School For Heiresses 2- Only a Duke Will Do (30 page)

What she wanted to know was how. By admonishing him? Or by using some other darker method? Simon clearly despised him, so the man must have done something to him. Why else did Simon sometimes turn into a ferocious creature she hardly recognized?

Like when he’d exploded in anger in her dressing room. Not that she blamed him for that; any other man would have done the same. But the way he’d taken her afterward, so fiercely, so urgently, had frightened her.

At the same time, she’d reveled in its wildness. Oh Lord, when he made love to her she became this incredibly wicked creature, wallowing in the secrets of the bedchamber that he taught her. She tried not to think of where he had learnt them. Or why he seemed bent on tormenting her with her own desires, bringing her to the point where she craved him so badly, she would say or do anything to gain her release.

Her only consolation was that she could do the same to him. And often did, even when he cursed her for it. It was as if a silent war of passions raged between them. Was that what marriage was, this stormy and constant conflagration? She hoped not. While it excited her now, she feared it could become wearying. Especially once she had a child. She bit her lip. The idea of having a baby tempted her more lately. She still put her sponges in, but she’d begun to hesitate when she did. Only the lingering image of her half sister’s torment kept her from giving them up altogether.

“Oh dear, look at the time!” Mrs. Harris exclaimed, drawing Louisa from her thoughts. “We have to go!

You and I are to meet the toy shop owner at the prison today to show him the first batch of toys.”

“Drat it, I forgot.” Louisa shot to her feet, then glanced at the clock. “Can we make it there in half an hour?”

“You can if you take my barouche.” Simon stood, too. “It is already waiting out front for me to go to sessions. I will go with you to the prison, Mrs. Harris’s coachman can follow at his own pace, and once he arrives, I will go on alone.”

“We don’t want to inconvenience you—” Mrs. Harris began.

“It’s no inconvenience. I can be late. Besides, I had a part in your project, too. I wouldn’t mind meeting this toy person to see what came of it.”

“That would certainly help us,” Louisa said, flashing him a grateful smile. Simon’s excellent equipage enabled them to reach the prison in record time. Even better, the toy shop owner proved so delighted with the painted soldiers and fancy ladies they showed him—and so impressed by Simon’s involvement—that he said he would carry as many as they could make. Louisa could hardly contain her elation.

As Mrs. Harris went off to show the owner where the women worked, Louisa walked with Simon toward the gates. She slipped her hand in the crook of his arm. “I can’t begin to tell you how much the London Ladies appreciate your help.”

“Just the London Ladies?” he said with a teasing smile.

“Of course not. And I know helping us has upset your plans somewhat, but—”

“Wait!” cried a voice behind them.

She turned to see a nurse from the infirmary running after them. “Thank heaven you’re still here, Miss North…I mean, Your Grace.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you remember Mrs. Mickle?”

“Of course.” Louisa had met Betsy Mickle when the woman and her husband had been imprisoned in the ward designated for debtors. Born into gentility and educated well, Betsy had fallen from grace during her youth and ended up in a bawdy house. She’d had a rocky life ever since, although Louisa had thought things were looking up when Mr. Mickle paid off his debts last year.

“Don’t tell me she’s back,” Louisa said. “Can’t her husband stay out of debt?”

“Afraid not. They came in this week, with her nigh on to bursting with a babe in her belly. This morning she went into labor, but now she’s doing poorly.”

“Oh no,” Louisa said, her stomach sinking.

The nurse shook her head sadly. “The babe is turned the wrong way ’round. The doctor’s with her and thinks he can set it right, but she’s too agitated to stay still for it. We were hoping you might talk to her, settle her down—”

“Me? What about her husband?”

“He can’t bear watching her suffer—they had to send the poor man out. But she was always partial to you. If you could come be with her in the infirmary, she might settle down enough for the doctor to do what he must.”

“Of course,” Louisa said, but the thought of it struck terror to her soul.

“My wife cannot do it,” Simon said, laying a hand on Louisa’s arm. “There must be someone else who can go. Mrs. Harris perhaps?”

“No, I’ll go,” Louisa said. “Really, Simon, I want to do it.” She cast him a game smile. “I need to do it.”

It was time she faced this fear of hers. For years she’d managed to be busy elsewhere whenever help was needed in the infirmary. For years she’d avoided doctors, even refusing to help Regina at Chelsea Hospital. But if she could put this behind her…

“Besides, this woman is a particular friend of mine. I can’t stand the thought of her going through this without someone at her side who cares about her.”

