

"Have you spoken to Rebecca about your long term plans?" Preston Senior asked, joining the tail end of the conversation.

"Not yet."

"Don't you think you should?"

"Yes but…it has to be the right time. I don't know what she wants and it may be a difficult decision for her."

"Preston, as quaint and lovely as Colorado Springs is, you've bloomed since coming back here," his father continued. "You belong here, in the heart of business. And I don't say that in some attempt to keep you and Rebecca apart as I might once have," he reassured his son. "I am obviously referring to you both as man and wife. But, quite frankly with everything that's happened in Colorado Springs, what is there to keep you there?"

"It's our home, Father," Preston replied half-heartedly. "Though it didn't really feel that way the last few days we were there."

"It does get better," James said. "I know it doesn't feel like it now…"

"Does it?" Preston looked at his brother. "How do I make things better for her, James, when I feel that I'm the one who's done this to her in the first place?"

"Don't be ridiculous," James replied. "It's nature, Preston. You couldn't have prevented it anymore than I could."

"Couldn't I?" Preston said quietly. "I needn't have married her. I could have done what she originally wanted and leave her be. Perhaps she wouldn't be so unhappy now."

"Yes well…" Preston Senior blustered, clearly wishing to move the conversation back onto safer ground. "Too late to think like that now, son. As I've said to you before; ever forward."

Preston drained his glass miserably, wishing it was that easy. "Yes sir."

XXXX

"I must say I'm very tempted by the duck," Preston declared later that evening as he and Rebecca took their seats in La Gardenia. "It is supposed to be the best in the city. What about you?"

Rebecca had been looking at the menu but hadn't been taking in anything that was written on it. "I'm not sure," she said, "perhaps the chicken."

"You can have chicken any day of the week at Grace's," Preston said, "have something rather more exotic for once. It's not every day that we have the opportunity to dine in such splendid surroundings."

Rebecca put the menu down. "Why don't you order for me then?"

"Indeed I shall," Preston said, missing any sarcasm in her meaning. When the waiter returned he ordered two servings of duck. "I must say," he commented when they were alone again. "You are, by far, the most beautiful woman in here this evening. The dress and earrings suit you quite well." He reached over and folded her hands in his.

"Thank you." She looked down at his wedding ring glinting in the light.

"I was the luckiest man alive this time last year when you married me." Rebecca met his gaze, searching for any trace of ridicule in his expression and finding none. "I'd like to think that you felt the same." The earnestness of his tone only succeeded in causing her eyes to fill up with tears, an action that made Preston's face fall. "Rebecca…I'm trying…"

"Forgive me," she whispered, pulling her hands away from his, lifting her napkin and gently dabbing her eyes, willing the tears to regress. There was nothing she wanted less than to start crying in the middle of polite Bostonian society. She coughed to cover her embarrassment and took a long drink from her wine glass. "I'm fine," she said after a few moments.

"I had hoped…" Preston said slowly, "That the dress, the earrings, coming here tonight might, in some small way, help make up…"

"Nothing can make up for what we've lost, Preston," Rebecca interrupted.

"No," he agreed. "No, it can't."

"I met Helen today."

Preston sighed, "I see."

"She offered me…us…her condolences though I could tell that she relished every moment." Rebecca paused as the waiter reappeared with their plates. "Even from her position as a woman separated from her husband, with her child's parentage in question, she believes herself to be superior because she has a healthy child and I…" she broke off as tears sprang into her eyes again. "I'm sorry…I'm not sure that I…"

"Darling…"

"Would you please excuse me for a moment?" Rebecca pushed her chair back from the table and hurried away.

Preston had only managed to get halfway off of his seat before she disappeared and he hovered, wondering what he should do. Eventually, he sat back down to wait, but found that he couldn't muster the enthusiasm to eat anything. H e had hoped that spending the evening together might have somehow helped to bridge the gap that seemed to have grown between them over the last few weeks and assuage the terrible guilt that he felt. He knew that he hadn't spent enough time with her since they arrived in Boston, leaving her alone most days to talk business with his father, but it was in so doing that he was able to forget about what had happened and the part he had played in it. He also hadn't failed to notice that Rebecca had not protested at his frequent absence.

