Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (64 page)

His energies had been spent penning this warning to her, so the least she could do would be to see that his last moments hadn’t been for naught.

~ ~ ~

Returning to her room, Bethlyn found Tessie still there.

“We’re leaving here,” Bethlyn whispered to her though no one would have heard them anyway above the din of voices, laughter, and music which drifted upstairs to them. “We’re running away.”

“Oh, my lady, I fear that’s too dangerous. What if Mr. Eversley catches us? Besides, you’re carrying a child and the night is icy. You could catch your death of cold.”

Tessie’s horrified look caused Bethlyn to smile as she reached for two fur-lined cloaks from the wardrobe and handed one to Tessie. “Believe it or not, I’ve braved worse than cold nights and Thomas Eversley during the past few years. The worst of all was losing my husband, and I swear that I now think Thomas had a hand in his death. But we have to leave here tonight. I have proof that Thomas slowly poisoned my father. We must get to the constable,”

“Merciful heavens!” was all Tessie said, her face ghostly pale as she threw on the cloak.

Since Thomas and his guests were apparently being amused by the doxies downstairs, Bethlyn and Tessie hurriedly left by the way of the back stairs which led to the rear garden. A full moon brightly beamed down upon them, and they were more than recognizable since the fruit-bearing trees and plants were now naked, courtesy of the first winter frost.

“Shall we take to the stables and get a coach, my lady?” Tessie whispered in a breathy voice as they swiftly hurried away from the well-lighted house.

“No, we shall go by foot along Farmer’s Pass until we come to the Stuart home. There we’ll beg help and send for the constable. On such a freezing night as this, we’d never be able to walk the distance to the village.” Bethlyn didn’t say that she feared Tessie might not be able to make it safely because the woman was wheezing. She also doubted her own ability to traverse the two miles in her pregnant condition. Even now, she felt a heaviness of limb and an aching sensation in her abdomen, and she worried she might not get far at all. Yet they had to keep on. Being at Woodsley with Thomas presented a danger upon which her mind didn’t care to dwell.

They’d scarcely reached Farmer’s Pass when suddenly out of nowhere it seemed the night was alive with bright, smoky torches behind them.

“Up ahead!” a male voice shouted, followed by a chorus of excited, raised voices.

Unable to speak a word, both women shot a frightened glance at each other, knowing they were the prey. In unison they broke into a run, scampering across the pebble-strewn path which was thick with cow manure, since many of the farmers used the well-trod passage to herd their stock to market. Bethlyn silently cursed for forgetting to change her thin slippers, wishing devoutly that she owned a pair of sturdy, thick shoes like the ones Tessie wore, when a foot stepped in the malodorous dung.

But she plodded on, growing out of breath, as if the devil himself was behind her.

And he was.

31

Bethlyn’s cumbersome condition was her undoing. Out of breath with heart rapidly pounding and a strange abdominal ache which grew more intense with each unsteady footfall and terrifying second, she was almost relieved when Thomas’s arms ensnared her from behind. “Stupid little fool,” he berated her in a hoarse, breathless voice. “I should beat you for this.”

“Do, Thomas,” she uttered in perverse pleasure to see that he was as out of breath as she. “Slap me, flog me right here.”

“Hal You’d relish that.” Cocking his head in the direction of the raised voices which drew nearer, he sneered. “No one can save you, my dear wife, so cease your theatrics. And as for you, you meddlesome old hag,” he said to Tessie, who cowered a few feet away and looked quite ashen, “I shall deal with you later. Return to the house and say nothing.”

The promise of a dreadful retaliation against Tessie hung thick as smoke in the air when Tessie stumbled towards the house. “Don’t hurt her,” Bethlyn pleaded, “Please…”

“Quiet, you aggravating wench. Be thankful I don’t kill the ungrateful hag right now, and let that be a warning to you, too, my fine lady. Keep your tongue still. I may not be able to extract my punishment on you physically, but utter a suspicious word to anyone and Tessie’s sudden and unfortunate demise will be upon your head.”

Bethlyn trembled. Would this man stop at nothing? The sounds of raucous laughter and running feet drew closer until Thomas’s guests and the women surrounded them.

A gentleman laughed and poked Thomas in the ribs. “What a clever one you are, Thomas, for providing such unusual amusement. I adore a good hunt, and from the looks of things you’ve bagged quite an attractive trophy.” The young man forgot his giggling companion as his appreciative gaze settled on Bethlyn.

Despite the ache which threatened to double her over, Bethlyn reared upward at his assumption that she belonged to Thomas’s stable of women. “I am no trophy, sir, to be snared for your amusement!”

Thomas’s fingers gripped her arm painfully and forced her to silence as she remembered his threat against Tessie.

“Eh? What is that you say? I know of but one woman who was possessed of such a rapier tongue that she took delight in wounding the most hard-hearted. Let me have a closer look at you.”

Bethlyn didn’t raise an eyebrow when the aristocratic and well-dressed man approached her until recognition flickered across both of their faces at the same moment.

“Lord Augustus Stanhope!”

“Bethlyn? Bethlyn Briston, can it really be you?” Augustus laughed warmly and kissed her cheek. “I haven’t seen you since our ball some three years ago, shortly before you left for America. You know, of course, that my sister, Madeline, married Sir Jeremy Smithers. Why haven’t you visited? I know everyone would adore seeing you again.” He turned and motioned some of the other men forward. “Come see who has returned to us, gentlemen. The brightest star in the ton.”

Soon about fifteen men of various ages, men whom Bethlyn remembered from her London years, gathered around her, a bit uneasy at the circumstances of their being at Woodsley. “Didn’t you leave to claim that bounder of a husband?” one of them said, and guffawed.

