A Baron for Becky (26 page)

“Aldridge,”
said Her Grace, “please do not embarrass me, my love. Lord Overton
will explain all to us shortly. Now, give Cousin Agatha your hand,
dear. Lord Overton.” She held out her own hand for Hugh to escort
her up the steps, where the butler was standing with his mouth
open.

“Will you come
into the parlour to warm by the fire?” Hugh asked. He settled her
in a chair, took the cape she handed him, and went to find out what
had happened to Aldridge and the cousin.

The butler was
still hovering in the hall. Hugh gave him a few terse, low-voiced
instructions about chambers and refreshments. When Becky had proved
to be so good at making his house a marvellously comfortable place
to live, he had let his elderly housekeeper retire. He could do
with her now. Even more, he could do with his wife back, and that
was the truth.

Aldridge was
outside on the steps, sitting on his folded greatcoat, talking to
the girls while the cousin hovered anxiously.

“May I invite
you in, ma’am?” Hugh asked her, but was interrupted by Sarah, who
shouted, “Papa, Uncle Lord Aldridge says Mama and I may go with him
if she wants, and I won’t, Papa. I can stay, Papa! Say I can stay?
You said I could stay with my sisters forever and ever, and Mama
too.” And she turned on Aldridge, fierce as a tiger cub, and
shouted at him, stamping her foot. “You go away. You just go away,
nasty, old Aldridge. Mama is sick, but when she is better, we shall
be all happy again, like we were before. You just go away.”

Hugh reached
her as she burst into tears, hissing at Aldridge as he passed, “I
should break your neck.” Then he was occupied with soothing all of
the little girls, since the other three were weeping in sympathy,
and the governess was doing nothing, torn between correcting her
charge’s manners and attacking the invading home-breaker on her own
account.

“No need for
tears, Sarah, I invited Lord Aldridge here, because he may be able
to help make Mama well. You do not need to worry, girls. No one is
going anywhere, unless they choose.”

Sarah glared at
her former favourite. “Then why did he say he had come to take Mama
and me away?”

Hugh thought
manners should make an appearance again, now that the tears were
being blotted up. “You say ‘His Lordship’ or ‘Lord Aldridge,’ not
‘he.’ Why did Lord Aldridge say such a foolish thing? Because he
did not precisely understand the situation. He will meet with Mama,
and then I will come and tell you all about it.” Somehow, it had
not occurred to him that shocking Becky out of her lethargy might
lose him Sarah, as well as Becky and Belle. How would he live
without them?

It was a
struggle, but he smiled. “Now then, the snow is soaking through my
trousers, and no one is going anywhere tonight, except inside to
the warmth.” He stood, lifting Sarah with him and standing her on
her feet. Then he chivvied them all inside, kissing each girl,
including little Portia, as they passed him on their way to the
back stairs.

He opened the
door to the parlour, ushered Cousin Agatha through, and went in
behind her, followed by Aldridge.

On the other
side of the room, the Duchess of Haverford had opened the double
doors into the study, and was talking to Becky.

In the past
three days, he had rehearsed Becky’s possible reaction a thousand
times. It was both his nightmare and his dream that she would take
one look at Aldridge and come back to herself. “Aldridge,” he
imagined her saying, “I knew you would come for me.”

When he wasn’t
torturing himself with those visions, he accepted there might be no
reaction at all, that the deep blanket through which she viewed the
world would continue. Anything would be better than that.

He could never
have predicted what happened: all the blood draining from the
already pale cheeks; the haunted distant eyes focusing in horror;
the tortured scream. “No-o-o!”

Before anyone
could react, Becky was up, hurling herself across the room and
through the doors with a careless disregard for furniture and the
duchess, whom she brushed past as if she were not there.

Aldridge
clearly thought she was coming for him, because he tried to
shoulder Hugh to one side, but Becky dodged his reaching hands and
flung herself at Hugh’s feet, clinging to his knees as if losing
grip would mean a fall into oblivion, repeating, “No. No. No. Oh,
Hugh, please, don’t make me go back. I know I failed. I’m so sorry,
Hugh. I tried. I really tried. Let me stay. Don’t send me away.
Please, Hugh.”

Aldridge, who
had had the presence of mind to close the door on the startled eyes
of the servants, now hissed in his turn, “I should break your neck,
Overton.”

“If you will
take my recommendation, Aldridge, you will not make yourself
ridiculous,” said Her Grace. “Overton, you and Lady Overton might
be more comfortable in the study, with the door shut.”

Hugh,
preoccupied with trying to comfort his wife and lift her from the
death grip on his knees, was barely aware of anyone else in the
room.

“Stay, Becky. I
want you to stay, my love. You haven’t failed; you’ve given me a
beautiful daughter. So beautiful, but never as beautiful as her
mother. Not to me, my love. Never to me. I want to see you, every
day of my life, Becky. Treasure of my heart. My love. My wife.
Stay, Becky. Please stay.”

Unable to raise
her, he was kneeling with her, brushing the hair off her wet
cheeks, trying to kiss them dry as he wet them again with his own
tears.

“But...
Aldridge?” she asked.

“Forever and
ever, Becky. You promised. We promised. To have and to hold, from
this day forward...”

“Till death...”
Becky whispered. She looked at him then, met his eyes deliberately
for the first time since Belle was born. And her eyes were clear,
focused on him. She recognised him. She yearned for him.

