Chapter Twenty-One

A Marriage of Friends

Jasper’s insides churned as he looked outside the clean chapel window to the family gravesite. His grooms hadn’t returned with the parish minister, his fellow tavern friend. Hopefully, the man was sober enough to do the service.

As Frederica chatted with Lucy, Jasper couldn’t help peeking out the stained glass again. Maria’s and Jasper James’s markers had been cleared of snow and bore white tea roses that he’d fashioned when he’d left Bex and Mrs. Croome to supervise the decorations.

Generations of Fitzwilliam lay out there, his grandmother, his mother, his son, and his Maria.

But that was the past.

Why did he keep looking at the gravesite? Was he waiting for some sign of approval?

When he turned from death and looked at the living, he saw his youngest surviving child holding onto Frederica’s neck so tight and his bride-to-be embracing Lucy with all her love—that was a sign.

This was right.

Everything on this side of the grave mattered more.

The sound of a carriage vibrated the windows. Then his friend Reverend Walters sauntered down the aisle. Smelling of sobering-up coffee, the man stepped to the altar. “Shall we begin?”

Jasper put Lucy on the pew next to Theodosia then took Frederica’s hand. The heat pipes had warmed up the little chapel, so he knew she was warm, even if her forearm pimpled at his touch.

She fluttered in her silver dress, and her eyes sparkled like stars. Nothing felt as right as claiming her, for the world to know Frederica was his.

“Jasper.” Her voice was a whisper. “You’ve made the old abandoned church look so beautiful. I couldn’t have dreamed it better. Anne and Lydia? Do they approve?”

“They’re too ill to come, but they await us at Grandbole, your new home.”

“Grandbole? My home?”

He put his hand to Frederica’s back and guided her the last few feet.

Long gone were the days she flinched at his touch. And oh, how he loved her height, legs that he knew went on forever, the gentle flare of her…

Church.

They were in a church. He rubbed his face. “Yes. Grandbole and all that comes with a man and his three somewhat misbehaving children.”

He looked over her head at his brother shaking hands with Reverend Walters.

“Last chance,” Jasper said to Frederica in a whisper. “You go from friend to stepmother in a few minutes. All the benefits of wiving me. All.”

“I’ll take my chances with you, Jasper James Fitzwilliam. And you’ve seen what I look like in the morning. So, if you’re not frightened, neither am I.”

There were tears in her voice, but the smile on her full lips made his chest heat with pride.

Lucy bounced up and threw rose petals at them. “Miss Burghley and my papa are going to be best friends.”

Frederica looked up at him with a brow raised. “This means sharing your father. Is that fine with you?”

His daughter looked confused, frowning for a moment. Then her lips curled between her cherry cheeks. “We don’t get enough of him now, but at least I’ll get more of you.”

She bent and hugged the sprite again.

Before the child recited more of his inadequacies, he pointed Lucy back to Theodosia’s welcoming arms.

Walters began the words Jasper had heard before: of the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church. The holy estate adorned and beautified with His presence.

It was a mystery how this woman made him feel whole.

Then Walters went through the checklist.

Ordained for the procreation of children. Jot. Jasper offered three.

Ordained for a remedy against sin, and to avoid fornication. Mostly a jot. His dreams were a little too vivid, and his need for Frederica consumed.

Ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort. Jot. Frederica brought him comfort. And perhaps her elevation to viscountess would give her the freedom to encourage her charities and help the children most in need—her ministry.

“If any man can show just cause,” Walters said, “why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”

Frederica looked as if she held her breath, but only Theodosia’s hiccup could be heard.

The minister looked around again.

No one objected.

No one leaped out.

No duke or Crisdon to ruin this moment.

Then it was Jasper’s turn to declare that he’d take Frederica Eugenia Frankincense Burghley, that he’d comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health. “I will.”

And Frederica said, “I will.”

Then everything sped up. The minister’s words, a jumble of pledged troths and dancing of hands, as the vows of their union were stated, repeated, and accepted.

Finally, Jasper took a ring from his pocket, one of his own, sized down and with a butterfly etched into the band, and slipped it onto her finger. The family ring he’d given Maria was at Grandbole, still in his chest of drawers. It was to be given to an heir. This ring, this butterfly ring, was for Jasper’s Butterfly alone. Nothing handed down, but new, with new promises just for her.

They kneeled on the minster’s command, and Jasper prayed for his heart to grow for his bride. And that he could always make her feel as happy as she seemed right now.

He stood and lifted Frederica to his side.

Reverend Walter closed up his book. “I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

It was done. And when Frederica smiled up at him, he was done for.

Ewan hugged Frederica as Jasper signed Walter’s registry. “It’s a little late in the day for a wedding breakfast, but I know Tradenwood’s cook is making a feast for my brother and new sister.”

Auggggh. Theodosia screamed again as she slumped on the bench. “I don’t think I’m going to make breakfast, Ewan!”

