DeButy & the Beast (26 page)

Jeremiah's wife was healthy, young and full of life, and huge with child. She was all belly. When Julian considered slipping past his guard and away in the night, he thought about Nellie. She deserved to live to raise her child.

But he wished she would deliver soon. He wanted to get back to his own pregnant wife.

Jeremiah came home surlier than usual. At least this time he came alone. Julian didn't trust Milton. If anyone saw him out of this predicament alive, it would be Jeremiah.

"What's wrong?" Nellie asked as she laid three plates on the small roughhewn table.

"Nothin'," Jeremiah grumbled.

Nellie gave her gruff husband a smile. "I can always tell when something's wrong."

Jeremiah sat down at the head of the table, more surly than ever. "Milton is going to rob this guy over on the North Road. Seems some merchant fella always comes through with a bunch of money on Monday afternoons. Milton wanted me to tie the doc here up and go with him, since he expects things might get rough, but I told him I didn't trust the doc enough to leave him unguarded."

"That's not the whole truth, though, is it Jeremiah?" Julian asked.

The big man laid his eyes on him and scowled. "You think you know what I'm thinking?"

"Of course not, but I do know you well enough to know that you're not a thief at heart."

Nellie blushed. "I tried to tell him that when he hooked up with Milton. He's just so sure there's big money in being an outlaw, but Milton has been doing this for years, and he doesn't have nothing."

"Worse," Julian said calmly, "you risk your life every time you go to work. And I can't imagine what you tell a child when he or she asks where Father goes when he leaves the house."

Jeremiah scowled, but it was clear to Julian that he had suffered with those same thoughts before.

"You're a big man," Julian said as he reached for the potatoes. "Have you ever given thought to working the land? Raising crops or working with horses, perhaps?"

"Takes money to buy a farm. Takes more than that to buy horses."

Julian smiled. "My wife's family is wealthy. I'm sure I could arrange a loan."

"Really?" Nellie asked brightly.

"I don't want charity," Jeremiah grumbled.

"If you pay back the loan, it's not charity at all," Julian assured him. "And a farm is a fine place to raise a family."

Before they had finished dinner, someone pounded on the door, opening it and walking inside long before Jeremiah could rise and see who was calling.

A harried woman burst into the room and laid her frantic eyes on Julian. "Are you the doctor?"

"Th-there's no doctor here," Jeremiah said nervously. "Who said there was a doctor here?"

"Milton, and Miss Hattie, and Nellie," the woman snapped. She laid her eyes on Julian again. "My boy fell. His leg's broken, I know it is. It looks just awful."

"It might not be broken..." Julian began optimistically.

"The bone's sticking through his skin."

He had no choice, no matter what he felt or wanted, but to see to the boy. With any luck, it wouldn't be as bad as the woman said.

"I'll need a place to work," Julian said, coming to his feet and rolling up his sleeves.

"Since the inn closed last winter it's been empty."

"It'll do," Julian said, "but I want it cleaned first."

Nellie nodded knowingly. "The doc is a real stickler for cleanliness."

"And Doc," the woman said as together the four of them exited Jeremiah's small house. "My sister has the most awful cough...."

* * *

From the safety of her room, Anya heard the chatter of voices below. Her family was here, of course. Valerie and William, Seymour, Grandmother, and the newly arrived Uncle Ellis, who clearly preferred life at sea to spending the week with his family.

But others had begun to arrive. She heard them, laughing and talking in high, bright voices. They were all waiting for her. How many waiting below had been at the Mansfield party? How many had heard Margaret March call Anya a savage?

She told herself it did not matter. If Julian stood beside her she would not be nervous at all, but he was not here. He was at sea, traveling to an exotic destination where he could study life from afar without being sullied by it.

One last time she studied her reflection in the long mirror. Her gown was a becoming shade of sea green, her hair had been flawlessly styled, and the gems at her throat, diamonds and emeralds, were elegant and heavy. She did not look like a savage. She did not look like her heart was broken.

A knock on her door made her heart skip a beat. A moment later it swung open and Valerie stepped inside. "Are you ready?"