Every time he allowed his mind to wander, he saw his wife, terrified and in pain, giving birth to their child while, all the time, he had lain unconscious in the next room. Reassuring her that she was not to blame for what had happened only compounded his feelings that he was. At night, when he lay beside her, he wanted so badly to hold her and comfort her, but the thought of what she had gone through stopped him and, in any event, he was terrified that she might push him away.

"Is everything all right, sir?" the waiter reappeared at his side, clearly concerned that the best food in Boston was going untouched.

"Yes thank you," he replied, "My wife…well…she isn't feeling well, that's all."

"Is there anything else that I can get for you?"

"No, thank you."

At that moment, Rebecca returned to the table. "I'm sorry," she said, sitting back down opposite him, her eyes red from crying.

"If you would rather simply go back to the house, I would understand," Preston said.

"No," she replied, lifting her cutlery. "No, it's our anniversary and you were right that we should celebrate it." They ate the meal in relative silence and then made their way to the opera house for the evening production. "Do I look all right?" Rebecca asked as they drew up outside.

Preston looked at her, her face neatly pressed into place, no trace of the anguish he had seen moments earlier. "You look beautiful," he said, his heart splintering at the thought of the pain that he had caused her. Once inside, they met various people that he knew and greeted them accordingly. Rebecca played her part well, he alone able to recognise the deadness in her eyes. It wasn't one of the better productions, Henry's opinion clearly of no value, and he was relieved when it was over and they were in the carriage returning home.

"Did you have a nice evening?" Alice asked when they arrived back at the house.

"Yes thank you," Rebecca replied.

"The performance was not particularly good," Preston said conversationally.

"Henry said he thought it was spectacular!" Alice said. "What did you think, Rebecca?"

"It was…it was all right," she replied. "I'm very tired now though, so if you wouldn't mind excusing me…" She left the drawing room and made her way upstairs, Preston close behind her. Once in their bedroom, she moved over to the vanity table and began unpinning her hair.

"I'm sorry," Preston said, closing the door behind him. "I didn't mean for the evening to be so un-enjoyable."

"It's not your fault," Rebecca replied.

"I fear it is," he persisted. "There I was trying to force you to celebrate our marriage when I can't help thinking that we should never have married at all."

Rebecca paused in what she was doing and turned to face him, "What?"

"It's true, isn't it?" he searched her face. "If we had never married, you wouldn't be so unhappy."

"It's not…I mean I'm not…" she fought for the right words, "It's not being married to you that has made me unhappy, Preston. It's…it's the situation we find ourselves in. All I can think about is what we should have now…our daughter."

"And I will never be able to forgive myself for the fact that we don't." It was the first time he had declared his feelings in her presence and he watched the look of amazement cross her face.

"You will never be able to forgive yourself?" Rebecca exclaimed, "I'm the one who couldn't give her life. I'm the one who shouldn't be forgiven!"

"And I'm the one who made you go through it all," he stepped towards her. "I think about how I should never have allowed you to become pregnant in the first place…how you told me at the beginning that you could never risk having a child…"

"But it was my selfishness that led to my pregnancy, Preston. You told me I shouldn't have done it and I didn't listen…" she interrupted.

"But then I stopped you from having the abortion."

"You stopped that for a reason."

"But was it the right reason?" he searched her face. "I'll never know now, will I?" Rebecca looked away. "Then I think that if I hadn't caught that damn influenza from Walter Mason I wouldn't have been sick and you wouldn't have been worried about me and you wouldn't have gone into labour so soon and it's my fault that it happened!" he thumped the bedpost for emphasis.

"That isn't your fault!" she exclaimed. "I would most likely have gone into labour early whether you'd been sick or not!"