She put her hand to her stomach. The voluminous green silk of her dress looked wet. “Get me to Tradenwood, hurry.”

Jasper came to Theodosia’s left. “Brother, her water has broken, the trembling has begun. Tradenwood is too far. Let’s carry her to Grandbole.”

“No. Ewan no!” She grabbed his gray coat, her voice sounded of such pain. “Not Grandbole. They’ll take my baby and hurt her. They can’t hurt her, not like they did Philip.”

“Theodosia.” Jasper took her hand. “No one is there to hurt you. It’s best for the little one and you to come to Grandbole. You must take to bed as soon as possible.”

His sister-in-law shook her head as she screamed again. “Not Grandbole! They don’t want us there. No.”

Frederica grasped Theodosia’s shoulders. “Sister, for we are now sisters, Grandbole is my home. We welcome you. We must do this for this baby. Please, Theodosia.”

With eyes closed, Theodosia nodded and allowed Ewan to take her into his arms.

“Let’s go quickly. Bex, Mrs. Bexeley, finish up here and bring Lucy to Grandbole.”

“Take my mother with you,” Ester said. “She knows about birthing babes. Right, Mama?”

Mrs. Croome nodded as she scooped up her crimson coat and bonnet. “Yes, and at least I helped with the planning of one wedding from start to finish.”

Jasper helped steady Theodosia’s legs as Ewan had the rest of her. “Come, Lady Hartwell.

Frederica tossed her cape on Theodosia. Jasper’s bride’s beautiful smile had eroded to a fear-filled frown.

This wasn’t the sign Jasper had hoped for. He was sick inside, realizing that death’s powerful hold on the women in his life wasn’t done.

…

Frederica didn’t have more than a moment to enjoy becoming Lady Hartwell or her new home, Grandbole. Her friend and her baby were in trouble upstairs in a bedchamber. Why had Theodosia risked so much just to see Frederica wed Jasper?

She looked down at the gold band on her finger as she stood in the massive marble hall, waiting for hot water and fresh linens.

Her perfect wedding had descended into madness. Frederica couldn’t gain the man she loved only to lose her dearest friend.

And poor Ewan and Philip.

How would they—

Frederica drew her arms about herself, her fingers tangling in the silver netting. She clutched it tighter to keep the hope inside like a fisherman’s net.

Footsteps sounded from behind her.

Ranson, Grandbole’s butler, hauled a bucket of hot water and cloths. “Ma’am, Miss… Lady Hartwell. I’ll bring it to the bedchamber.”

“Nonsense, Ranson, I’ll do it. I need you to see about Mrs. Croome, Mr. Bex, Master Philip Cecil, and Reverend Walters. They are in…”

“The drawing room, ma’am.”

“Yes.” Wherever that was. “Take care of them. Have the cook provide them a meal or biscuits and tea. Then send to Tradenwood, ask for Martica, my lady’s maid, to bring some of Mrs. Fitzwilliam-Cecil’s things. She needs to be as comfortable as possible.”

“Yes, Miss… I’ll—”

She glared at him. The need to assert her authority reminded Frederica of how she had to have the duke speak with Templeton so he’d listen to her wishes at Downing. But the duke wasn’t here to fight this battle.

Nor was her husband, who she suspected was fighting a battle that began and ended in the grave.

“Ranson, there are duties that have been lacking. Dusting, cleaning, because of Grandbole’s underuse or the family constantly being away. No more. My husband must have a perfect house. Don’t you agree?”

The man eyed her then lowered his head. “As you wish, ma’am, Lady Hartwell.”

The beginning groundwork to master Grandbole was laid. But now it was time to attend to her heart and help her dearest friend. She took the water bucket and the cloths and sprinted up the stairs.

At the top of the landing, her poor, defeated Jasper leaned against the wall. He was quiet and ashen like all the happiness had been wrung out of him. She offered him a smile and reached for his hand but received nothing back. He was a shell.

When Theodosia and the baby were healthy and safe, he’d return. He had to.

“She will be fine.” She gave him this whisper and looked to the heavens. Her prayer couldn’t return void.

Inside the guest room where she and Ester had quickly changed the sheets and dusted, Ewan had made the fireplace blaze.

Yet, he too looked as if all things were lost. “Get mad and fight, Theo. The baby demands you to. I beg you, too. I won’t stop begging.”

Ester put a hand on his arm. “She’s not done in, but she will be if we wait for the doctor. My mama’s here. Let her help.”

“Anything, we haven’t gone this far just to lose now,” he said. “You hear me, Theo.”

Ester dashed out.

Frederica sat on the canopied walnut bed and mopped Theodosia’s brow. “I wanted you to come to see me at my new home. This wasn’t the way.”

Theodosia made a weak grasp of her hand. “The baby hasn’t turned. She’s breach. She won’t make it out. Promise me. Take care of my Philip and my Ewan. You’re their sister and aunt. Let my rest be sweet, knowing this.”

