Page 57 of Weave me a Rope
He had said hesitantly Cordelia could go with him, and they would take the carriage, because of the rain. But it seemed silly to prepare the carriage for a journey of less than a mile. “You will manage faster on your own, my love, going across the fields on a horse rather than along the lanes,” she had told him. “Besides, I am feeling much too lazy. I shall recline like a lady of leisure and read the book you brought me for Twelfth Night.”
Her nights were increasingly unsettled, as her child seemed to think night the perfect time for vigorous activity. Also, her back and hips ached, and she needed to rise several times in the night to use the chamber pot. She felt swollen and ungainly, and she still had two more months to go! At least Spen gave her no reason to doubt he still found her desirable.
Although Cordelia had the book open on her knee, she was drowsing rather than reading. She thought of going back to bed, but that would mean getting up, and she really did not want to bother.
The couch on which she reclined was turned to face the window, which looked west across the park to the cattle stud.She had seen Spen and his steward riding away a little over half an hour ago. She didn’t expect his return for at least another hour, so when the door behind her opened, she assumed it was Gracie or Marsh bringing her a warm blanket, or yet another cup of tea—if she drank any more this morning, she would be afloat—or some other comfort they felt impelled to press on her.
“I am warm and comfortable,” she assured them, without moving enough to see who it was.
She didn’t recognize the gravelly voice that said, “Whore,” but the hand that buried itself in her hair and yanked her head back, and the sharp cold blade laid to her throat, were enough to stop the scream that rose in her throat.
“Make a noise, and you die, harlot,” the man growled. “What have you done with my daughter?”
He let go of her hair and moved into her view, the knife shifting only slightly. It was Yarverton! He looked terrible—as if he had aged ten years, and not slept for a week nor changed his clothes for even longer. She stared at him, trying to form the words that would save her. That would save her baby.
Without thinking about it, she covered her belly with her hands. His eyes followed the movement and flared with rage. “You slut!” He shrieked and slapped her.
She was already pressed against the back of the couch, so the blow knocked her sideways, and there she stayed for a moment, mind reeling. Yarverton had leapt to his feet, pacing to and fro, and screeching at her that she had stolen his grandson.
He moved the knife.That was her first thought. It was dangling from one hand as if he had forgotten it.And someone will have heard his shout, she realized. She had to keep herself and the baby alive until help arrived.
Should she beg? Should she explain? Should she sit as she was, curled around her precious burden, trying to be invisible? Her pride revolted at the last option but her first movementdrew Yarverton’s attention, and he took a hasty step towards her, gesturing with the knife to emphasize each word he said. “Do. Not. Move.”
Cordelia stilled, her eyes fixed on the knife, her muscles tensing even as she forced her face into an expression of fear. As soon as he came close enough, she must throw herself on that hand, and cling on with all her might, screaming at the top of her voice. He was taller and stronger than her, but he was also much older. And tired. So tired.Please, God, give me strength. Not for my sake, but for the baby.
He continued to wave the knife, but he didn’t approach close enough for her to risk the attack. Instead, he demanded, “Where is my daughter? Not here. I have been watching the house, and there are only you and your servants. Where has your lover gone? I saw him riding away.”
He was facing away from the window, at a slight angle, and out of the corner of her eye she saw a movement there. She made her eyes focus on Yarverton so he would not wonder what was behind him.
Now, Cordelia. Talk to him now. Keep him focused on you.“Lady Daphne is with Miss Faversham in a safe place where she is cared for and happy. I took her place before the wedding, and we sent her away. Spenhurst could not marry her because he was already married to me.”
What was happening outside? She could not quite see. Nor could she risk looking. Yarverton was raving and pacing again, but his gaze was still fixed on her. Fortunately, for he had only to turn his head slightly and he would see whatever it was that was happening outside. If there was anything. Perhaps it was all her imagination.
“Lady Daphne is safe,” she said again, both to keep Yarverton’s attention and in the forlorn hope of calming him down.
He waved a dismissive hand. “But what of my grandson? Deerhaven promised me a grandson, and Spenhurst cheated me out of the child. And an estate. And my daughter.” His eyes narrowed, and he stopped, facing her fully. “You lie. Or if you do not, then…” His frown deepened. “You must die so Spenhurst can marry my useless chit,” he mused.
The knife came up. Cordelia tensed again, ready to fight for her life. A slight sound behind her had Yarverton looking at the door. Cordelia threw her book at him to distract him, and even as it hit him, the window exploded inwards in a crash of glass and wood, and the door behind Cordelia crashed open.
Suddenly, the room was full. Marsh was grappling with Yarverton, and Spen was shaking off shards of glass before taking Cordelia in his arms.
*
Spen had neverbeen so frightened in his life as the ten horrendously long minutes after Marsh met him at the stables with the news Yarverton was alone with Cordelia, threatening her with a knife.
The sheep breakout had been all but resolved by the time he got to the breach in the boundary, with the beasts retrieved and moved to another field, and promises made about wall repair. The neighboring landowner had been grumbling about compensation when Spen arrived. Spen agreed and offered to discuss what was fair after dinner if the neighbor and his wife would favor him and his countess by coming to dinner later that night.
By this time, the rain had been strengthening. The neighbor agreed, hastily, and they parted ways for the warmth and comfort of their own homes.
Thank goodness. Two of Marsh’s men were away with Spen, but Marsh, Jim, and another two men who claimed to have been sent by Mr. Milton would have subdued Yarverton without Spen, but Cordelia needed the man who loved her, and Spen needed to know he’d had a part in the rescue.
Cordelia had contributed, too. They could have done nothing if Yarverton had remained bent over Cordelia with a knife to her throat, but she must have said something to make him let go, and then she kept him talking until Marsh and Jim had the door open enough to see Spen’s signal from the window. In the end, Cordelia gave the signal herself, throwing a book at the man just as he noticed the opening door.
Spen cradled his precious wife in his arms, ignoring the struggle behind him. “You are safe? He didn’t hurt you?”
“We are both well,” Cordelia reassured him. “Yarverton is crazed, Spen. He kept raving about how you had stolen his grandson.”
Yarverton stopped screeching, and Spen turned his head enough to see the man slumped in Marsh’s grasp. “He banged his head on the butt of my gun, my lord,” Marsh explained.
