Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3) (33 page)

T
he only thing that mattered was reaching Tenny.  

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Averill was mixing her second try at Lady Denise Hampton’s dress color when the first tremor started. She tried to ignore it.
The baby can’t come now,
she thought
. I’ve got two more sittings this afternoon
.

Lady Hampton wasn’t a spectacular beauty
– none of Hortense’s friends were. Averill instinctively knew Hortense wouldn’t welcome the competition. But, Lady Hampton had a sense of elegance that Averill longed to capture. Her blonde hair was liberally frosted with white, and it made a stunning contrast to the immense ruby tiara she wore.

Hortense
had sounded desperate when Lady Hampton finally agreed to be painted, and Averill caught the woman eyeing her occasionally as she began. She was probably wondering why Lady Limley would sponsor a woman artist who was due to have a baby at any moment. To make matters worse, the artist strongly resembled Lady Limley. Lady Hampton probably thought Averill was a poor relation. Averill wondered why people were so obtuse. Hortense hadn’t been able to gain her any clients at all until she was able to show Lady Hampton’s half-finished portrait at one of her house parties. Then Averill’s sittings had multiplied rapidly.

But
none were for the Earl of Tennison.

Averill suffered through another ache, holding her brush tautly above the canvas until it passed
. She refused to accept more, as she’d told Hortense. She had to paint the earl. She dreamed of ways to approach Tenny. Now that she had the lineage, she wouldn’t have to leave him, ever again. Harvey couldn’t even fault her ancestry.

Another pain
came, and Averill breathed shallowly through it. As soon as the child was old enough, she’d find Tenny. The earl would know how to go about it. All she had to do was get inside Tennison Hall. And she would. She just knew it! Her heart quickened at the thought. She must be as mercurial as her mother. Tenny felt so close some days, she could swear she could hear him. Yet, other times, deep into the night...

She wouldn’t think of it
.

“Forgive me, Lady Hampton.”  Averill set down her palette and tried to stand
. “I...I’m afraid....”  Pain centered in the small of her back and radiated outward, making her breath catch. She closed her eyes. Clenched her teeth. She barely heard the woman’s murmur as she left.

Tenny!

For a moment his image came, dulling the agony, but it faded with the passing of that pain. Averill dropped her brush into the cleaner. She would finish later. Everything could happen later. A noise came from out in the hall. She saw then that the Lady Hampton had left the door open when she left. Averill regarded the doorway for long moments as another spasm came, lancing across her with the power of a blow while she waited. Panted. Endured.

“Agnes?” 

Averill needed to speak louder. Agnes was hard of hearing. Old. But all she had for help. Hortense had been very specific. She’d rented Averill a home with this lovely studio. Averill’s house had two stories. The upper floor had a large room with enormous windows. On sunlit days, it was filled with light. Averill had also been given a part-time maid named Agnes. Hortense agreed to pay Agnes’ salary to clean, cook and do errands, but no more. Hortense had complained that Averill was draining her pockets to ask for more.

Averill closed her eyes
through the entirety of the next pain, leaning into the doorframe for support. She was alone. Again. Still. She wondered if she’d be able to give birth by herself. The pain passed. Averill shook her head at her query. She had no choice. She had to do it. She tried to tell herself she wouldn’t be the first. The sisters spoke of women who had managed childbirth by themselves. Women, who sometimes left their babies at the orphanage. Why…if she concentrated, she could probably name them. No. Her mind wouldn’t work. Every effort seemed to send more focus to the pain that kept coming back, each time with greater strength and length.

“Ag
…nes!” 

Where
was the woman? And why wasn’t she around when Averill most needed her?

“Agnes, help
…me!”

Averill
lurched out into the hall. Her vision swam at the distance to the stairs, and then the first floor. It reminded her of Istanbul. And the fire. She gasped as the next pain sent her to her knees. That’s when she swiped angrily at the tears. Tears were for the weak. The vulnerable. The faint-of-heart. Not her.

So what i
f no one heard her? What was it to her if no one helped? Why should she care that no one came? No one ever did.

She heard voices on the landing at the foot of the stairs
. Averill struggled to lift her head, roll somehow to her knees, gain her feet. The urge to bear down and push was strong, but she was frightened.

She was so frightened.

“Where’s the patient?” Averill heard a man’s voice rising up the stairwell. “Out of my way! Lady Hampton said there was a woman giving birth here.”

Lady Hampton sent someone to help?

Averill heard footsteps through the reddish haze of pain, and then the scene shifted. Warped. Changed.

She was being whipped. The soldier who’d toppled from his horse was hurting her so badly, she might die. But that would never happen. Captain Tennison would save her. He promised he would.

“You’re doing a fine job, young woman.”

A
verill opened her eyes as an older man’s face came into view. He was on his knees. She was on the floor. In the hall.
Why am I in the hall?
She wondered it a moment before silent screams stretched her mouth. Her back spiked with pain. Her limbs contorted.

She saw Sen-Bib next. Right in front of her. He had work for her. His hands held paintbrushes, all dipped in blood-red hues that dripped. The vermilion was like Nefertiti’s vase, the crimson resembling a sunset. And then black came through her vision, covering over all of it.

“Congratulations, my dear. You have a son. He’s very healthy. Very large. And very angry!”

The older man’s voice came again
. He wasn’t torturing her anymore. But she didn’t trust him. Averill shoved outward and then curled into a ball. She wanted a little peace, someplace where no one would hurt her. She wanted the place where the knight in her secret world came from. That’s what she wanted.