“I remember everything. But you’re not going, not yet. You’re going to make it, and this baby is of your blood. She’s strong.”

“It’s a he. Boys are never easy.” Jasper had half come into the room, straddling the door almost as Theodosia seemed to straddle life and death.

Ewan grasped the footboard. “The women in the sugar fields, don’t they stand to have a baby? Will that help? I remember that from the regiment when I was stationed in the West Indies.”

Following Ester, Mrs. Croome came into the room. Her eyes were present and alert, more than anyone’s. She went poking under the sheets, sending Jasper back into the hall. “All the water’s not left. There’s still time for the baby to turn, but it will be soon. And open the window. The moving air will keep sickness and the fever away.”

Frederica nodded and flung open the window as wide as it would open.

Ewan grasped Theodosia’s hand. “What do we do next?”

“Do we cut the baby out?” Ester asked.

From the doorway, Jasper shook a sword, like someone would grasp the hilt and do the task. Only he was an expert and trusted enough to do so. But he stayed in the hall.

Ready to fight and slay death’s dragons, Frederica took it from his cold hand and cleaned it. “Just in case, it’s ready and washed.”

“No,” Mrs. Croome said. “We are going to try and help the baby see the way. Let’s get her to her knees. This reclining doesn’t help so much.”

Theodosia pushed up an inch then panted like it was her last breath. “I can’t. No strength to do it.” Her sobbing was so heavy, the pain seemed to drain her rich skin to ash. “Ester, get Philip. I want to see him once more.”

Oh, Theodosia looked so weak. Death was on her shoulder.

The thick air.

The heat from the fire battling the cold, dry air from the window.

The sense that death was winning squeezed Frederica’s chest.

She didn’t want to breathe if Theodosia wasn’t. “Please fight. You have the strength.” Frederica kissed her palm.

“Theo, my love, my dearest love.” Ewan, voice choked, grief spinning up his words. “We haven’t had enough time together… You can’t quit me. I love you, this baby, our Philip—you make us work. You have to fight.”

Theodosia cried out again, and Ewan cradled her neck, kissed her hair.

“Her tremblings are coming every five minutes.” Jasper’s voice floated in from the hall. “How do we get her to her knees?”

“Brother, help me. Theo, we have to try this.”

Jasper came fully into the bedchamber. His cravat was askew, his waistcoat with silver threads rumpled. “Yes. But the cord. Ewan, you have to watch the cord. It can’t be about my son…your son’s neck. That will strangle him.”

“It’s a girl,” Theodosia said between squeaks. “I told you.”

“That’s it, Theodosia,” Frederica said. “Be mad at Jasper. Be mad at the merchants who cheated you. Be mad at it all.”

Mrs. Croome walked toward the headboard. “Get the sheets, ladies. Menfolk, lift her into position.”

Ester and Frederica worked to keep linens in place as Jasper lifted Theodosia by the arms and Ewan grabbed her legs. They set her on her knees facing the door, her chin hovering above the footboard.

“Hartwell, you need to dust.” Theodosia cringed, curling up her back.

“Tell the wife, sister. That’s her responsibility now. Ewan and I should be in the tavern down the hill, praying with the minister and his brandy saints.”

“Brother? You know you were present at every birth, all my nieces.”

“And your nephew. Too present, Ewan. I was too present.”

Theodosia groaned again. She was wobbly and sucking in air as the tremors took over.

“Mama?”

Everything stilled again when Phillip came in.

Theodosia mouthed, love you, my heart.

“Not going like Papa?” Philip said. Tears trailed down his face from his crystal blue eyes.

Theodosia leaned on Ewan. “Stop. Your papa is here, and he loves you. Loves you.”

Philip ran and grabbed on to Ewan’s leg.

“No one is going, if you push,” Mrs. Croome said. “Show the baby the way. Enough so that I can reach and grab him. A footling breach will do, if you push.”

“It’s a her.” Theodosia groaned and panted.

Frederica lifted the sheets to help Mrs. Croome pull, or yank, or whatever had to be done. There was too much at stake, too much to lose. “Tell me what to do to help you, Mrs. Croome.”

“Mrs. Fitz, I aim to press inside and help the baby. Are you ready?”

Theodosia sobbed but shook her head. “I can’t give up. So do what you must. I love—”

As the tremblings began again, Frederica tried to remember that just hours ago everything had been perfect, that it had felt like they could survive anything.

But the expression on Jasper’s face chilled her spirit. Lips that had captivated her were flat and lifeless. He’d given up. He thought death would win.

Her heart, which had begun to shatter for her friend and her baby, broke wide open.

The now pin-drop-silent room made Frederica’s eyes leak.

There wasn’t enough dust in Grandbole to blame. Nothing but despair.

When death wins, nothing is ever the same.

Nothing ever is.