Boone Farm
“Holly, Holly, another visitor fer you.”
Holly’s jabbed her finger with the needle. No! Lady R couldn’t be back so soon. She wasn’t ready. Her heart and her common sense had been at war ever since the Dragon Lady’s last visit. She’d even lost her appetite, and that couldn’t be good for the babe. The babe that was hers, and hers alone. The babe who could live in wealth and comfort for all his life and the lives of generations to come. How could she deny him that opportunity?
Yet how could she give him up?
“It’s not the lady wot come before,” today’s messenger offered. “She says she’s your mum.”
Her mum. Holly stared. She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her mother in . . . what? At least four years. “Send her up,” she murmured through lips stiff with shock.
Flora Ragsdale, whose strong-minded determination to rule the roost had contributed to her daughter’s departure for London, paused in the doorway. Her lips thinned into a straight line at the sight of Holly’s protruding belly, before she suddenly dashed across the room and enfolded her in a firm embrace. “Oh, my poor dear,” she cried, “that all your fine dreams have come to this.”
With every footstep on the stairs, Holly had vowed to be brave, but now . . . She burst into tears, soaking her apron and the shoulder of her mother’s traveling cloak as well. Some time later, when the flood had been reduced to an occasional sniff, Flora said, “You must come home, child. Come back to those who love you.”
“When I wrote to you, I never meant—”
“Of course you did, or you’d not have said a word.”
Holly rubbed away a final tear and said more strongly, “No, truly, mother, I never thought to go home. I would not be a burden to you.”
“And life in Kent is not to your taste,” her mother returned with no little disgust.
“It’s not that,” Holly protested. “I just can’t go back to where everyone knows me . . . where they’ll all see . . .” Her voice trailed away as more tears threatened.
Flora heaved a sigh. “Well now, that’s a problem, it truly is.”
“It’s all right, I promise you. I have friends here, good friends. I’ll be well taken care of.”
“And you’ve learned to talk a treat, you have. There’s something I never expected.” Flora suddenly scowled. “But what of the dastard what done this? Where’s he when you need him?”
Holly drew a deep breath, reaching for strength that seemed just out of reach. With each day the babe grew stronger, she felt herself fading away, as if her existence no longer mattered as anything more than a vessel to hold the child before spilling it out into a hostile world. “He’s gone, mother. A frail shadow of a man who disappeared into the night. And good riddance is all I can say.”
Slowly, Flora Ragsdale shook her head. “Then you’ll have the babe here, in this place?” Her lips curled in disdain as she glanced around.
“It’s clean, we eat well, we’re treated with respect. And the midwives here are expert at birthing babies. What more could I ask?”
“Oh, my poor lamb.” Flora hitched a breath then firmed her face into the blank mask she had learned to keep in place during her many years as an innkeeper’s wife. “So there is nothing I can do for you?”
“Nothing, mother, but thank you. I never expected you to come here.”
Flora dug a well-filled purse out of an inner pocket in her cloak and pressed it into Holly’s hand. “That’s from your Da and me, just so we know you have a bit of your own set by.”
Holly burbled her thanks and gave her mother another hug before watching her go out the door, her footsteps heavy as she descended the stairs. Holly stared at the purse, whose contents she scarcely needed with all the friends who insisted on supplying her every need. But she could never have denied her mother the satisfaction of giving it. Nor her own satisfaction in knowing her parents still cared, in spite of her many transgressions.
Truthfully, it was good to know she could go home. If she rejected Lady R’s offer? If she couldn’t face the thought of life alone in the country? If . . .
If she was stronger, her mind not as sluggish as her body.
If, deep down, she wasn’t afraid of the process of getting her son out into the world.
Holly glanced down at the finger she had pricked with the needle and found the blood long gone. She reached for the sheet she had tossed aside, but somehow her fingers fumbled as she picked up the needle. It slid from her grasp, falling to the wooden floor with a faint clink. She couldn’t bend down to get it, she simply couldn’t. The blasted needle could stay there ’til Hell froze over.
Holly sat very still, her mind nearly as blank as the sheet she clutching. She refused to think about the future. She had too many helpers, too many people who cared. She wanted no part of the decisions they wanted her to make. She had agreed to Cecy’s suggestion of a cottage in the country when she knew quite well she hated the country, that she had fled Kent with a right good will. And even for all the gold in the world, how could she give up the lively child, her child, that kicked and squirmed so much she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep for weeks? And as for going home again, the humiliation of going off to London with such grand expectations and returning with nothing more than a bastard to show for all her grand plans . . .
Oh dear God, what was she to do?
An hour later Cecy peeked into Holly’s room, her eyes darkening with sympathy when she saw her once vivacious friend sitting motionless, staring into space, her hands and bulging lap lost under an expanse of crumpled white muslin. She tip-toed across the room, reluctant to disturb Holly, but it was a long drive from the city, and to go back without speaking to her was absurd. “Holly? Holly, are you asleep with your eyes wide open?”