Screams filled the blackness
closing in about her. She felt fists pounding on her face and body.

“Save me
! Tenny!”

Averill
cried it silently. Curled tighter into a ball, and the screams finally faded.

“You have to feed him, Mum. There’s nothing I can do.”

“What?”  Averill lifted her head from the pillows, trying to shake the fog from her mind.

“Your son. You can’t keep sending him away.”

Averill’s eyes widened
.
I sent him away? That’s not possible. Only Hortense was capable of that.

“I’m sorry, Agnes.”

“Don’t apologize to me. Here. Feed the boy.”

Agnes shoved the bundle into her arms the moment
Averill sat. He whimpered, and Averill pouted with him while her eyes filled with tears. He looked worn out.

“Oh, you darling
. You little doll. My precious.”

His eyes filled with tears at the sound of her voice
. Averill cried along with him.
I sent away my son? That’s not possible! He’s as precious to me as Tenny
.

He was hungry, too
. Averill stroked the fine, black hair on his head as he suckled, and felt her heart flinch. And then swell. She wasn’t alone anymore. No matter what happened, she had her son. His weight felt strange and yet perfect in her arms.

Averill kissed his tiny hand
. Love swelled in her, filling her with such heat, she tossed back the covers. She wondered anew how Hortense could’ve sent away her own daughter. Hadn’t Averill been as precious to Hortense as Andrew was?

~ ~ ~

“I have done it!”

Andrew started up from Averill’s breast as Hortense rushed into the studio unannounced
. Averill comforted him back and wondered why Hortense would stoop to visiting her. She hadn’t even come to Andrew’s christening. Averill chided herself. She hadn’t really expected Hortense to attend.

Averill
smiled down at her son. His skin was a beautiful color with a hint of Mediterranean olive. His eyes had been dark blue, but appeared to be changing to the same shade of brown his father claimed. He had lots of black hair. He was beautiful. Healthy. Perfect. And yet, Hortense would never claim him. She wasn’t about to admit to being a grandmother – not at age twenty-nine.

“Of course, you’ll have to wait until your son’s old enough to travel, but the
earl has finally consented.”

“Isn’t he lovely?”  Averill lifted the baby
to her shoulder and patted his back.

Hortense stared
. “Oh! You meant the baby? For a moment I thought you were referring to the earl.”  She shuddered visibly. “I detest children. They’re a nuisance – loud, annoying, always wanting attention...”

Attention that might be diverted from you?
Averill wondered.

“Aren’t you listening?” Hortense asked
. “I received the earl of Tennison’s permission to submit my artist for consideration for a portrait. Can you believe he’s actually offering permission?”

Despite the warmth she felt from Andrew, Averill shivered
. Tenny’s uncle sounded more horrid than ever.

“It wasn’t easy
. He only agreed after my husband, Charles, convinced him a portrait would be an excellent gift for Queen Victoria. They’re second cousins, you know.”

Averill’s eyes widened
. The earl of Tennison was second cousin to the new queen?

“Anyway, the
Tennisons immediately started contacting all the premier painters. You aren’t that well-known, yet. Oh! I barely escaped without giving myself away. Avery’s name even came up. The horror!” 

She squealed and put her hands to her cheeks.
Averill looked closely at her mother, seeing the impishness that must’ve appealed to her father. She felt like she was watching a stage play.

“I’m sure I convinced
everyone that Avery Ben-Masiz must be dead. He hasn’t been heard from in a long time.”

“Well, he’s very old,” Averill offered, “and
he can’t paint anymore.”

“Thank goodness!” 

Hortense clapped her gloved hands together. It must have been her childish streak that struck Avery. When Hortense was animated, Averill could see the draw. Her enthusiasm was infectious.

“But he wouldn’t condescend to visit a studio
. Oh, my! Never! The earl must have all applicants submit a sample to Tennison Hall. I’ve never been invited there before…and I’ve so longed to see it.”

Hortense’s desire was so transparent
. What did Averill care? Nothing mattered except reaching Tenny.

“You don’t suppose...”   Hortense glanced at Averill.

“Would you like to accompany me? “ Averill asked.

“How could you think of something so wondrous?”  Hortense
was dancing about, much like she had that first morning. “Of course we’ll have to wait until Andrew – that
is
his name, isn’t it?” 

Averill nodded
. There was no point in taking offense. Hortense’s grandmotherly instincts appeared to be worse than her motherly ones.

“Whatever prompted that name
? Do you have a fixation with names beginning with an A or something? It must be ingrained. It was Avery who wanted you named Averill.
I
wasn’t even consulted.”

Averill hadn’t know
n that. It warmed her heart that Avery had named her. It wasn’t much, but it comforted her. Someone had wanted her enough to name her.

“Can
the baby travel in, say, three weeks? Do you think so? Please say yes! Oh, do! Please?”

Averill
shook her head. She felt like the parent. “You go too fast, Hortense. I’ll need more time. I don’t have a decent sampling prepared.”

“Lady Hampton’s portrait is almost done, and there’s
my husband, Charles. You painted him so dashing.”

“
It’s not enough. I need at least one more. You.”  Averill held her breath.

“
Me? Oh…I don’t think so. You’ll paint me horrid and wicked. I’ve seen that look in your eyes.”

Averill regarded her for a bit
. When they first met, she would’ve done just that. Now, she wasn’t so certain. “Well. You’ll have to take that chance, if you want to go. That’s my condition. You sit for a portrait.”  And she turned back to Andrew.

“Oh
! Very well! You always win. You are so like your father…”