Dark Torment (42 page)

Her other reason for wanting Dominic to remain in the house was
very much her secret. She hoped to get him accustomed to her family, and her
family accustomed to him, so that when they married they might stay on Lowella.
The thought of leaving—her father more than the land itself, probably
never to return—brought an ache to her heart. But Dominic was determined
to return to Ireland, which he loved more fiercely than she loved Lowella. And
she was prepared to go with Dominic to the ends of the earth if necessary. She
only wished it would not be necessary.

About a week after Dominic had come to stay in the house, Sarah
woke with a queasiness in her stomach that had been plaguing her for several
days. She lay with her head resting back against the pillow, idly contemplating
the scene outside her window, and wishing very much that she and Dominic were
already married so that she could wake up in his arms. She hated leaving him
every night, hated sneaking about the house like a thief. But it would not be
for much longer. Sarah meant to find a way to break the news to her father
before another day had passed. And if her stomach did another peculiar
flip-flop at the mere idea, then that was just too bad. It had to be done; she
had put it off long enough.

Her stomach ailment had not caused her much concern at first. But
this was the third morning in a row that she had lifted her head from the
pillow only to be overwhelmed with nausea, and she was beginning to wonder if
perhaps her head injury, which she had nearly forgotten, had been more serious
than she had realized. She was rarely ill. Her constant, hearty good health was
another of those unfeminine traits that Lydia was always making snide remarks
about. But fortunately this ailment—whatever it was—did not seem
particularly severe. If she stayed abed for an extra quarter-hour, it passed
and she felt fine for the rest of the day.

The more Sarah thought about that, the more peculiar it seemed.
And the more alarming. She had heard of such symptoms from the women in their
social circle. Whenever they got together, the talk was always of courtships,
weddings, and babies. Lizzie Warren, who had been three months’ gone at
the time of Liza’s birthday ball, had gone into her various physical
miseries in excrutiatingly boring detail. Sarah had barely listened. Now she
regretted it—because a dreadful suspicion was beginning to take
possession of her. She was not ignorant; she knew precisely how babies were
made. One could not live on a sheep station, watching life and death and birth
among the animal and human populations, without acquiring comprehensive
knowledge on the subject. But somehow she had never thought to connect what she
and Dominic did together with babies. . . . Sarah thought back to when she had
last been visited by her monthly time. It had been months ago, shortly before
Liza’s ball. . . . She shut her eyes in instinctive denial, then slowly
opened them as she forced herself to face facts: she was with child.

The knowledge was horrifying. If Dominic and she had already been
wed, it would have made her feel better, but it would not have eliminated all
the difficulties that she now confronted. As she had told herself once before,
when she had instinctively turned down Dominic’s proposal, this child
that was even now living in her womb would not be welcome among the friends and
neighbors that she had known from childhood. Her own family—her
father—might even disown it. The more she thought about it, the more she
realized that he probably would. Because the child would also be the offspring
of a convict. It would be a child of tainted blood. . . . The only worse stigma
was to be oneself a convict. Her child would be scorned by everyone who was
anyone. He would have to earn his living in some menial way; or, if it was a
girl, she would be forced to marry either a convict or a man with the same
tainted blood as herself. No boy from a decent family would have her.

Sarah felt sick, and not just at her stomach. What had she done?
It was one thing to choose, deliberately, to forsake the society, friends, and
family that were her own birthright. It was another thing to bring into the
world an innocent child who could never, no matter how he or she tried, be
accepted. The thought made Sarah furious, and her anger made her feel better.
She was surprised that she already felt so fiercely protective of this fruit of
her womb. . . . Somehow, she would see to it that her child was not
stigmatized. There had to be a solution, if only she could find it.

Sarah could lie abed no longer. Agitated by her thoughts, and by
the realization that she—she, spinster Sarah!—would in a few months
be the mother of a child, she had to be up and doing. For now, she decided as
she dressed, she would keep her secret to herself. She would not even tell
Dominic until she had decided what was best to be done. Undoubtedly he would be
as appalled as herself; just as undoubtedly he would try to take charge of the
situation, and Sarah was not yet settled enough in her own mind to allow
herself to be taken charge of.