Anya nodded.

Valerie could not hide her happiness. "Father likes William," she revealed in a lowered voice. "He didn't exactly say so, but I can tell."

"That is wonderful." Anya tried a small, encouraging smile.

"Come," Valerie said sweetly. "It's time for you to make an appearance at your birthday party."

"I will be right down," Anya said. "I just need to..."
Steel my heart. Gather my courage. Cry, one more time
. "To fix my hair."

"Your hair is perfect," Valerie said, crossing the room to take Anya's hand and guide her toward the door.

Downstairs, the bell chimed again as another guest arrived. How many people had Grandmother invited?

Anya allowed Valerie to lead her down the stairs. She had never been afraid before. Why did her heart pound now? Why did she feel that Valerie was her only friend, her only ally? Even together, they could not fight the vultures who circled in the rarely used ballroom.

When Anya and Valerie walked into the ballroom, heads turned in their direction. Some people smiled, others watched as if waiting for the evening's entertainment. Anya did not smile back, and she had no intention of providing entertainment for those vultures who awaited her downfall.

She did not care what they thought of her. They could call her savage and whore; they could laugh at her behind her back and she would not care. But she did care what they said about her child. To her child. Growing up without a father would be difficult enough without being hampered in other ways.

This child would be accepted, where she had never been. This child would never know the pain of being different from everyone else. He or she would be welcomed in any home, in any circumstance. And that meant Anya would be on her best behavior tonight. Tonight and always.

As soon as everyone in attendance assured themselves that Anya was properly dressed and well-behaved, they returned to their activities. They drank and ate, talked and fanned away the September heat. When the music began, they danced. Anya herself drifted through the crowd, never remaining in one place too long. Restlessly, she walked past dancers and those who visited with neighbors they saw too infrequently. When she was asked to dance, she politely declined, citing a sore foot. A lie, but Julian had told her that sometimes a kind lie was better than the ugly truth. Had he thought his own lies kind?

The party was well underway when the door chime sounded in the distance. It was hard to hear over the roar of the party, but Anya heard. And wondered. A part of her heart even hoped.

She was watching the doorway when the newcomer appeared. Her heart lurched in disappointment and an uneasy fear as Julian's
puta
, decked out in garnet, made her entrance. It was more than Anya could bear, to have this woman in her home. She made her way to the door with every intention of throwing Margaret out. Peter would see to it, she thought, though as her eyes scanned the room she saw the butler nowhere.

Seymour, coming from the other side of the room, reached Margaret first. He took the harlot's hands in his, leaned forward, and kissed her on the cheek.

"Why are you here?" Anya asked without preamble as she reached the couple.

Margaret and Seymour held hands and smiled together. "I invited her," her cousin answered in a lowered voice.

"I—" Anya began, intent on uninviting the detested woman.

"Seymour and I are engaged," Margaret interrupted smugly. "Happy birthday, dear. You're the first to hear the happy news. We're going to be one big, happy family."

* * *

He had fully expected to be home by now, attending Anya's party, caring for her and their child as no one else could.

"Push," he said, leaning over to take a look at Nellie's sweating face. "You're almost finished."

The raised bed in the inn lobby that had become his office was well lit, with a number of lanterns scattered around in a semi-circle. The place was clean, at least, and the midwife had not touched Nellie since Julian's arrival. The labor had been long, but Jeremiah's young wife was strong and healthy, and all would be well. It had to be. Milton and Jeremiah awaited the outcome outside the door, armed with loaded pistols and sharpened knives.

Nellie's sister Mary and her sister-in-law Phyllis, Milton's wife, looked on. They had done all they could. Mary held Nellie's hand while the others stood back and waited.

"I'm dying," Nellie said hysterically. "I know I am."

"You are not dying," Julian assured her.

Mary, who had seen too many women die in the past two months, sniffled loudly.

"But it hurts," Nellie moaned.

"I know it does," he said calmly.

There had been a time when the prospect of delivering a child, unassisted, would have made him break out into a sweat of his own. In the hospital where he had worked after his schooling was finished, there had always been other, more well-trained doctors looking on or assisting. He had never delivered a child without someone looking over his shoulder.

