Chelynne (53 page)

Stella went again to Chelynne to tend her, urge her, but she was waved away for her efforts, excused.

In the days that followed, the earl of Bryant suffered more frustration than he had ever known. Harry Mondeloy had apparently disappeared from sight, for Chad could locate him nowhere. His previous lodgings had been abandoned and he was not seen with his usual group of young gallants.

In pursuing Lady Graystone he met with only confusion. She admitted to having visited his home and taken his wife abroad, but insisted it was all of an innocent nature, the premise social. She gave no impression of either guilt or fear. Chad could not imagine her current plotting, but he knew Gwen. It was bound to be trouble. She held him at bay with the promise that she would contact him if Mondeloy showed himself again.

Bratonshire had turned from an invisible affront to an all-out war between Bollering and Shayburn. It was peaking to a culmination with Shayburn’s time drawing to a close. And Chad was being called often to Whitehall for what was either interest or amusement from the king.

He was keeping his composure in the mounting stress, but he scarcely had time to take a meal and change his clothes. He simply needed to be everywhere at once.

Exhausted, Chad went to his study to go over his accounts. Hot black coffee was brought to him. The thought of rest did not give him temporary energy, for he knew it could be weeks, perhaps months before he could relax with his affairs in order. He didn’t even know what was happening in his own house. He was at the point where either it would all fail or he would get a grip on his dealings and pull everything off.

There was a knocking at his study door. Interruptions. More little troubles. He ground his teeth in frustration, but bade the intruder enter. Stella stood in the frame of the door, nervously waiting his indication that he could give her some attention. Finally he laid down his quill and looked at the serving woman in some vexation.

“It’s Her Ladyship, milord,” she said shakily.

Chad sighed and looked back at his work. “What does she need?” He thought of some errand, permission for an outing, a merchant’s slip for some article of apparel. He resented women’s trifles. He was too harried for nonsense. Thus piqued, he hardly heard Stella’s quiet plea.

“She’s ill, milord.”

He looked up. “Ill?”

“I can’t seem to help her, milord. She won’t let me near.”

“Does she need a physician?” His interest now was drawn from his work and he looked at Stella with concern. She saw the opportunity to speak her mind.

“I don’t know what ails her, sir. I’ve known her since her birth and I’ve never seen her so. It’s worsened since the day her uncle died and now she won’t take her meals at all. I know she doesn’t sleep. I look in on her through the night, milord, and most oft she’s up. She won’t let me dress her or brush her hair, nothing...”

Chad judged the old woman’s haggard face and knew this was no exaggeration. Though on in years, Stella usually had a vibrant, energetic appearance. Now the old face was lined from worry and lack of sleep.

“How long has this been going on?”

“The worst of it came in the last week, milord. It seemed the ague, but the sickness passed and the weakness is worse.”

Chad realized he couldn’t remember when he had last spoken to his wife. It was at least a week, probably more, since he had actually visited her, and that was briefly. “Fever? Flux?” He almost said green sickness and caught himself.

“Nothing such as that, milord.”

“Why was I not informed?”

“She...she wouldn’t have you troubled, sir. And you weren’t about the house often, sir.” Her voice broke from worry and from the fact that she lied. The truth was that Chelynne refused to let them bear the news to Chad. She insisted he would not care and threatened them with dire consequences for betrayal. “But we’ve had to carry her to her bed, milord. Too weak to walk, she was. I fear I’ve waited too long. She looks the death...”

He was up and walking to the study door as Stella finished. He sent Bestel at once for a doctor and then mounted the stairs to look in on Chelynne. It was hard to tell if it was anger or panic that drove him, but he moved with great speed. He cleared the room of servants and went straight to his wife. Those who did not know him well would not interpret that expression sealed in stone as upset. But then he saw her and the hard features melted into something akin to despair.

Blankets were tucked around her but he couldn’t believe the face that stared at him. She was thin and pale, her hair matted and dull and her eyes hollowed and tired. The transformation was so complete that she resembled an aging dame more than the bright and lovely young woman he remembered. She seemed to be slipping into unhurried death. He breathed her name.

“Yes, Chad?” she returned softly.

“Is there pain? Tell me where?”

“There is no pain,” she answered, shaking her head slightly. “I’m just very tired.”

“What is it? What has made you so ill?” He sat now on the edge of her bed and took her small, weak hand into his.

“It’s nothing. It will pass.” She tried to smile but he could not recognize the effort. She was a different person.

“I’ve sent for a doctor, Chelynne. You look worse than I expected.”

“You’ve been a long time away, my lord. Is business bad?”

He shook his head dumbly. Where had he been to so badly neglect his own household? Nothing else seemed important any longer. He could not see beyond those glassy brown eyes.

“Don’t worry with business, love. Tell me what I can do to make you more comfortable.”

There was a shallow sound from her that was almost a laugh. “But I’ve always wondered about your business. It was only that you wouldn’t share it with me. You’ve shared very little with me...”

“Chelynne, rest now. Don’t talk.”

“I fear I may never get the chance to talk to you again. Talk to me now, won’t you?”

He stared at her with disbelieving eyes. He couldn’t be sure whether she was serious or delirious from her illness.

“What would you like to know?”

“What you do at the wharves. All those ships...would you love to be riding them again, rather than this? Would you?”

Chad didn’t really want to answer her. It seemed so ridiculous to be making idle conversation when she was this ill. But those glassy eyes were turned on him, begging for attention, and he was without choice. He sighed.

“I confess, I love sailing, but it was done out of necessity and mine is much the merchant’s job now. I first took that profession when I was in dire need of money. I intended never to live in England again, but that was not left to me, either. There is scarcely a place on this earth where I would not be responsible to the crown and it might as well be home. I am neither a traitor nor a coward.”