The dress she chose was of amber muslin, a fine, floaty material
that moved easily about her legs as she descended the stairs. It was trimmed
with satin ribbons in a dull gold color that brightened her hair and brought
out the color of her eyes. Beneath it she wore her plain underthings right down
to her practical cotton stockings. She still could not feel at ease wearing
filmy, feminine frivolities where no one could see. Then Dominic’s darkly
handsome face appeared in her mind’s eye. Perhaps she would have to give
feminine underwear a chance, too, when her body had returned to its normal
shape after the baby was born.

As Sarah busied herself about the house, directing the maids on a
cleaning spree of the sort that usually occurred only once a year, she thought
of little but the changes that were in store for her body—and her life.
Unbelievable to think that in just a few months she would be a wife and mother.
How her life had changed—would change! And all because of a devilishly
handsome Irish convict who had come into her life by merest chance and stayed
to utterly consume it. Sarah shook her head, marveling at the vagaries of fate.
The miraculous had occurred: she had fallen in love, and was expecting her
lover’s baby.

“Miss Sarah, it’s almost dinnertime.”
Mary’s voice brought Sarah out of her rapt contemplation. She looked at
the maids, both of whom were drooping with weariness, then out the window of
the front parlor which had just been thoroughly cleaned. Through the sparkling
glass she saw that the sun was low, sending long feelers of bright pink and
orange shooting across the darkening sky. It was indeed almost time for dinner.
The men would soon be returning to the house, and Mrs. Abbott would have ready
Dominic’s tray, which Sarah would carry up to him and remain to share.

“You girls go on and wash up. I’ll just finish
here.” Sarah sent the maids on their way with a smile and a wave of the
feather duster she held. When they were gone, she continued to wield the duster
over the collection of glass ornaments on the mantel. Looking down at the
grate, black and cold now, she was reminded that it would soon be winter. By
the time the first snow fell, she would be Mrs. Dominic Gallagher, and her
stomach would be big with child.

“Miss Sarah!” The resonant male voice made her jump.
Turning with a faint frown on her face at having been jolted from her thoughts,
she saw that Percival had entered the room and stood, dusty hat in hand,
smiling at her. If he was home, then her father must be, too.

“Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Percival,” Sarah replied
vaguely, as she set down the feather duster and reached up to untie the scarf
that had protected her hair. This was not the first time she had seen Percival
since learning of what he had nearly succeeded in doing to Dominic. But, for
her father’s sake, she had swallowed her animosity and been, if not
cordial, at least civil. She had to force herself not to remember the healing
weals on Dominic’s back. . . . Percival watched her movements with
deepening interest, though Sarah was barely conscious of the expression in his
eyes. “Please excuse me. I must wash my hands and face before dinner.
I’m afraid I forgot the time.” She moved toward him as she spoke,
intending to go straight up to her bedroom.

“Sarah, wait.” He stopped her with his hand on her
arm. Sarah stared down at that stubby hand with some surprise as it rested on
her bare skin, and tried to shake it off. He released her at once, but still
stood in front of her, blocking her path.

Sarah’s eyes moved to his ruddy face. She gave him a
darkening frown. “What is it you want of me, Mr. Percival? I’ve
already told you that I’m late.” Her tone was cool.

“Sarah . . .” Her face tightened at the familiar
address, which she had often forbidden to him, but she decided for the sake of
family harmony not to make an issue out of it. He continued, his voice
thickening, “I haven’t told you—you’re looking very
good lately. Very pretty.”

“Why, thank you.” Sarah smiled, relaxing a little.
Compliments were still so new to her that she considered every one a delightful
present. Percival smiled back at her, which did not improve his coarse
features. His eyes were a darker hazel than usual as they ran over her. Sarah
shifted impatiently, eager to be on her way. Dominic would be growing hungry. .
. .

