Abbeyford Inheritance (15 page)

His eyes mocked her. “Are you propositioning me, madam, before all my guests?” He laughed, and those nearby who had overheard the interchange of conversation, joined in the laughter.

Adelina felt her temper rising, but with a superb effort she willed herself to smile brightly and say, “ I think you will agree that what I have to say is best said in privacy, my lord.”

The laughter changed from mere amusement to ribald guffaws. “Oho, Francis, what have you been about?”

“You'll have to choose now, Francis. I'll put my money on the red-haired filly against the black-haired mare!”

More shouts of laughter followed: “ I'll wager twenty to one on the mare.”

At once the room was a babble of noisy bantering. Adelina felt the colour rise in her cheeks. She felt insulted.

“Come, Adelina, let them have their fun at our expense. They mean no harm.” He took her arm and gently steered her through the throng to his study.

It was still quite dark and the room was only dimly lit by a candelabrum suspended from the ceiling. In the grate a cheerful log fire crackled, the flames leaping and dancing. It was a cosy, quiet room away from the noise and laughter. Lord Lynwood stood with his back to the fire, his feet set wide apart. His eyes were upon Adelina mockingly. “Well, my dear, what is it you have to say to me which is of such importance that I must be dragged away from my guests?”

Suddenly, Adelina felt nervous. She had been so sure that her news would win him over to her, away from Helene Lyon again. Now that the moment of truth was here, she was not so certain. He seemed so remote from her somehow. She decided that a gentle, feminine humility was the best attitude to adopt. She would try to appeal to his protective instincts once more, for wasn't that how their relationship had begun? Even though now, for her part at least, it had grown to love.

She moved across the room and stood close to him, looking up into his face, a tremulous smile upon her lips, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “ Francis,” she said in a husky whisper. “ I am with child. Your child.”

She waited, watching the expression upon his face change from cynical amusement to shock and then there was that strange look of torment so often in his eyes and his mouth twisted cruelly.

“
My
child, madam? How can I be sure of that? How do I know it isn't Trent's brat?”

If he had struck her across the face with all his might it would not have hurt as much as his savage words did. Adelina gasped and her eyes were wide. “Francis – I swear to you it's your child. You must believe me.”

“Must, madam? There's no
must
about it. I saw you talking to him that day. How do I know you haven't been meeting him in secret all the time we were at Lynwood Hall?”

Anger flashed in her green eyes and pride came to her rescue. “How dare you even
think
that of me, Francis?” She whirled around and made for the door, but Lynwood caught hold of her. They stared at each other, so many emotions between them, pride, anger, love and passion – and even a little hatred!

Suddenly Lynwood's shoulders slumped. “Oh, Adelina! Adelina!” he passed his hand wearily over his forehead. He put his arms about her and laid his cheek against her hair.

“Don't go, Adelina! It'll be – all right – I promise.”

Adelina sighed. His promise held no note of conviction. It seemed they could not find happiness together. And yet to be apart would bring them even greater torment!

So their life slipped back into what it had been before Lord Lynwood's unfortunate duel with Thomas de Courtney. Society had taken both of them into its bosom again, for Adelina was to meet Mr de Courtney frequently at social gatherings and the onlookers – ignorant of previous events – would not have been aware that anything had ever been amiss.

Lynwood, despite his promise, continued to treat Adelina at times with love, at times with a calculated indifference and sometimes with almost hatred!

Adelina, confused by his weather-vane moods and in the final, emotional stages of pregnancy, for the first time in her life felt vulnerable and so alone.

More than ever she yearned for the security of her grandfather's love.

About two months before the expected date of her confinement, Lord Lynwood entered her boudoir shortly after breakfast. He held a letter in his hand.

“Adelina my dear. I have some bad news from Abbeyford.”

Her face turned pale and her hands fluttered nervously to her throat. “Not – not my grandfather?”

“No – no. Emily. She – she died shortly after the birth of her son.”