“And fighting?”

“For lack of a choice. For money and influence, that is all. I love it little.”

“For loyalty, I thought.”

“Yes, for that. But I was not allowed to choose my loyalties. I was born to them.”

Her eyes were surprised, but not very much emotion showed. She was too tired and sick for much emotion. “I thought you loved England first. Your king, your title, your lands.”

“No, Chelynne. No. But there are things in England I love, that I cannot turn away from. I am bound to it, therefore I find things in it to love and fight for.”

“Have you ever been in love, Chad?”

“Yes,” he said simply. Why did she ask this now?

“Did it feel wonderful?”

He looked at her pityingly, reaching out to touch her face. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever known, and sweet to be near. Had she really never tasted love, never flown after it, held it in her heart and felt the intensity of it? He had failed at that, too? In bringing it to her? And she clung to him for support and care. He was totally ashamed.

“No, Chelynne, it was most painful. I loved helplessly and didn’t know the way to deal with it. I was too young. I am not young now.”

“They say love is for the young.”

“That’s not entirely so, Chelynne,” he said tenderly. “I’m no longer a lad but I think I could love again quite easily. And do so more successfully.”

“I would think, having once found it painful you would wish to avoid it again.”

How reasonable, he thought. And that was exactly what he had done. He had feared his own capacity to feel. “It’s part of growing up, darling. Accepting those things when they come.”

“Can one live in this world without it, I wonder.”

He looked at the result of his ardent indifference. There she lay, drifting off into some unreachable world. His answer was heartfelt. “No, I think not, darling.”

“And what then keeps you alive?” she asked with a bitter voice. He didn’t answer her. “Merchanting? Loyalties you were born to? What?”

“Hate,” he answered. “And vengeance.”

“Who would you hate so much?” she sighed wearily.

“Now? Only myself, Chelynne.” He paused and considered the puzzlement that was his life. “And until now...I have been the object of my own revenge.” As he said it he at once realized the truth to it.

She sighed and closed her eyes. “Chelynne,” he beckoned softly. She did not respond. “Chelynne,” he said, grabbing her in sudden fear. She opened her eyes and stared at him. She looked so tired, so old. “Do you feel love?”

She stared at him blankly for a long moment. Finally she answered in a voice that didn’t sound like her own, a voice that was soured and bitter. “I feel nothing.”

Chad, the businessman who never felt confusion overpowering, the warrior who never feared his aggressor, who had not felt the shudder of terror since that first day of battle, was more afraid now than he had been in his life. He was afraid of what his own hand had done. He wanted to cut out his heart and give it to her, mend her and make it right.

She began a gentle sobbing, weak and pitiful. He lifted her a bit and held her firmly against his chest as if he would bleed his own strength into her. He offered his love now and she was too helpless to accept it. Too late, he thought painfully. Always too late.

When the physician arrived Chad was sent from the room.

He stood for a long while just outside the door, but the servants coming and going could tell him nothing. He gave a few commands to carry in. “Do not let him cut her,” he ordered. “She must not be purged,” he commanded. “She hasn’t eaten in days, she must not be bled.” Finally he left to go to his study out of complete frustration. He ordered that either he be called to the sickroom or the doctor sent to his study whenever there was news.

Chad poured a glass of sack, swirling the liquid in the glass. Before him he saw the sweet, seductive smile and bright eyes. There was a vision of her lifting her nose to Shayburn, besting him with wit and defiance of his own loathesome game. Then he saw her as he remembered her best and most beautifully, floating atop the mare’s back and riding joyfully, the freedom of her spirit a grand sight to behold.

He closed his eyes. Behind the lids there was a light in the darkness. It was a lace-garbed beauty bent to the task of carefully sewing a gaping wound on his upper arm, urging him to take more brandy for the pain. He couldn’t free himself of her memory. Always she was near, patiently waiting. He had been able to force her out of his thoughts at will, but no more.

“My God,” he thought stupidly. “I do love her!” Beyond her beauty, beyond her simple devotion, beyond the desire. He shook his head in confusion. He knew that he wanted her. He never pretended that she wasn’t every measure of a man’s desire, what he would have chosen himself in a wife. All the qualities she possessed were important in the very practical decision. But love? Love was the foolish fopping way he felt when he pursued Anne. Love was the ache he had for his Anne that was never properly sated, never subdued with passion spent. Love was the pain he felt when he lost her. Love was once. He couldn’t credit it. It was taking a stranger, different form from what he had previously known and acknowledged.

Fool! It echoed in his ears. He couldn’t believe his own stupidity. Anne was gone! Gone, regardless of his pride, his insistence that her memory not be scarred or defiled. She was his wife, mother to his son and now dead. Never to be brought back. Had he learned nothing from his failure to secure love? He had abused Chelynne for a principle that was hardly worth her life. In his attempt to bring a part of his dead wife to life, his new wife was bent to suffering. He had kept himself from her resolutely and cruelly. His best friend, the only man he could trust completely, had warned him that Chelynne’s pain was real and intense, but he would not hear it. What time would it have cost his labors to deliver some kindness? To show some tenderness? Small wonder she hated him now.

He began to pray in earnest to a God he had long ago decided was useless to him. He begged, like any doomed man, for another chance, pleaded for her life, promised to right the wrong. No matter what, he swore. No matter how it all would end.

Chad knew remorse so strong, a sense of failure through his own mismanagement that was so complete, that it exhausted his spirit and he laid his head in his arms, weak with fear.

The physician tending the countess was from the palace, one of the best in London. He was learned and skilled, but when he came to Chad he was shaking his head in bemusement. He attempted a report but finding the words did not come easy, and facing the impatient earl made the topic more difficult to broach. Chad offered a glass of sack and urged the man on.