"Again, you don't know that!" he persisted. "I should at least have been there for you when you must have been so frightened and I wasn't and for that I will never be able to forgive myself! And when I see you now so upset, barely able to look at me and so unwilling to let me touch you in any way…"

"I can't let you touch me," she said, "I can't because I know where it would lead and I…I don't have the body of a woman anymore. I have the body of a mother without a child! My stomach is still swollen and my breasts are producing milk and I have a pain between my legs with no baby to distract me from it! I just…don't know what to do with myself…" she sank down on the chair beside the vanity table and covered her face with her hands. "And it's all I can do not to spend every minute of every day crying…" With that, she burst into tears and he watched her helplessly.

"Do you think that I don't want you?" he asked.

"You say that I won't let you touch me," she said, "but you haven't really tried to, have you?"

"I…" he stuttered, "I want to but…I don't want to hurt you and I'm afraid that if I try to hold you that…that you would push me away. I don't know what to do for the best, Rebecca."

"I don't want you to leave me even though I know you would be better off…" she sniffed.

"I could never leave you," he replied thickly.

"You could have any other woman you wanted," she continued. "A woman who could give you a living, breathing child. I told you that before we got married. Why didn't you listen to me then? Why put yourself through all this misery that I have caused you by being like…like this?"

"Because I love you!" he replied. "None of this is your fault, Rebecca. It's my fault and for that…for that you could always leave me."

"I can't…"

"I wouldn't blame you if you did. Perhaps you would be happier."

"No!" she half-screamed, lifting her head and looking at him through streaming eyes. I would be miserable, but if you left me it would be what I would deserve!"

"How can you say that? How can you say that you deserve that? Neither of us deserves that!" he shot back, his voice cracking with emotion. "I love you more than anything, child or no child!"

Rebecca looked at him, really looked at him, more than she had done over the last few weeks and saw that her husband, the man she loved, the father of her child, was hurting too. She had no right to horde all the pain. They had to share it and help each other with the guilt. She rose from the seat and hurried across the room towards him where he pulled her into his arms and they held each other for a long time. "It's not your fault…"she cried into his shoulder. "You couldn't help being sick."

"Oh my darling, my darling…" Preston pulled back and kissed her face, tasting the saltiness of her tears. "It's not your fault either and I could never think that about you, never. Nor could I ever want anyone else."

"I don't want to leave," she whispered.

"I would never want you to go," he replied, brushing away her tears. "You belong with me. You always have."

They kissed, more passionately this time, and slowly moved back towards the bed, sinking down on it, their mouths still locked together, while Preston slowly unfastened the bow detail at the front of her dress. "Preston…" she flinched slightly at his touch.

"Sssh," he reassured her, his mouth moving from hers, down her throat to bite and suckle gently at the juncture of her throat and collarbone. He heard her gasp slightly above him, her fingers gripping onto the back of his shirt. "Stand up," he said, meeting her confused gaze. She did as he asked and he pulled her to stand between his thighs as he slowly removed the rest of the dress' fittings until it fell to the floor at her feet. Then, reaching up, he let her slip fall from her shoulders until she stood naked in front of him. He took in the body that she seemed so wary of, the slight protruding of her stomach, the veins that stood out on her breasts and the faint trace of milk he could see hovering on her nipple. She made to turn away but he stopped her. "Why would you think I wouldn't want to see this?" he asked softly.

"Because it's a reminder of what we don't have," Rebecca replied shakily.

Preston pulled her down so that she sat astride him and kissed her again, his mouth exploring hers hungrily while his hands skimmed up her body and over her breasts, causing her to whimper against his mouth. Seemingly reluctantly, she pulled back, her face more alive than he had seen in weeks, yet still marred with worry. "You haven't changed as far as I'm concerned," he told her. "You are my wife. The woman I love more than any other. I still want you as badly now as I always have and the thought of any other man being privileged enough to have this, to have you, still creates an unquenchable jealousy in me."

Rebecca lifted one of his hands and pressed it against her cheek, feeling warmed and soothed by his touch in a way she had worried she never would. "It's too soon," she whispered. "Physically…"

"I know," he whispered back. "But whenever you're ready, I'll be here."