Page 36 of The Viscount's Reluctant Bride
Her courses were always regular, and she had been feeling occasionally sick in the morning; added to that, her breasts felt tender for the first time in her life. It seemed as if her husband’s plan of getting her with child had worked. But the necessity of said baby felt suddenly diminished.
Instinctively, and perhaps with a degree of cautious uncertainty, Maeve moved her hands to cover her stomach. She wondered whether there was something inside her, no matter how tiny and fragile. It didn’t matter if the babe’s father had no interest, now that he was healthy, because Maeve did. She wanted the baby fiercely, with a ferocity that washed through her until it felt as if she were drowning in the emotion of it.
She came to a decision. She wanted her family and the comfort and conversation of her father, who would provide the solace she desperately needed. She would confess to her marriage and seek his help.
“Come, Betty,” Maeve called through the house for her favourite maid. The idea of staying in Town when she could see her family was impossible. She needed their solace, their advice, and if not that, then she needed the comfort of having her fears and doubts shared.
“You’ll do yourself an injury, ma’am.” Betty was in quick pursuit, her round apple cheeks flushed as she arrived panting next to her mistress. She gave her an amused shake of her head, and Maeve grinned at the girl.
“I have decided I am going to Staplehurst. Please tell Fischer I wish to visit my father. He will know Mr. Walsh, I am sure, and the route is not too taxing.” She closed her eyes and felt the comfort that came from having the child inside her. It was better, she decided, that she go to Silver Hall rather than linger in London awaiting Silverton’s return. They had too much to discuss, and it was better that he learnt the truth of Maeve’s condition. Frankly, Maeve was done waiting.
* * *
They arrivedin Staplehurst later than expected because of the surprising turn of the early spring weather, a sudden downpour of energetic rain catching them unawares. The carriage reached the outskirts by eight o’clock. The idea of arriving wet, cold, and with a dozen problems for her father to mull over did not fill Maeve with much joy. When Fischer paused the carriage and suggested they spend the night in a small, out-of-the-way inn calledThe Swan,just a few miles outside of Staplehurst, Maeve had agreed.
There was a certain luxury of doing so and ordering up precisely what dishes she most liked once she was secured in a private parlour.
As Betty prepared the bed and readied Maeve’s night clothes, the maid kept up a friendly chatter, which Maeve was more than happy to join as she warmed herself by the fire.
The talk wove in and out, and every now and then Betty would drop a titbit on Silverton into the conversation, which fed Maeve’s greedy heart. “You must have seen Silver Hall as a child, as your family home is so close to it?” Betty asked as she fluffed out Maeve’s nightdress. “I hear such unusual things about the Hall. It is very grand.”
“My father’s cottage is close to the centre of Staplehurst. The building is opposite the church in fact,” Maeve said. “Not right beside Silver Hall.”
“It is so romantic,” Betty added as she turned back and looked at Maeve, “the master falling in love with you.”
“Yes.” Maeve supposed it was, from an outsider’s perspective or from one who did not know how Silverton and she had arranged things. Although it being voiced so tugged at her heart. “My life in the village was so different—my father even painted the door green to amuse my sister and I when we were children—I suspect that wouldn’t be done at the Hall.”
To that comment, Betty laughed and then added, “No, my lady, although perhaps you may suggest it to his lordship. I am sure he would be amenable.”
“That’s right, and then I will paint the ballroom—” Maeve was about to continue when she was hit with a nauseating pang and a stabbing sensation in her belly. “God,” she cried out, and Betty, who had been unpacking Maeve’s night clothes, rushed to her side.
“What’s wrong, my lady?”
The pain twisted and turned through her, and Maeve, who had settled in her mind that she was pregnant, suddenly had a fear that she was wrong or that this pain was a miscarriage.
“Get the matron in here, or send Fischer out for a doctor. Please.” She clutched her belly, wishing desperately she could ask Betty to find Gregory but knowing this was unwise. It burnt through her that he was so close, and yet to reach out for her husband… she pushed the idea aside. “Please. Go.”
Betty dashed away as Maeve sank onto the floor unbidden, the gripping tension rather like her monthly courses. With a steadying breath, she forced herself to concentrate on the pattern of the carpet just a few inches away from where she crouched. She concentrated on the strands as she sucked in some much-needed air. How long she stayed like that she wasn’t sure. Finally, the door to her private rooms opened, and in flocked Betty and an elderly man she did not know.
“This is a doctor, madam,” Betty said as she hurried to Maeve’s side. “He was staying in the inn, and the proprietor thought it wise to raise him.”
The deep breathing had steadied her somewhat, and Maeve managed to get to her feet with Betty’s help. “In that case, thank you, sir,” Maeve to said to the physician. “Betty, please wait just outside the door for me.”
“It is good you are seated, madam. Please talk me through your symptoms.” The doctor put his hand on her wrist, checking her pulse and watching her with careful absorption.
Nodding, Maeve admitted to her suspected pregnancy and started to list her ailments, before ending on the final description of the recent shooting pain. “I suppose it is not unusual to experience stomach pain.”
“It would be something to watch indeed, madam, but I would not say it was unusual. To rest and recuperate would be advisable, and if you were to see any bleeding, then to look after the infant, even taking to your bed would not be unwise.”
The doctor released her arm and moved across to the doorway. “I will send your maid to fetch my bag. There is perhaps a tonic I could prescribe you.” He opened the door and made to signal Betty, but as Maeve watched, the fatherly look of concern vanished from his face, and he slammed the door closed. Or at least he tried to. Hands were pushing feverishly at the doorway, trying to prise it wide.
From the other side of the door, Maeve could hear the raised muffled voices of Fischer and Betty, their cries mingling together, and it was clear they were warning her.
“It is Sprot.” This was shouted by Fischer, and the realisation of the doctor’s identity and Sprot’s treachery thudded through Maeve. The doctor who had been poisoning her husband. Fear rocked through her as she looked closely at the older man, the one who she’d trusted with something so vulnerable about her. He now knew her tightly held secret.
“Run, my lady!” Betty screamed.
She could hardly take Betty’s advice. There was only one doorway, which was currently blocked. The private parlour was on the second floor, so making for a window was not a sensible choice. Besides, Maeve found that she was more than willing to fight the man who had almost killed her husband.
