Lady of Milkweed Manor (16 page)

-hen Charlotte first attempted to nurse her son, she quickly realized it wasn’t as easy as it appeared to be. As Sally helped her position her baby, and herself, she felt awkward and humiliated. When Sally then showed her how to coax the child’s small mouth open and compress her flesh to fit more fully inside, she was quite relieved no one else was in the room, that she had her private room at last.

She was just beginning to think she’d been dreadfully wrong in insisting she nurse her babe herself when finally, wonder of wonders, he latched on with a lusty mouthful and began suckling greedily. Seems they’d both figured it out at about the same time. Charlotte giggled with relief and satisfaction, and Sally smiled at her in return.

“There you are now that’s how ‘tis done. You shall be an old hand in no time, just like me.”

Charlotte opened her mouth to say she had no plans to become an experienced wet nurse as Sally was, but she thought better of it. She smiled at Sally instead.

“You have been such a help to me. To us.”

Us … the single syllable was an unexpected salve to her soul. She who had lost her family now had her own. The memory of birthing pains began fading more rapidly at the thought.

“Well, I’d better toddle back to the ward. Just you let me know if you ‘ave any trouble, Miss Charlotte.”

“Thank you.”

Sally left, closing the door softly behind her.

Charlotte closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured, but she was no longer thanking Sally.

Her son suckled a few minutes more, his pink-fair skin and red lips bowed over her white bosom. His little hands, which had bundled into fists, now relaxed open. Eyes closed, he fell asleep, his mouth popping off in a wet sigh of satisfaction.

“My sentiments exactly,” she whispered and held him close. She leaned down and kissed his temple with the fine, downy brown hair. She studied his profile. So like his father. Was it possible for an infant to so resemble a man, or was she imagining it?

“If circumstances were different I should have named you for him. But as it is. ..”

Tears filled her eyes and, though she squeezed them shut, hot wet streaks escaped and seared paths down her cheeks, alongside her nose, rolling under her chin.

Oh, dear God, she silently entreated. Please, please make a way. I know I do not deserve your mercy, but this little one does. Please watch over him. Please show me how to provide for him-make a life for him. I cannot do it without you. Please, make a way.

Daniel sat on the periphery of a group of gentlemen. The club was busy this night. He had met with the secretary of the Manor Home for Unwed Mothers earlier about the reduced funding over the last six months and possible ways to cut expenses. One of Daniel’s least favorite topics. The man had just bid him good evening and Daniel drank the last of his tea, somehow enjoying the disjointed hum and drone of deep male conversation though not participating himself.

“How is your wife, Harris?” someone asked. The voice was familiar.

Daniel looked up. Charles Harris must have come in during his meeting with the secretary-he had not noticed him there before. Harris was seated with a group of men, speaking with Lester Dawes, a physician who had been a year ahead of Daniel at university and with whom he had a passing acquaintance.

“Katherine is … well, how are we putting it delicately these days? Great with child.”

“Let’s see, you two have been married, what-eight months? Nine?” Dawes said. “Someone did not waste any time.”

Harris, perhaps hoping to direct attention away from himself, caught Daniel’s eye across the narrow room. “And you, Taylor, how is that lovely French wife I’ve been hearing about?”

Daniel was dismayed when all those dark and silvery heads turned his direction. He swallowed. “Fine, I thank you.”

“I am beginning to believe Mrs. Taylor is just a creation of our dear friend’s imagination.” Dawes grinned indulgently. “I have not laid eyes on her this half year at least.”

Daniel felt compelled to speak. “Mrs. Taylor is also expecting a child.”

“Well, well,” Harris said.

“Lot of that going ‘round these days,” a portly man muttered meaningfully.

Then a clearly inebriated dapper gentleman, a Lord Killen, Daniel believed, spoke up. “I say, Taylor, my wife tells me she saw you, em, consulting with that vicar’s daughter, Miss Lamb. Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Daniel realized this must be the husband of the ladies-aid volunteer who had seen him talking with Charlotte at the Manor.

You know, what they are saying about her. Laid up, you know, ruined and all that.”

Daniel brought his empty teacup to his lips to buy himself a moment. When he spoke, he feigned a casual tone. “I am not personal physician to the Lambs, but I have, as you say, consulted with Miss Lamb on a few occasions about a simple malady. And when I saw her, she appeared quite the same as ever.”

“What?” the portly man asked in disbelief. “When was this?”

“I’d say the occasion in question was about two months ago.” He turned to Lord Killen, whose wife had reported the meeting. “Does that seem right to you?”

“About so long ago, yes.”

Harris was looking at him closely. “This malady you saw her for. Is she quite recovered?”

Daniel stared at him, no doubt severely, then forced himself to take a deep breath. “Yes. When last I saw her, she was recovered quite nicely. The picture of health.”

“And when was that?”

He looked at the man meaningfully. “Six days ago now.”

