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“A baby,” Chloe whispered. “I’m going to have a baby.” Tears flowed from her eyes and it was all Martha could do to keep her own tears of joy at bay.
“That is wonderful,” Martha said, lowering herself next to Chloe on the settee. “I was near certain that was what was happening. I’m happy for you.” She dabbed at her cousin’s tears with a handkerchief. “I knew that you both wanted this so much. It is indeed a blessing.”
“What of you, sweet Martha? Do you not want a husband and children?”
“Of course I do.” Martha replied, drawing her lower lip between her teeth. “But I fear it is not meant to be.”
“Oh Martha, of course it is. You are such a wonder. I don’t understand why it is you have remained on your own.”
“You know why I’m here. Why I fled England.”
“I do. Samuel Sexton. But even before that, did you not have suitors? You have so much to offer.”
“I have only myself to offer. You do know that my parents have lost all and I was serving as governess to the Sexton children. Jude did tell you that, did he not? Of my first shame?”
Chloe nodded. “He did, but it was not your fault. In fact, before I married Jude I had considered becoming a governess rather than...” Her voice trailed off and Martha let the matter go, for consideration was a far cry from actuality.
“Fault or no, it became my lot. And I accepted it with as much dignity as I could muster. And I adored Luke, Lucy, and Lewis.” Memories of the threesome tugged at her and a longing to hold them in her arms as she used to brought forth a small sob. “In time I learned to love them and in turn their father.”
Memories of Sexton’s smile and laughter saturated her brain. He had been a handsome man, with blonde curls and merry eyes. His lightness of spirit complimented her seriousness and when they were alone, the world seemed like such a promising place.
“What happened? His father’s disapproval?”
“Indeed and Lord Sexton’s weaknesses proved more powerful than his love for me. If he ever truly loved me.” Her long kept tears slid from her eyes. Tears of sorrow mixed with humiliation and yearning. She had been so close to becoming the wife of a man she loved. Not many women got to claim such a victory and now she supposed, neither had she.
“Do you still love him?” Chloe asked, touching her sleeve.
Martha dabbed at her eyes. Once her vision cleared, she gazed upon her cousin. Chloe’s countenance bore both concern and curiosity.
Martha stared at her with suspicion. “You are not the first to ask me that very question today.”
Chloe’s cheeks turned crimson. The little rabbit had caught her dainty foot in a trap. “It is not a conspiracy,” she assured. “I heard the baron ask you as I stood by my bedroom window awaiting the doctor’s arrival.”
“Then you must have heard my answer.” She stood, her embarrassment willing her to pace the floor. She trampled back and forth across the Axminster carpet.
“I did and it gave my heart hope.”
Martha stopped pacing and set her hands upon her hips. “Hope for what?” But she knew the answer. Would her matchmaking never cease? The baron was attractive and he did have her heart racing when she gazed upon him. But she had concluded on the long voyage from England that she would never again put herself into the danger of another romantic disaster.
“You know for what!” Chloe answered. “His interest is piqued or he would have never asked you such a question. He is an open and honest man. He saved me, he loved me, and when I needed him to, he let me go.”
A gasp of surprise popped from Martha’s lips. “And you think that I can compete with such a love? Do you suppose I want to be his second choice? The woman he settles on because he couldn’t have you?”
Again she began to pace. No, no, this would not do at all.
“That’s not what you would be. He is hardly fresh off his hurt from what transpired between us. The very fact that he asked you if you were in love with someone else, shows his cautiousness yet his willingness to try again. You would be the love of his life, for you would be the one to break down the wall he has fashioned around his heart.”
Martha’s frustration soared. “Chloe, you forget, I have a similar wall around mine.”
“I see,” Frederick said, his deep voice breaking into Martha’s thoughts like a chisel.
She turned and looked at him, his brows joined in confusion, yet his mouth set in an angry line. “Miss Arden, you find it appropriate to discuss our conversations with Lady Arden?”
Martha’s embarrassment had her taking a step back, her hand upon her breast. “You are very rude indeed, to not announce yourself, Baron. The discussion Lady Chloe and I were having was of a personal nature and not at all intended for your ears.”
“I consider what I asked of you not something to discuss in the parlor over tea. I can see now that perhaps I was too hasty in thinking you an appropriate...”
“An appropriate what?” Martha said, her voice rising. “Mate, bride, wife, conquest?”
“I hadn’t decided yet,” he shouted. “But I do know that I don’t like how you’ve handled a simple question.”
“And I don’t appreciate your assumptions!” Lifting her chin, she marched past him and out into the heat of the waning summer day.
How dare he talk to her with such a passion! She had known him what, twenty four hours’ time and he already had started feeling possessive? Damn him! This was a complication her heart did not need.
