Passion's Song (A Georgian Historical Romance) (32 page)

It was not long before her anger was gone, replaced
by the familiar numbing depression. Lost in its misery, she did not
notice the glorious evening. The sun was setting and there was no
breeze to chill the air. It had rained early in the day and the air
still had that particular cleanness about it that followed a rain.
She was just too tired to care. Let him get his divorce. As soon as
her child was born she would go as far away from him as was
possible, even back to Boston. She stopped and gasped in pain as
the muscles of her abdomen suddenly tightened. She took a deep
breath when it was over. She continued walking, so engrossed in her
plans that she did not notice she was being followed. A man was
carefully keeping pace with her, using the huge trees for cover.
When she stopped at the end of the drive to straighten her hat, he
stopped, too.

II

After Isobel left, Alexander sat in his study
wondering how he had let that woman get so close to him that she
could hurt him so. He stared at the letter, picked it up, fingered
it. He knew what he had seen. There could have been no mistaking
it, could there? He opened the letter and read it twice. It was
nothing but a pack of lies, and not a very good forgery at that. He
remembered the curt greeting the King had given him, how for weeks
previous there had been whispers about his political aspirations.
Whispers that he had ignored. It dawned on him that, of course, the
duke had intended to show the letter to the King. He knew very well
what His Majesty would have done if he’d seen it.

Alexander found Isobel’s maid busy sorting out her
clothes and packing them away. “Where is Lady Hartforde?” he
asked.

“
She’s gone for a walk,
milord.”

“
Thank you.”

“
Milord?”

“
Yes?” He stopped at the
door.

Bridget took a deep breath before she spoke. “You
can’t mean to make her leave, my lord. She’s too near her time to
be going anywhere. She’ll have the baby in the carriage!”

“
Lady Hartforde is not going
anywhere.”

“
Yes, milord.” She smiled and gave
a sigh of relief.

Alexander wasted several minutes looking for Isobel
in the gardens before he finally asked one of the servants if he
had seen which way she had gone. He started down the drive and was
about to call out for her when the glint of a small gold box lying
in the dirt caught his eye. He stooped to pick it up and, as he
straightened, he finally saw her, standing forlornly at the bottom
of the drive. He dropped the box into his pocket and was breathless
by the time he caught up with her.

III

Jack Wickenstand was elated when he saw Lord
Hartforde coming after his wife. Quickly, he checked the powder in
his pistol. He waited until the marquess had caught up with her and
the two were standing still in the middle of the drive. He leveled
the gun and, as soon as he had a clear view of Hartforde’s back,
pulled the trigger.

“
Leave me alone,” Isobel said when
Alexander reached her side. She turned and started back to the
house. “You’ve said quite enough already.”

“
Isobel—” He grabbed her arm. He
saw her eyes widen in surprise at something behind him, and he was
half turning to look when she pushed him away so violently that he
landed hard on the ground at the same time he heard the sound of a
pistol being fired. The bullet meant for him hit Isobel
instead.

I

Alexander paced outside Isobel’s room waiting for
the doctor to emerge. In exasperation the physic had finally
ordered him to wait outside. “I assure you, my lord, I will do an
even better job if you would be so kind as to pace out in the
hall.” He shook his head when Lord Hartforde finally closed the
door behind him. He turned back to his patient. He had dealt with
bullet wounds in the past when he was in the army, and he had dealt
with countless childbirths, but never had he been faced with both
in the same patient. He shrugged off his jacket and, after rolling
his shirtsleeves out of the way, turned his attention to the more
threatening of the conditions. It was fortunate Lady Hartforde was
unconscious, because he doubted the wisdom of giving her opium
while she was so close to her delivery, and probing for the ball
would be easier if she wasn’t thrashing around.

Alexander took in the doctor’s grave expression as
he came out and his heart sank. “She’s not dead!”

The doctor shook his head. “I’d be obliged for a
drink, my lord.” His lordship looked as though he could use one,
too.