“I love you,
Becky. I love you so much.”

Becky went very
still, her eyes clinging to him as her hands went limp. And then,
with a sigh, she collapsed into his arms, snuggling under his chin
as she had before That Day.

“Thank you,
God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God.” It was quiet, almost under
his breath, but in his heart he was singing great, rolling paeans
of glory. He lifted her; she was so light, so frail that it broke
his heart anew, but then she shifted to put her arms around his
neck and the joy returned.

The duchess’s
party was gone. He vaguely remembered her herding her companion and
her son out of the room some time ago. He would need to thank her.
Later. For now, his wife needed him. His wife. His Becky.

Hugh fed Becky
her dinner, only a few mouthfuls, but more than she’d eaten in
weeks. He had the maid cut it, so he could use just his fork, since
she clung to his hand as if without that anchor, she would drift
back into the darkness. He had left instructions for Aldridge and
the duchess to be given his apologies if he didn’t come down in
time, afraid to leave her, but she surprised him again.

“Hugh, you
should go and have dinner with Her Grace and... Will you tell them
I am sorry? I don’t think... should I come down? Will the duchess
think me rude?”

He reassured
her. She had been ill. She should rest. She could meet the guests
tomorrow. He instructed the maid to call if he was needed, and
crossed to the door, then hurried back to her bed for another
clinging kiss. “I love you, Becky,” he said again.

He was a little
early for the meal, but he needed to go via the nursery to reassure
the girls. He ran up the stairs two at a time, relief making his
legs light.

He could be
hopeful, but shouldn’t expect the current rally to last, the
Duchess of Haverford instructed him. She had sent her son to play
cards with her companion, and demanded that Hugh escort her into
his study, where she asked him incisive questions about Becky’s
illness and her treatment.

“The doctor
said her humours were out of balance, and he bled her, but...”

“Stupid,” Her
Grace said. “Very stupid. She had just had a baby and lost who
knows how much blood, and the man bled her?”

“He bled her
for the fever, too,” Hugh admitted. “But the second time, she was
so weak. I was afraid she was dying. I wouldn’t let him do it
again.”

“Good.” The
duchess nodded. “You have some sense, then. I had my doubts. Very
well, Overton. You shall place yourself in my hands, and I shall
tell you what you must do.”

“I will not put
her away,” Hugh said, firmly. “Even if her mind is weak...”

“Put her away?
Why would you put her away? She will recover fully, and I will
help. I have seen this before, Overton. Women, after giving birth
to a child, often suffer a disorder of the humours. It passes. Your
wife has had a worse time of it than many, perhaps because she also
had childbed fever. I sometimes think that we gentry are more prone
than cottagers, because others will do our tasks if we turn our
faces to the wall.

“Several of my
goddaughters have had this melancholy, and I, myself, after the
birth of my dear Jonathan. Also, Overton, I think there has been
some cause for estrangement between you. You will tell me whether I
am right, for I do not suggest it to be a busybody, but because you
need to mend it for your wife’s sake. A misunderstanding, of
course, because she cannot bear to be parted from you. And you, it
seems, love her dearly, about which I am delighted, since I hold
myself in some sort responsible for the marriage.

“Whatever the
cause, she has roused now, and we shall keep her with us, but be
prepared to work hard and be patient.”

And so they
began a strict regimen designed to build up Becky’s body. “Her mind
will heal itself, Overton,” the duchess lectured, “but she needs
good food, exercise, and sleep. And you must reassure her often.
You will do that, will you not?”

Her Grace
descended to the kitchen, and her visit inspired the cook to new
heights in preparing small, tasty meals for a flagging appetite.
Becky was served something tempting to eat every couple of hours.
Hugh took her walking in the snow when the sun shone, and up and
down the stairs and the halls when the weather closed in. And, on
the advice of the duchess, he moved back into their bedchamber.

“She thinks you
have moved out because you no longer want her,” Her Grace said
bluntly. “And if you continue to treat her like a plaster saint,
Overton, you are a great fool. She is a woman, and if her needs are
blunted at the moment by her sadness, that will not last.”

So, Hugh slept
spoon-fashion against his wife, but he continued wearing a
nightshirt and made no attempt to make love to her.

Aldridge took
over the work of the estate and the factories Hugh owned, so Hugh
could spend most of his time with Becky, and Aldridge and Sarah
reached an understanding to restore him to ‘Uncle’ status, a
privilege Sarah’s sisters also deigned to confer.

These
activities kept him mostly away from Becky, and he treated her with
cautious courtesy when they could not avoid being in the same room,
as if she might explode if he ventured any familiarity. “I do not
understand, Overton,” he said once. “Was it so bad, being with
me?”

Hugh could
afford to be generous. “Not so bad. She said you were kind,
Aldridge, and she will always be grateful.”

Aldridge shook
his head as if emerging from water, his mouth twisted in disgust.
“Grateful! I did not want her to be grateful!” He never mentioned
it again, but his puzzled gaze followed Becky when she was not
watching.

Twice a day,
Hugh and Her Grace took Becky to spend time with the children, and
once a day Mrs Goodfellow brought them to her. And not just to be
in the same room. “She needs to do things with them,” the duchess
insisted. “Read them a story, teach them a sewing stitch, or help
them on the pianoforte.”