“She is … back to her old self?”

“As much as one can be, yes.”

“Well, I for one am glad to hear those rumors put abed,” Harris pronounced. “I was always so fond of Miss Lamb.”

“As am I,” Daniel agreed quietly.

“I still say there is something afoot,” Killen said. “I have not seen her these many months. And when I asked her father, he was quite rude in not answering me.”

“Her father is always rude when not making sermons,” Daniel said.

“Even then on occasion,” Harris added.

The gentlemen began talking of other things, and Daniel soon left them.

Mr. Harris followed him out into the gallery. “Charlotte told you, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do not play me for a fool. You know what I mean. Miss Lamb. She told you.”

“Miss Lamb has not uttered your name, Harris. She has told me nothing, but this very evening someone revealed your part in her fall.”

“Who?”

“You did. Your words, your looks have said it all.”

“It is not as it appears, Taylor.”

“And how does it appear? That a supposed gentleman has ruined a young gentlewoman, then left her to fend off the wolves for herself and his child? That not one thing has been done to make amends?”

Harris glared at him, anger beading in his dark eyes. “My hands are tied here, man. If but I could, I would. You force me to say what I would conceal from everybody … from every man in that room.

“I force nothing.”

“You force me to admit I have no money. Nothing. I am holding on to my family estate by the thinnest thread. The fire, the repairs have brought me to the end of my means. The only cash I have is what my wife sees fit to allow me of her father’s money and that is but a pittance, doled out in careful drops to keep me on a short tether.”

“Bit late that. Why not tell her? Charlotte is her young cousin. Would she not feel some pity for her sake if not for yours?”

“You do not know my wife. I would lose everything. I would be in even less of a position to help Charlotte than I am now. Perhaps in time ..

“You could give the child a name.”

“I cannot. As I said, Katherine is expecting her own child any day.

“Congratulations,” Daniel said dryly.

“Thank you. Contrary to appearances, I am looking forward to being a father.”

“You already are one.”

Harris studied the floor for a few moments, then asked quietly, “I have no right, I realize, but could you tell me … the babe is healthy?”

“Yes, extremely so.”

“A … girl?”

“A son.”

Harris stared at nothing, shaking his head. “A son,” he breathed.

“Yes, a son who will grow up in shame and poverty while you play at cards and live in comfort in a fine house no, make that two fine houses.”

Anger flashed in the man’s eyes. “Taylor, you overstep yourself.”

“No, sir. It was you who overstepped yourself some nine months ago when you took advantage of a girl half your-“

“Lower your voice! She is not half my age, and I will not stand here while you throw out unmitigated charges against me. Has she accused me of anything?”

“No. She refuses even to identify you. That girl has idolized you for as long as I have known her-though I cannot fathom why.”

“Her father refused me, yes, but that is neither here nor there.”

“Well, here is your chance, then. Perhaps you ought to set her up somewhere, support her yourself.”

“I am a married man, as well you know.”

“As am I, but you would have me do the same.”

“I am not the child’s father.”

Three older men came out, putting on their coats and eyeing the two of them curiously. Harris glanced at the men, then back at Daniel, saying a bit too loudly, “Well, who can say with women today. One never knows.”

Daniel swung at the man’s face, but Harris was quicker and stronger and caught Daniel’s hand in a grip strengthened with constant horsemanship, no doubt, and rough compared to Daniel’s sensitive, skilled hands. Harris squeezed Daniel’s hand painfully tight.

“A pity to break a surgeon’s hand do you not think?”

“Physician,” Daniel said through gritted teeth and stomped on the man’s foot.

Harris howled and reared back. He released Daniel’s hand and pulled back his arm, thick hand clenched in a fist.

“Mr. Harris!” A young manservant ran up the salon steps, clearly panicked.

Mr. Harris faltered and swung around to face the newcomer. “What is it, Jones?”

“It’s her ladyship, sir. The babe’s come early, and she’s having a hard time of it. That man-midwife says something isn’t right.”

Fight forgotten, Harris winced. “I told her to have a physician. But she insisted on Hugh Palmer, some accoucheur popular with her friends.”

“Please, sir,” the servant Jones begged. “He says come at once.

Harris paled. Clasping Daniel’s arm he urged, “Taylor, I know you despise me, but please, for my wife’s sake …”

“Of course.”

They arrived to screaming. Charles Harris cringed and his expression faded to an ashen mask of panic. “Good heavens.” He swiveled to face Daniel. “Please help her.”

Daniel took the stairs by threes, his medical bag swinging with each upward lunge. Harris followed close behind.

Hugh Palmer, an elfin-faced beauty of a man, met them at the door, his expression grim. “You are too late.”

“Too late!” Harris exploded.

“The child has come,” the accoucheur announced, “after much struggle.”

Daniel noticed the blood on the man’s hands and the fatalism in his voice.

Harris cringed again. “Then, why is she still screaming?”