Holly blinked, clutched the sheet more tightly to her swollen belly, then heaved a long sigh. “Cecy, I’m sorry, but my mother was here, and my brain seems to do nothing but spin in endless circles.”
“Your mother?”
“Indeed. And offering to take me home with her. ’Tis quite the most startling thing that has happened to me yet.”
Cecy tried to picture her own mother—the wife of a hellfire-and-brimstone-preaching Methodist minister—accepting her back into the fold if she were eight months gone. The image was so against the laws of nature, it simply would not materialize. Belle’s mother might have taken her back, if she had lived, but her father would have cast her into the streets, if he didn’t kill her first. So, of the three of them, Holly was the most fortunate in her parents, though Cecy wondered if she truly appreciated her parents’ support.
“Nick and I were talking,” Cecy ventured, “and he tells me he has no objection to getting a headstart on the brood of children he wants us to have.” Though, in truth, he’d had an odd look in his eye, one that hinted at plans he had not shared with her. Which was simply Nick being Nick and something she must learn to tolerate. “So I thought I should tell you, you have another alternative,” Cecy continued, putting on a cheerful smile to counteract Holly’s grim face.
“I think,” Holly said, slowly and carefully, her hands balling into fists, “that if I am given one more choice, I shall scream. No, that won’t be half enough. I shall make my way downstairs, crawl to the coaching road, if I must, and stop the first stagecoach that comes along. I shall ride off into the unknown, never to be heard from again—”
“Holly! How can you say such a thing after all we have—” Cecy, stricken by guilt, broke off. “I’m so sorry, truly I am. You’re right. We’ve been settling your life without a by-your-leave, each of us pulling in our own direction. But it’s only because we care, you know. We want what’s best for you.”
Holly offered a sad smile. “Which is particularly difficult as I have absolutely no idea what is best for me. Or for the babe.”
Cecy sighed. “At least coming to Boone Farm was the right thing to do.”
“Agreed. Even if this was Mr. Black’s only charity, it would still guarantee him a place in Heaven. Believe me, the girls are ever so grateful.”
“And yet all London is terrified of him.” Cecy looked down, her teeth biting into her lower lip.
“Did you not tell me he has moved on from most of that?” Holly said, “although his reputation lingers. What’s important is how you feel. Do you fear him?”
“Oh no, of course not.” Aware that her denial had been a bit too strong, Cecy added, “But one cannot live in the house on Princes Street and not feel the power. Nick holds a great many reins in his hands.”
“And he wishes to marry you?”
“So he says.”
“And you?”
“I cannot imagine life without him.”
“Then consider yourself fortunate, your choice is made.”
Slowly, Cecy nodded, though the eyes she raised to meet her friend’s steady brown gaze were filled with concern rather than the ebullient spirits of a bride-to-be. “And I understand we must all stop pestering you and allow you to make your choice in peace. Please forgive us.” Cecy’s lovely face twisted into a rueful grimace. “It won’t be easy, but from now on, I will do my best not to push you.” She huffed a sigh but responded to Holly’s sudden smile with a warm embrace. “I shall return on Friday,” Cecy said before setting her bonnet back on her head, tying the ribbons, and heading for the door.
Holly’s smile faded, her breath hitched. In two days time Cecy would be back. So why did she feel as if she’d just lost her last friend in the whole wide world?
Because, idiot, you just rejected her offer to raise your babe even before it was out of her mouth. Because you’ve lost what little sense God gave you and are rejecting help right and left, no matter what the results might be, no matter what is best for babe. And it wouldn’t hurt to think about what’s best for you too, you foolish twit!
How very odd. It was as if she were encased in a giant soap bubble, able to look out at the world but cut off from all contact. Holly Hammond and her babe, isolated and alone. She knew it wasn’t so . . . and yet here she was, trapped inside, where in the normal course of events the sun would reflect rainbow glints of happiness to celebrate the new life about to come into the world. But the air outside her bubble was dark and threatening, with storm clouds split by flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder. Coming closer, ever closer . . .
Holly jumped up, thrust the sheet back into the mending pile, hauled herself to her feet, and peered into the not-quite-true looking glass hung on the wall. Oh, Gawd! It was all too clear why she’d been avoiding mirrors. Was there anything left of the fine courtesan at all? Her long dark hair hung limp, without a hint of shine. Her usually handsome face was puffy, her dark eyes as dull as her hair. She stood back, attempting to see the rest of her. Devil take it, it was worse than she’d feared. That great lump could not possibly be Holly Hammond, one of the most sought-after graduates of the Aphrodite Academy.
Holly groaned. A visit to Boone Farm should be a required part of the Academy’s curriculum, so the girls would learn, in no uncertain terms, why they should always be careful.
A fine thought, which wasn’t going to do her own situation a bit of good. So . . .
Her chin firmed, her green eyes took on a glint of determination. Time to get off the endless merry-go-round, and find the dynamic, dry-witted, sharp-tongued girl she used to be. Time to choose.
Except the solutions had not changed. Each presented more drawbacks than happily ever afters.
Holly washed her hands and tear-stained face and made her painstaking descent down the stairs to dinner.