“I did,” Bethlyn admitted in such a pain-filled whisper that everyone grew silent. “My husband is dead.”

“But I can see you’re expecting a child,” Augustus blurted out.

“My wife must take to her room,” Thomas interjected in an impatient and edgy voice. “She needs her rest.”

“Yes, yes, much too cold,” someone said, the others agreed.

When they started back to the house, Augustus took Bethlyn by the hand, pulling her a bit away from Thomas. However, Bethlyn was all too aware that Thomas watched her and was close enough to hear each word she spoke. Tessie’s life depended upon her silence. She couldn’t tell Augustus that Thomas had murdered her father, and most probably her husband and now kept her a prisoner in her own home. But she squeezed his hand tightly, hoping to convey some of her fear and frustration to him.

“You must visit us soon. Both of you,” Augustus offered when Thomas began to lead Bethlyn up the stairs to her room.

Thomas solemnly inclined his head to the invitation.

Bethlyn, however, spoke in a bright voice despite the worsening ache in her abdomen. “I should adore seeing Madeline and Jeremy again. Please tell Jeremy that after my baby’s birth when I am recovered, I shall visit and insist upon riding Fancy Lady. She was my favorite horse and the most beautiful black color…”

Thomas’s abrupt good night to Augustus broke off her words and she found herself herded up the stairs like a recalcitrant child and literally pushed into her room. The force caused her to grab onto the large post of the bed where she slid to her knees on the carpeted floor.

She could see Thomas’s black leather boots as he moved towards her and heard his angry tone of voice but couldn’t make out the words. A razor-sharp pain sliced through her belly, stilling all conscious thought save one when she doubled over.

“My … baby,” she moaned through pale lips in an even paler face.

~ ~ ~

 “Ian. Ian — our baby … baby.”

The labor pains were so intense that Bethlyn drifted in and out of a hazy netherworld, mistaking the flickering shadows on the walls for demons and crying out when each contraction wracked her. Someone bathed her brow with cool water, and she opened her eyes to see Grace bending over her.

“Help … me.” Bethlyn could barely speak her lips were so parched. She knew then that she burned with a fever. “My baby. If I die…”

“Quiet, my lady,” Grace demanded harshly. “I’m doing the best I can until the physician arrives. Why Thomas sent for a doctor is beyond me. Ladies don’t need the likes of medical men, but your husband wants you healthy. He wants you to live.”

Why was Grace so scornful of her? Was it because she believed that she loved Thomas? She must convince her it wasn’t so.

“Grace, you must … listen. Thomas … I…” Suddenly, Bethlyn felt another excruciating pain, and she shrieked aloud.

“Dammit!” Grace muttered under her breath. “If that doctor doesn’t get here soon I may have to deliver this baby.” And to prove that she was up to the task at hand, she rolled up her sleeves and then prepared for the birth.

~ ~ ~

Ian’s son whimpered in his cradle beside his mother’s bed. The tiny infant was so small that when Grace placed him at Bethlyn’s breast to suck, he nearly disappeared in the crook of her arm. But Grace had helped deliver three of her brothers and sisters and she knew by the greedy sucking sounds that this baby would survive despite his size.

She couldn’t say the same for his mother.

The doctor had come and gone; of course, too late to deliver the baby, but he earned his fee by forcing some medicine down Bethlyn’s throat. Grace was doubtful anything would help. She’d known a few women who had died with childbed fever, and Bethlyn didn’t look like she was long for this world.

Not that Bethlyn Eversley’s life mattered to her. The woman was Thomas’s wife and now she’d given him a son.
A son. A son. A son
. The words whirled in Grace’s brain until she thought she was going mad.

“Damn you, Thomas Eversley!” she cried out in the quiet room. “Damn you to hell!”

Thomas had visited his wife’s bedside only minutes ago, then left, not looking at his own child, not seeming to care as he demanded that she see to the baby and do everything in her power to make certain Bethlyn survived. Who did the fool think she was? God?

But she’d do whatever Thomas asked. Even will his precious wife to live, something the woman didn’t seem to want to do for herself. More than once Grace had thought Bethlyn was slipping away, but then she would open her eyes for a second before closing them again.

Grace wanted to hate her, but somehow she didn’t. Bethlyn had stolen Thomas from her and had a child — everything Grace had ever wanted. Why then did she wish to die when she should be fighting to live? Why had she been running away?

None of this made any sense as far as Grace was concerned, yet Grace didn’t want Bethlyn to die, and not because she cared about her. As long as Bethlyn was weak and the child needed tending, the duties of a nanny greatly appealed to Grace; she wouldn’t have to service any gentlemen — especially not that disgusting Perkins.

She made a snorting sound of disgust as she took the baby away from Bethlyn and rocked him to sleep. Perkins was an animal, and for the rest of her life she’d hate him, but not as much as she hated Thomas for handing her over to him. For weeks after Thomas had left for America she had belonged exclusively to Perkins, forcibly participating in the most vile acts imaginable. The worst was having to pretend she liked his depraved play.

But all of that ended abruptly one night when pain shot through her and she started to bleed all over the bed. She thought she was going to die. Perkins sent for a doctor who always examined the women at Woodsley to make certain they and their gentlemen had no diseases and whom, Grace knew, performed abortions on the unlucky girls who hadn’t taken precautions.

As the doctor administered laudanum to her to deaden the pain, he told her she’d be just fine with a few days’ rest. Fortunately for her she appeared to only have been two to three months along. Shock and dismay nearly suffocated her. She’d had no idea she had been pregnant with Thomas’s child if the doctor’s estimation had been correct. Hate for Perkins and his foul acts surged through her.