She stormed past Jude and he called to her. “Martha what’s happened?”
Turning to him, she glowered. “Your friend’s manners are sorely lacking. Are you certain he’s a baron and not a baron’s stable boy?”
Making her way down the path, she headed toward the solitude of the wood just beyond the lawn. The shade cooled her and she took a deep breath, inhaling the loamy smell of the moist earth and pine needles. Despite the reprieve, her anger had refused to ebb. His accusations were not only proof of ill manners but he was wrong. She had not brought up the subject. Chloe had.
“Why does it matter what he thinks?” she asked herself. “He means nothing.” Yet the look of betrayal upon his face had indeed caused her guilt and that made her ire that much stronger. She had not broken a confidence. She had not spoken out of turn. No. She had simply answered a question.
She shook her head and walked down the path that led to the creek. Perhaps if she waded in the cool depths of the water, and listened to the birds singing she would relax. Lord knew this frustration was not a feeling she was accustomed to or relished. And it was not something she wanted to feel again. It was a sticky, agitated, unpleasant feeling. Why even when Sexton had ended their relationship; the sorrowful emotion paled in comparison to this rage.
Reaching the creek’s edge, she closed her eyes and savored the sound of the water as it rushed over rocks and toward the sea. Oh, to be as free as the creek.
With a sigh she found a large rock at the water’s edge. Sitting, she began to remove her shoes and unroll her stockings.
The sounds of nature, the rich, earthy aroma of the water and she felt her troubles beginning to retreat. She slowly immersed her feet into the chilly stream, savoring the rush of the current as it tickled her toes.
Small fish swam past, leaves and sticks rushed on their way, as if late for an appointment. The world, her thoughts, everything slowed and a sense of comfort eased her emotions.
She stood, lifting her skirts. Carefully, she fought the slick rocks that threatened to pull her legs from beneath her and waded out into the water to where the levels reached her knees. Looking up, she watched as the creek disappeared around a bend. Small shards of light angled their way through the dense canopy above and even though the house was but a few yards from her, she felt blissfully alone.
Hiking her skirt even higher, she ventured deeper into the water. Cooler, she longed to be cooler. To have the heat from her fury and the heat of the weather disappear into the pools murky depth.
Her toes sank in the silty bottom, the sensation not unpleasant in contrast to the slippery, smooth stones. Oh how she wished she were a braver woman. Brave enough to remove her gown and sink in her shift beneath the soothing waters. And yet she wasn’t that woman.
She let out an exasperated breath and began her trek back to the shore. As she moved from the deep water, her feet left the silt and once again she found herself battling the algae covered rocks.
As she made her way to the water’s edge she looked up in time to see the baron standing on the large rock where she had haphazardly left her stockings. “You look every bit a water nymph,” he said, his eyes boldly caressing her bare calves.
Shock that he had so easily crept up on her had her mood once again darkening.
“You should not sneak around as you do. First, you judge me over half of an overheard conversation and now you spy upon me while I attempt to cool not only my body but my demeanor.” With reluctance, she dropped her skirts and allowed the hems to be dampened and pulled by the current.
“No need to be such a prude,” he said offering her his hand. “I’m in control of myself and not about to ravage you at the sight of your knees. No matter how bonny they are.” He presented her an almost disarming smile. One that would have made her blush if she hadn’t been so furious with him.
She took a step, nearly falling backward. “Careful, dear.” He proffered his hand and she stared at it as if his fingers were snakes at the ready to bite.
“I don’t need your help,” she said, rebuffing him.
“I know,” he replied, “But I need to help you. It’s the gentleman in me. You’ve not met him yet. I’m sorry for that.”
His tone bore out his earnestness and when their eyes met, she felt her anger melt away. As if of its own accord, she placed her hand in his and the stability he offered made her exit from the creek far easier than her entrance.
She now stood before him and even though she was safely out of the water, he did not let go of her hand. No, he held it, caressing her fingertips, his blue eyed gaze soft as he looked intently upon her.
When he bent forward, she raised her chin and when he placed his lips to hers all thought fled her suddenly addled brain. His mouth was warm, his kiss tender yet it filled her with a longing she had never before experienced. She knew she should stop him, should slap his face and yet she leaned into him.
With the small moan that slid from her throat, she pulled away, her hand flying to her mouth.
“What are you about?” she asked. “Are you a devil?”
“No,” he whispered, his voice husky. “I’m the man you’re going to fall hopelessly in love with.”
She shook her head so hard that curls spilled from her loosely tied chignon. “I’m not.” She backed up. “You don’t even know me, why would you say such a thing?”
“Because, I feel it in the depths of my soul when I look at you.”
She grabbed up her shoes and stockings and backed away. “You need to look again. I am no one’s treasure.”