“
A fine idea.” Alexander took the
doctor’s arm and propelled him down the hall to one of the drawing
rooms. The physic sat down with a sigh and sipped the brandy
offered him. “Is she going to be all right?” Alexander asked
anxiously.

“
In all honesty, I cannot hold out
much hope for her survival. There is every indication her lying-in
will be difficult. It is my guess it had started before she was
shot.” He shrugged. “Regardless of her wound, I could not be
optimistic. If there is anything fortunate about this, ’tis that
the bullet missed her heart. Otherwise, I’m afraid she’d have died
even before I arrived.” He sipped from his glass. “My lord”—he
sighed—”I have a difficult question to which I must know your
answer.”

“
What is it?”

The physician saw that Alexander had anticipated the
question, and he took a deep breath. “’Tis more than likely I can
save only the mother or the child. You must tell me, which is it to
be?”

“
You must save them both!”
Alexander propped his elbows on his knees and covered his
face.

“
My Lord Hartforde”—the doctor
leaned forward to put a hand on his arm—“I must have your
instructions in this matter.”

Alexander lifted a tortured face to the doctor. “I
could not live if she dies.”

“
You have two sons, my lord.” The
doctor closed the door behind him as he stepped out into the hall,
where Lord Hartforde had been pacing the entire night.

Alexander grabbed the doctor’s arms. “And
Isobel?”

At the grim look on the doctor’s face, Alexander
gave an agonized shout. “I told you to save my wife!”

“
She still lives, my lord.” He
stopped Alexander from bursting into the room. “But I would be
damned to hell if I did not tell you her hold on life is
precarious. I do not think she’ll live ’til morning.”

II

Worry was etched on Alexander’s face as he stood at
the side of the bed looking down at his wife. Contrary to the
doctor’s dire prediction, Isobel had not died, but she was nearly
as white as the linen upon which she lay. She had been unconscious
for three days, during which time Alexander had rarely left her
side. The physic still would not say she was out of danger. She was
so deathly pale even the doctor agreed that to bleed her might well
kill her. Alexander reached down to wipe the beads of sweat from
her burning forehead. Tenderly he brushed her hair away from her
face.

She opened eyes, bright with fever. “I’m going to
die, aren’t I?” she asked in a faint voice.

Alexander sat down on the bed and bent to kiss her
forehead. “You won’t die. I won’t let you die,” he whispered.

“
I’m so thirsty,” she complained.
There was a pitcher of water on the bed table and he reached for
the glass next to it and filled it. She drank from it before
saying, “Thank God you were not killed.” Her eyes drooped closed
for a moment, and when she opened them again, she looked at him and
whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll leave here tomorrow.” She fell into a
fitful sleep, and when she opened her eyes again she struggled to
sit up but could not. “Where are my babies?” she cried
plaintively.

“
Hush, love, our boys are fine.”
He put his hand gently on her arm.

“
Something is wrong with me. I
feel so hot.” She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened
them again it was as though she were seeing him for the first time.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave in the morning.”
She drew in a harsh breath. “I’m just too tired to go now.” She
closed her eyes just as the maid came into the room.

Bridget put a hand to her forehead and, taking in
Alexander’s worried look, said, “She’s a strong woman, m’lord.”

“
She’s so hot!”

“’
Tis the fever.” She pulled the
covers back over her. “I’m afraid the wound’s infected.” She shook
her head and turned to Alexander. “Perhaps you should get some
rest, my lord. I’ll call you if you’re needed.”

Alexander shook his head. “I won’t leave her!” The
fear that she would die filled him with such desperate panic he did
not notice the tears filling his eyes until he lifted a hand to his
cheek.

III

Isobel often dreamed Alexander was in the room,
holding her hand, and once she thought she saw tears in his eyes.
She shook her head; he was only waiting for her to die.

“
I won’t die just to save you the
expense of a divorce!” she said to him once. “I’m just too tired to
go now….”

