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Chapter Twenty-Three
Edmond swung onto the back of his stallion and powered away from the estate. Blood washing over his vision, and the pale lifeless form of his wife and son crowded his mind. Thunder rumbled ominously, a reflection of his turbulent rage, or was it fear? He saw Adeline splayed in a similar manner, their child stuck, unable to climb into the world and take his first breath, her lifeless, accusing eyes piercing him as her life drained away.
He rode, blotting the emotions until a warning clang sounded in his brain. The rain would be fierce. He drew on the reins and slowed to a canter. When he saw where he had directed them, the breath sawed from his lungs. The cottage. He dismounted, and with long strides walked over the bridge where the river below it was already swelling from the slight rain. His heart pounded as he slammed into the cottage and jerked to a halt.
Hell’s teeth!
It was as he had left it. The bed sheets rumbled. He inhaled, and Adeline’s subtle fragrance filled his lungs. Surely he was imagining her scent after so long. He moved farther into the room, his eyes drawn to the bed. Distressing lust swam in his veins as the memory of arching her hips and sucking on her soft, wet, womanly flesh, rose in his fevered brain. She had screamed, gripped his hair, and demanded more in her wild passion. She had been fierce and beautiful, welcoming and tight as she offered her body unreservedly. Edmond’s knees buckled, and he sank into the lone wing-backed chair in the room.
It truly had not been a dream.
I love you, Edmond.
Had those words been real as well? Edmond’s insides turned to ice. Adeline was truly with child, and as sure as the sun would rise tomorrow he would lose her because of it. All of the facts he had studied raced to the forefront of his thoughts.
Fifty in every one thousand women in London died in childbirth. The odds seemed like they could be on his side. Maryann had been taken, and now Adeline could be one of the thousand that would die this year because of that bad luck.
No…not bad luck. Because of childbed fever, convulsions, infection, hemorrhaging.
He struggled to breathe through his nose evenly and to calm the furious pounding of his heart. He would have to leave Rosette Park tonight. He couldn’t bear to see her swell with his child and then watch the light dim from her eyes, as the monster named death came to claim her, like it had claimed Maryann and his father.
He braced his forearm on his thighs and lowered his head, ruthlessly building the wall around his heart, for without a doubt, from the terror now tearing through his soul, he had been on the cusp of falling in love with his wife.
What a damn fool he had been. To allow himself such sentiments when his children depended on him. He could allow nothing to plunge him back into that roaring demon riddled with guilt and pain.
When Edmond lifted his head, dusk had fallen. It seemed hours had passed since he’d been sitting in the chair. Rain had lashed the cottage, and thunder had shaken its frame and he’d hardly been aware. When he stood, he felt no tender stirring in his heart for his wife. Only a simple appreciation that she was alive, that she was a kind woman who seemed to cherish his daughters as much as he loved them. That was all he’d wanted. When she died, whether it be in nine months, or several years from now, he would certainly feel its sting, for Adeline was a wonderful woman. But he would not be crippled by torment, haunted by empty, lifeless eyes, and taunted by pleading tears to save her life, nor shredded by wails that accused him of killing her and their child. No…for he did not—would not—love her.
…
It had been six weeks since the duke had departed Rosette Park for, she believed, London. There was a squeal of joy from below the stairs, and Adel tried to drum up a smile. It seemed Sarah and Rosa had received another letter from their father. A messenger had arrived every morning on horseback, with a long letter for them both. Sometimes, parcels of presents, and even a few books had come. There had been nothing for Adel. The children allowed her to read the letters to them, and the duke regaled them with sights seen in London, and what he did with his day. But not once had he asked how she fared. Like a fool she kept reading the letters daily, hoping for a sign of something.
Why had she not told him what happened in the cottage the minute she realized he’d not remembered? Regret sat in her stomach like rotten food. Though she had come to realize it would not have mattered. It was not her omission he hated, it was the very fact that she was with child. And that would have still been true even if he had known about their night of untamed loving from the beginning. He had retreated back to his old self, and she would simply have to find happiness where she could in their marriage, without him. For now, she could not contemplate the loneliness that would eventually descend. For now, she concentrated on her children and not the crushing pain she woke with daily.
She rose from the bath water, and Meg gently toweled her dry. With mechanical motions, Adel sat in front of her dressing table as Meg tamed her hair. Then she dressed in a simple white muslin day gown, donned her emerald green redingote, and added her bonnet. She would go for a walk this morning, and try to lift her spirits.
A few minutes later she strolled through the gardens, the fragrance of lily and roses filling her lungs. Dr. Graves had said exercise would be good for her health and it was ti
me she took measures to ensure she took her daily constitutional.
The wind tugged at her bonnet, and the air smelled crisp and clean. After her walk she would direct her attention to the few letters she had. Adel had become the patron to several underfunded and much ignored charities in the nearby villages, and a few in town. She had been appalled to learn the closest village to Rosette lacked both a proper school and had no bookstore or library. A few of the children in the village traveled for miles for some sort of an education but most went without and remained unlettered. A school was now being constructed, and it was being overseen by the vicar and his kind wife. One of the local shops was falling vacant in a few months and she had bought the lease intending to turn it into a bookshop. Though she immersed herself with such activities, every night she still ached for Edmond. But she was determined to exorcise the wretched man from her heart.
In the far distance the dowager duchess was strolling with Squire Wentworth. Adel smiled. She could see the affection developing between the two when they thought no one was observing.
Lady Harriet saw her and waved. A few minutes later, she reached Adel.
“It is wonderful to see you up and about, my dear. Is my foolish and stubborn son home?”
A startled laugh jerked from Adel. “No.”
The dowager duchess sighed and linked their hands together in companionable silence.
“Why have you not followed him to London? A wife’s place is beside her husband and it has been two weeks since your stomach has settled. You are fit for traveling.”
“Edmond does not love me.”
The dowager duchess froze, and then faced her. “My dear, he worships the ground you walk upon. It is fear that drove him away.”
“What utter rubbish. I told him I carry our child, and he ran away to London without writing a single word to me for six dreadful weeks. When I came to this marriage I had nothing to offer him but my eventual love. I gave it to him even knowing he would never love me in return, and now I have never felt more a-alone.”