But in the last two weeks he had seen and done much more. He had set a nasty broken leg, removed a bullet from Milton's arm, and cleaned and bandaged a child who had fallen off the roof of his home, delivering a lecture on the folly of foolhardy climbing as he worked. He had treated a number of coughs and bellyaches, cleaned a few infected wounds, and lanced more boils than he cared to remember.

And in the process he'd set about cleaning up this town. He'd visited the local general store and cafe and made suggestions. He lectured those who came to him about cleaning up their homes, and this town in general. Already he could see the change. The town was fresher, sweeter, and Jeremiah and Milton, regularly bathed at their wives' insistence and wearing clean clothes, smelled better.

Miss Hattie, the midwife who had at first rejected Julian's opinion that she had been spreading the puerperal fever from one new mother to another, listened carefully to his lectures on cleanliness and sterilization. She had her own supply of chloride of lime for disinfecting, and when a month had passed without a delivery, she would be able to resume her activities.

Perhaps he had been kidnapped and threatened with death in order to arrive, but when he left this town it would be a much safer place. There was some comfort in that fact.

Nellie's child was born into his hands. A large child, Jeremiah's son came into the world squalling. Julian cleaned the baby quickly and placed him at his mother's breast.

"He's beautiful, isn't he?" Nellie asked softly.

"Yes, he is."

The other ladies looked him over and agreed that he was a fine, healthy child.

Julian prayed he had done everything correctly. Puerperal fever usually set in within three days of delivery. Jeremiah and Milton had decided that they would release Julian four days after the birth of the child.

In four days, he was going home.

* * *

"He cannot marry her," Anya whispered as she and Valerie claimed a quiet corner. "If he marries her, they will live here! I will not live in the same house with Margaret March."

Valerie wrinkled her nose. "Maybe it won't be too bad."

Anya shook her head. "Not too bad? You expect me to live in the same house with Julian's whore?" There was only one thing she could do. She would return to the island where she had passed most of her life.

It would not be a bad life for her child, she mused. And it would definitely be preferable to living at Rose Hill with Margaret and Seymour! This was a big house, but it was not nearly big enough! Even if she thought she could bear to live in the same house with the harlot, she was determined that her child would not grow up under the same roof as that hateful woman.

Anya danced once with her Uncle Ellis. He did not say much, and he always seemed to be looking around the house as if he had lost something and couldn't remember where he had put it. In less than a week he would set sail, and even though he was kind and warm, she got the feeling he would be glad to leave this place and get back to the sea, where he belonged.

Grandmother said her eldest son had never recovered from his wife's death. That he hid from his pain by living at sea, by devoting himself to his work. Anya understood. She had no work to lose her heartache in, but she did have her child. The child she had thought she would never have would be her life.

It occurred to her, as the dance with Uncle Ellis ended, that he could take her with him. He could take her to the island she considered her home. She would not have to say good-bye to anyone, she could simply... disappear.

She was twenty-one, a large portion of the Sedley fortune was now hers... and she did not want or need it. Without Julian, this place was unbearable.

An excited murmur worked through the crowd like a wave. Voices rose. A woman raised a limp hand to her forehead and fainted into her husband's arms. Anya could not see what they all looked at, so she worked her way through the crowd and toward the wide ballroom entrance.

When she saw the man who stood there, she walked past the last party guest to stand before him, dropped quickly to her knees, and placed her forehead on the floor.

"Your majesty," she whispered.

"Anya, stand up," he said lowly, his voice only slightly more accented than her own. "This is America."

She lifted her head and saw the large offered hand before her. Laying her own hand on his palm, she stood slowly.

As always, Sebastian was decked out in a loincloth, a feathered necklace, and the crown that marked him as the King of Puerta Sirena. His dark blond hair fell straight and long down his back. His dark blue eyes danced with humor. His bare, muscled chest was bronzed by the sun, and the royal rose oil that was applied regularly by his servants made that chest and his muscular arms glisten.