Another time she saw him raise a cloth to her head
and she was convinced he meant to smother her. Her screams brought
her maid running.

“
He’s trying to kill me! Make him
go away! He wants to kill me!” she sobbed wildly.

One night, after a day when her fever had lessened
to an extent where she could take some broth, she could not fall
asleep. When at last she closed her eyes, she was bothered by
disturbing dreams. In one, she was in the gardens at Redruth,
Alexander was calling her, and she turned, stretching her arms to
him. “I love you,” she told him when he was just about to take her
hand. His radiant smile disappeared and he pulled out a pistol and
leveled it at her heart. She screamed at him to stop, but he pulled
the trigger anyway. He threw the gun to a waiting servant, and,
when he walked away from her, he was holding the twins in his
arms.

She sat up, disoriented and damp with sweat. She was
convinced Alexander meant to kill her, and the only thought on her
feverish mind was to escape. The maid who was supposed to be
watching over her was asleep in her chair, and Isobel moved as
quietly as possible to avoid waking her. She hastily pulled a gown
from the wardrobe and dressed herself. Her fingers trembled as she
struggled to fasten the buttons. She did not notice the spot of
blood that appeared at her chest as her struggle reopened the
wound. She found a small valise and stuffed more clothes into it.
“I’ll be damned if I spend another night under his roof!” she
muttered to herself. She sat down on the bed to rest; she did not
understand why she was so bone-tired. She swayed dizzily when she
stood up, but she made it halfway to the stairs before she needed
another rest.

She was partway down the steps when she saw him. He
was so handsome, she thought; just to look at him made her heart
break. She laughed at herself; it was ludicrous to think that she
could still love this man. She was hopeless when it came to
Alexander, Lord Hartforde. She pushed back her shoulders and
gripped the banister as she continued to descend. She held her head
high as she went. She didn’t have to be a fool and let him see how
she felt!

“
Isobel!” Alexander cried out when
he saw her. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” He
moved quickly up the stairs, reaching out to grasp her.

“
I’m following your instructions.
You’ve probably got your divorce by now, and so I’m leaving. I
don’t intend to die just to convenience you, Alexander.” Her words
had a pleasingly dramatic ring to them and she smiled at the effect
she imagined they were having on him. She let go of the banister so
she could brush past him, and as soon as she did, her knees buckled
when her legs refused to bear her weight and she tumbled down the
stairs.

Alexander shouted for help as he ran down the stairs
to where Isobel lay in a crumpled heap. He cradled her in his arms.
She was ghostly white. When he rose with her in his arms she seemed
to weigh almost nothing. “I’ll never divorce you,” he whispered,
“not ever!” But she had lost consciousness and did not hear
him.

Two days afterward, Isobel opened her eyes to see
Bridget sitting in a chair drawn up close to her bed. “How are you,
Lady Hartforde?” Bridget asked when she saw Isobel was awake. She
leaned forward to press a hand to her cheek.

“
Better, I think,” she said. “How
are my babies?”

“
They are very fine, beautiful
boys!”

The next day, she sat up in bed to sip the broth
Bridget pressed on her. “I feel much better today,” she told her
with a weak smile.

“
Lord Hartforde will be glad to
hear that, my lady!”

Isobel frowned. “Yes, I’ve been here too long.” She
sipped the last of the broth. “I want to see my boys today.”

“
Shall I bring them to you for a
visit?”

“
Yes.” She shifted so Bridget
could pick up the tray.

“
I’ll be back before you know it!”
Bridget paused at the door. “I think Lord Hartforde would be
pleased to see you. Shall I call him?”

“
No! I never want to see him
again!”

Bridget did not understand what had happened between
them; she’d never seen a man so in love with his wife. Whatever had
happened to make him leave her in the first place was obviously
over, but now it was Lady Hartforde’s turn to be stubborn. She
shook her head sadly as she walked down the hall to the nursery.
When she and the wet nurse brought the boys to Isobel, Bridget held
one of the twins while Lady Hartforde held the other.