Percival cleared his throat. “Sarah,” he began in a
low, intimate tone. “I just wanted to assure you that your infatuation
with that convict makes no difference to things between us. I know he’s
kissed you, maybe done even more, and I just wanted to tell you that I
won’t hold it against you. I won’t be constantly throwing your
indiscretion in your face when you’re my wife, I promise you.”

“Why, that’s very generous of you, Mr.
Percival.” Despite herself, Sarah had to laugh at the absurdity of it.
“But, as I’ve told you before—many times before—I have
not the slightest intention of becoming your wife. Ever.”

Percival stiffened. His eyes narrowed, darkened still further. His
hand came back up to grasp her arm. Sarah tried to shake him off again, but
this time he refused to release her.

“I know what it is, it’s that convict,” he
gritted. “But there’s no future for you with him, no matter how
much you might be enjoying his bed.
I
can marry you, give you
children. You’ll be glad to settle for that in the end.”

“I don’t have to settle for anything,” Sarah
replied icily. Then she hesitated. But she had to break the news of her wedding
plans soon—in fact, immediately, in light of recent
developments—and who better to begin with than this man whom for years
she had been longing to take down a peg or two? She smiled in anticipation,
“You see, I’m going to have just exactly what I’ve always
wanted. I’m going to marry Dominic.”

Percival looked stunned. Shock momentarily silenced him. Then
angry color began to mount in his face. Sarah was tugging at her arm, trying to
wrench free of him, but his fingers tightened so fiercely that she gave an
involuntary gasp.

“You’d choose that
convict
—over
me?” he sounded as if he would choke. The words were fierce, his voice
guttural. “You’d marry him—a convict—over me? Oh no you
won’t! I’ve been too gentle with you, you haughty little bitch, but
I see my mistake now. That prissy air of yours was always an act, wasn’t
it? The truth is, as that convict found out, you like men. Well, I’m more
man than he is! As you’re going to find out!”

“Let me go!” The words were shrill with outrage and
growing alarm as Percival hauled her against him, his arms wrapping around her
like thick vines, locking her to his body, which was muscular despite his
stockiness.

Sarah writhed frantically, trying to get free, but he only laughed
low in his throat and caught her head with his hand in her hair, his fingers
digging hurtfully into her scalp as he held her still for his kiss. The touch
of those thick lips on hers, the greedy rape of his mouth, was nauseating.
Sarah fought like a wild thing, her sharp, shrill cries escaping into his mouth
as she kicked him and beat at his head with her fists. He only held her
tighter, kissing her with a kind of insulting ferocity that filled her suddenly
with fear. Dear God, did he mean to rape her? Even as she had the thought, one
of his arms slid all the way around her body so that his hand could grapple
clumsily for her breast. Sarah’s heart seemed to stop with horror. Then
she kicked at him furiously, managing to tear her mouth away from his long
enough to scream. . . .

“What the bloody hell?” the angry growl was
Dominic’s. Sarah had barely registered that before Percival was being
torn away from her and sent crashing across the room by Dominic’s fist
against his jaw.

Percival crashed into a small table, overturning it so that the
delicate china figurines on it were dashed to pieces on the floor, and fell
heavily atop the shards.

“Are you all right? Did he hurt you, the bloody
bastard?” Dominic’s voice was still thick with fury as he turned to
Sarah. His handsome face was dark with rage, and a muscle twitched at the
corner of his mouth. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “If
he did, I’ll kill him.”

Sarah saw with alarm that he meant it, and grabbed at his arm.
“Dominic, no! I’m all right! He didn’t . . .”

She never got to finish. A roar from behind her interrupted,
causing her eyes to widen as she turned instinctively to seek the sound’s
source. Dominic thrust her aside just as she realized that Percival was back on
his feet and charging Dominic. . . .

Dominic, an ugly snarl twisting his face, caught him with the same
uppercut that had felled Minger all those weeks ago in the bush. It had the
same effect on Percival. The burly overseer went hurtling backwards. . . .

“What’s going on in here? Sarah! John! What’s
happening?” This new voice was her father’s. Sarah turned to him
with blatant relief. Surely, now that he was here, Percival would not press his
attack any further.