He searched her face, his eyes haunted. “Then I am going with you.”

“Certainly not. The last thing she needs right now is some strange man looking up her skirts.”

“Damn it, Louisa—”

“It’ll be fine, I promise.” She squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry. Just go on to Westminster for your sessions.”

“I’m not leaving,” he said firmly. “I’ll wait here for you.”

Her heart gave a little leap. “It may be a while,” she warned.

“I don’t care.”

His fierce protectiveness of her brought a smile to her lips. “Thank you.” She stretched up to kiss his cheek. “You’re the best husband a woman could want.”

She hurried off with the nurse. As they worked their way to the back of the prison, the nurse flashed her a concerned glance. “This is Mrs. Mickle’s first child, you know.”

“Had she no by-blows when she worked in the bawdy house?”

“I don’t think she worked there long. She went right to a protector, and then when he proved to be a scoundrel, she was fortunate enough to find Mr. Mickle.”

“She’d be more fortunate if he could stay solvent,” Louisa said as they entered the infirmary, though Betsy’s fellow really was a dear man. “And now they’ll have a child to feed.”

At least she hoped they would. As she and the nurse reached Betsy’s bedside to see the woman’s writhing form and sweat-beaded brow, Louisa wasn’t so sure.

Her first instinct was to turn tail and run. That anyone should suffer this was horrible, but that Betsy, the most good-natured creature in the world, should endure it felt patently unfair. And how could Louisa bear to watch…

Then Betsy saw her, and any cowardly thoughts of fleeing vanished, for the woman’s face lit up despite her pain. “Miss North,” Betsy breathed, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Miss North. This probably wasn’t the best time to announce she was now the Duchess of Foxmoor. Taking the chair at Betsy’s bedside, she seized the young woman’s hand. “You didn’t think I’d lose this chance to visit with my friend, did you?”

The woman managed a shaky laugh, then her face contorted as a birth pang hit her and she gripped Louisa’s hand so hard she nearly broke it.

“I’m going to try turning the baby now, Betsy,” the doctor put in. “You have to stay still a bit. Just keep holding onto your friend and talking to her.”

Louisa didn’t know the doctor, but she’d heard he was reputable. For Betsy’s sake, she prayed that was true and tried not to think of how reputable her sister’s doctors had supposedly been. She focused on Betsy’s face and not on the doctor pressing down on her abdomen. “What are you going to name the child?” she asked, doing her best not to show the panic tightening her throat.

“If it’s a girl…Mary Grace,” Betsy choked out, clutching Louisa’s hand like a lifeline. “And if…a boy…

James Andrew. After its father.”

Despite her aching fear, Louisa smiled. “Those are lovely names.”

Betsy let out a scream, and Louisa gripped her hand tightly to her breast, praying for all she was worth.

“Steady now,” the doctor said to Betsy, “the babe is small. That’s good. Makes it easier to turn.”

“Isn’t there something you can give her to dull the pain?” Louisa rasped as Betsy let out another, fainter scream. “Brandy? Laudanum?”

The doctor shook his head. “I need her alert so she can push once I’ve got the babe in place.”

And if he didn’t get that far? No, she wouldn’t dwell on that. She had to be strong for her friend.

“Now, Betsy, hold still a bit longer,” the doctor murmured, amazingly calm as he pushed and prodded her.

Louisa glanced over to see the doctor frowning in deep concentration. Betsy had returned to crushing Louisa’s hand, but at least she wasn’t screaming.

Suddenly, the doctor broke into a broad smile. “I think the little bugger is moving! Hold it…hold it…That

’s it! He’s turned!”

Tears sprang to Louisa’s eyes as Betsy collapsed against the bed with a cry.

“We’re not done yet, ladies,” the doctor said. “We’ve still got to get him out. You’ve got to push now, Betsy. Push!”

The next part went so quickly that it left Louisa reeling. One moment, Betsy was bearing down, her face twisted with pain and concentration, and the next, the doctor was holding up a squirming, squalling infant. Beaming from ear to ear, the nurse cut the cord and wiped the babe clean before coming ’round the bed to hand it to Betsy. “There you go. Turns out that the ‘little bugger’ is a girl. And pretty as a picture, too.”

As Betsy took the infant, Louisa began to sob.

“Miss North!” Betsy exclaimed. “Are you all right?”

Struggling to gain control over her wild emotions, Louisa nodded through her tears. “She’s…adorable.”

