Page 14 of A Countess of Convenience

“When you have packed the mourning clothes, come here and take these three gowns as well.” Judith’s determined voice sounded loudly from the other room.

Dora waved Larkin away, whispering, “Bring tea.”

The girl nodded and almost ran from the room.

Sighing, Dora began to remove the neat stacks of clothes. The coming conversation had just become even more difficult, for Dora must make Judith understand the importance of waiting before attempting such an arduous journey.

“How much room is left in the trunk?” Judith rounded the doorway and stopped, a pile of what appeared to be snowy white nightgowns in her hands. “What are you doing here? Where is Larkin?”

“I sent her to get us some tea.” Dora put the handful of stockings on the bed’s silk coverlet. “We must talk, Judith.” The woman’s lowered brows and pursed lips did not bode well; nevertheless, she had to make her friend see sense. “I want to beg your pardon for withholding Anna’s whereabouts from you.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Dora.” Judith put her garments in the trunk. “How could you not tell me?”

“My dear, even had I spoken of it when we left Harper’s Grange, you would not have understood me. Did you know that I told you of Simon’s death just after it happened? I felt you should know.” Judith dropped her hard gaze. “But you didn’t hear me, or didn’t understand, because Simon’s death was a shock to you just a few days ago.”

“That’s as may be. And perhaps you are right that I wouldn’t have known.” Judith gripped the bedpost and glowered at Dora. “But a week ago, when I began to recover, you could have told me then. I would have understood then that my child had been taken from me.”

“But you would have been helpless to do anything, Judith.” Taking a step toward her sister-in-law, Dora touched her arm. “You would have been even more frustrated and upset than you are now because you couldn’t do anything. You were weak, in pain, and confused.” Indeed, Judith looked ill this very moment. “Knowing you couldn’t go to Anna would have made you more miserable than you are now.”

Judith didn’t withdraw, which was a miracle in itself, but she looked at Dora with eyes swimming in pain. “How could you do that, Dora? How could you let your parents do that?”

“My dear, you know as no one else how little influence I have over my parents, especially my father.” Dora shook her head. “And I will warn you now, you will have a battle on your hands to get Anna back. She is Simon to him now, and he will fight tooth and nail to keep her with him.” She looked at Judith, still a wan, weak shadow of the vivacious woman of old, and took her hand. “You must be strong enough and cunning enough to beat him in this war. Find allies who will help you when I cannot.”

Suddenly, Judith leaned heavily on her. “Might we sit down?”

“Are you not well, my dear?” Dora led her to the pair of comfortable chairs and helped her to sit.

“Just tired from all the excitement.” Her face was white and drawn. She certainly should lie down. “But who would you suggest I recruit to my cause?”

“Your parents, for a start.” Dora would let Lord Farringdon know of this weakness when he appeared tomorrow. “Your father will be a great help in dealing with the courts, while your mother can help sustain you.”

“That should not prove difficult. They will be as eager to have Anna in her real home as I.” Judith slumped as though her strength had deserted her.

“And I would also suggest you enlist the aid of either Lord Haxby or Lord Farringdon.”

“What?” Crimson circles appeared on Judith’s pale cheeks. “Why?”

“Because they hold a title and will always be thought to be of more consequence than those without one, like your father.”

The maid entered with the tea things, and Dora waited until she left to continue. “And as my father has a title, it would be prudent to have someone with equal footing on your side as well when the matter goes to court.”

“Why do you think either gentleman would take the time and trouble to help me with such a domestic matter?” Judith kept her head down as she took a cup and poured the tea.

“I think you know, my dear.” Dora smiled. Her friend might deny it, but she understood the impression she’d made on both men. “Lord Haxby seemed quite eager to assist you, both out in the gazebo and then escorting you into the house. And Lord Farringdon asked me outright if I believed you might marry again.”

“What did you tell him?” Judith stirred sugar into her tea and leaned forward, her eyes bright and alert, her attention squarely on Dora.

The biggest hurdle—forgiveness—had been met and conquered. Now all Dora need do was persuade Judith to wait just a little longer, lay her plans well, and pray.

* * * *

Lying wide awake that night, John turned from side to side, trying to get comfortable in a bed that held too many memories. If he turned to the right, he faced the side where Sarah used to lie, snuggled up close to him, warm and willing whenever the passion would take them. Sliding his hand across the empty expanse he still couldn’t get used to, John marveled that it had been a year since she’d died. Somehow it had not seemed that long.

He’d been genuinely fond of Sarah, although he couldn’t truly admit to a grand passion. She’d been a sweet girl, in her second Season, when his mamma had pointed her out across the floor at one of the Longfords’ balls. Judith had been married for a year or more, and he’d schooled his heart to accept someone else. Miss Sarah Earnshaw had been speaking to her sister when John approached her, prompted by the firm hand of his mother, and asked for a dance. She’d smiled and placed her soft hand in the crook of his arm. Her touch ignited no great excitement in him, but she proved an apt dancer, and seemed most attentive during their brief but pleasant conversation as they danced. Within a week, he’d spoken to her father and they had married as soon as the banns were read.

Restlessly, John turned onto his back, forearm over his eyes, determined not to think about Sarah. About their tranquil life here at Donningham Hall. About the four babes she had not been able to bring into the world. It was impossible not to think about them, about her.

She’d wept inconsolably after each one, guilt-ridden for not being able to give him the son and heir he so desperately needed. The last time, last year, she’d been excited as her confinement drew to a close, and she’d been assured by the midwife that this child would be born at the proper time. The midwife had been correct, and Sarah had delivered the perfect son to him. Stillborn. His wife’s shock and devastation had robbed her of the strength to fight the fever that came on her less than a day afterward, and she followed their little boy into the grave the next night.