She bent over Betsy to look at the baby. “An angel.”

And she was, too, despite her puckered-up red face and the damp wisps of black hair clinging to her scalp.

“Would you like to hold my Mary Grace?” Betsy whispered.

Louisa nodded, too overcome by emotion to speak. Betsy handed the infant over, and Louisa caught her breath. Mary Grace was as fragile as a white-wood doll, her mouth a tiny rosebud and her fists no bigger than parsnips as she waved them in the air.

“Came out fighting, didn’t you?” Louisa cooed at the baby. “And aren’t you just the strongest little thing?

”

Louisa had held many a convict child, and she’d often dandled her niece and nephew on her knee, but this felt different. In a very small way, she felt she’d helped to bring this one into the world, and the idea filled her with exhilaration.

It was one thing to hear that women often gave birth without problems. It was quite another to see it happen.

She handed the child back to Betsy, then felt a pang of envy as the infant’s little mouth started working, rooting toward Betsy’s breast. A lump filled her throat. She wanted her own. She wanted Simon’s child.

“Your husband will be delighted,” Louisa murmured.

“Oh, James!” Betsy exclaimed. “I forgot about him!”

The nurse chuckled. “I won’t tell him you said that when I fetch him.” She hurried away to do just that. Having already delivered the afterbirth, the doctor bustled off to tend another patient, leaving Louisa and Betsy alone with darling Mary.

Betsy cradled the child, brushing a kiss to its little brow. “It’s my first.”

“That’s what the nurse said.”

“I was afraid I was barren. Never had anything happen while I was working at that bawdy house in Drury Lane, so I was worried.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “But here she is, sweet little thing.”

Louisa squeezed Betsy’s arm. “Yes, she’s darling.”

Betsy gazed at Louisa. “And I couldn’t have done it without you, Miss North.”

“Nonsense,” Louisa said. She was just about to explain that she was no longer Miss North when Betsy glanced beyond her and gave a start.

“Will you look at that? I can’t believe he’s here, of all people. Haven’t seen him in years.”

Louisa turned to see Simon working his way up the crowded ward, sidestepping nurses and piles of soiled and blood-soaked linens. She shot Betsy a surprised glance. “Do you know him?”

Betsy nodded. “It’s Lord Goring. Used to come to the bawdy house every Saturday night, regular as clockwork.”

Louisa’s heart began to pound and her mouth went dry. I spent half my youth in a brothel. And before his father’s death, Simon had borne the lower title of Marquess of Goring. “Are you sure it’s him?”

“He’s well and truly grown now, but I’d know him anywhere. He’s the only marquess I ever met. Poor boy, his grandfather behaved like an ass every time he brought the young fellow there. Bullied him unmercifully.”

“Grandfather?” A sudden pain settled in Louisa’s chest. “His grandfather brought him?”

“Started taking him there when the lad was fourteen. The grandfather was the man I told you about, remember? The earl who became my protector for a few months?”

Louisa could barely breathe, a thousand thoughts racing through her mind. “You never said his name.”

Betsy frowned. “No, and I don’t suppose I should have mentioned that I know Lord Goring, either. I was just so surprised to see him—” She broke off. “Shh, he’s coming near.”

Good heavens, and she still hadn’t told Betsy that Simon was her husband. “Um, Betsy—”

“So how is everything with the young mother?” Simon’s voice boomed behind her. When she turned, his gaze was fixed on her rather than Betsy.

“She’s fine, and so is the baby,” Louisa said, then added quickly, “Mrs. Mickle, this is my husband, the Duke of Foxmoor.”

She heard Betsy gasp, but didn’t look at her, for she wanted to see Simon’s reaction.

“The nurse told me to let you know, Mrs. Mickle, that your husband is asleep.” He shifted his gaze to Betsy’s face. “And she didn’t want to wake—Betsy?” He froze, his smile vanishing. No doubt about it. They’d known each other. And probably in the biblical sense. But though a pang of jealousy struck Louisa, it was nothing to the sadness she felt at the thought of Simon being bullied by his grandfather in a brothel at fourteen. Especially given how mortified he looked, as if a childhood friend had suddenly shown up to relate tales about his embarrassing boyish antics. But he recovered quickly, giving Betsy a quick bow. “That is your name, right? Betsy? I’m sure my wife must have mentioned it earlier.” He was babbling now, and Simon never babbled. “Forgive me for speaking so familiarly when we have just met, but after how she described you, I feel as if I know you already.”