“Oh I'm sorry. So very sorry. Poor Emily.”

“The child will live. He is to be called James.”

Lynwood stood watching her, as she turned her green eyes brimming with unshed tears towards him. “Oh, Francis, is it so – dangerous to give birth? My mother and now Emily.”

He knelt beside her and put his own hand over hers in a gesture of tenderness. “No – no, my dear. Don't fear. I shall see you have the best care. I promise.”

One evening towards the middle of October, Adelina felt the first twinge of labour pains. Lynwood was away from home so it was left to Jane to make all the arrangements for Adelina's confinement. Adelina was well advanced in labour when Lynwood returned home in the early hours of the following morning and was informed of the news by his butler. By the time he arrived at her apartment to see Adelina, all her conscious thought was so filled with pain that she was scarcely aware of his presence. The room was so hot and stifling. Faces wafted about her in a pain-ridden haze, voices shouted commands at her that she had no idea how to obey. The world was suddenly a hostile and frightening place. It was a nightmare of darkness, of a throbbing in her ears, of being tossed about in a violent storm. Strange, horrific pictures came before her eyes. The suffocating blackness, then, unbidden, Evan's face, cruelly twisted with passion and revenge.

“No – no,” her parched, cracked lips parted.

Then Lynwood's face, haggard and white with worry, was before her. Through her delirium she tried to reach out with trembling fingers to touch his face. But the mists closed in and his face faded from her sight.

Then there was pain again and a pulling and pushing and she felt as if her insides were being pulled from her. She screamed but once and then it was over. Somewhere, as if from a long way off, she heard the sound of a new-born baby yelling lustily. Faces came close to hers, mouthing words she heard but could not understand. Still they were pummelling her body as if, even yet, it was not all done. Finally, they left her in peace, washed and wrapped in clean linen. Exhausted, she slept.

It was not until much later that she awoke and realised that, except for a soreness, all the pain was gone. She moved her hands and felt the flatness of her stomach. She sighed. Then it was over. She turned her head and found herself looking into Francis's eyes. For a long moment they regarded each other solemnly. He saw a woman with her fine auburn hair strewn across the pillow, her face pale and her eyes with deep smudges of blue beneath them, telling of her suffering, and yet she was still beautiful, and damn it, he thought irritated with himself, still desirable!

Adelina observed Francis. He was unshaven, with a shadow of stubble upon his face, his eyes were weary, his hair ruffled, his shirt open at the neck. She guessed he had been sitting beside her bed, dozing and waking and watching over her. But there was still a remoteness about him, a bitter twist to his mouth and a hurt look deep in his blue eyes.

She smiled tremulously, but he did not return her smile. A new fear struck her. Perhaps there was something amiss – something wrong with the baby, or even with her! Perhaps she, too, like her mother and Emily, was going to die!

“Francis?” she whispered. “The baby?”

He leaned forward and after a moment's hesitation he said, “You have a daughter, Adelina.”

“She – is she – healthy?”

“She is healthy, though not particularly beautiful. But, then, what newborn babes are?” His tone was bitter with disappointment. Hours earlier he had looked upon the baby, eagerly searching for some likeness to himself. But the child's hair was black and her skin dark, whereas Lynwood's hair and skin were fair!

Sick at heart he had turned away. Wallis Trent had black hair and a swarthy skin. The picture of Adelina and Wallis Trent talking together merged with that other image of his adored Caroline running into the arms of Thomas Cole.

“And me? What about me?” Adelina was saying.

“You?” There was a harsh note in his voice, a cruel tone. “ You, madam, are in excellent health. The doctor said he rarely saw an easier birth.”

Adelina smiled with wry amusement. “ Perhaps it was – from where he was standing!” She twisted her head upon the pillow and looked into Lynwood's face. “Why did you say ‘you have a daughter'? She's your daughter as well.”

“Is she?” Still the doubt was there.

Adelina tried to raise herself on one elbow but found the effort too painful. “Why don't you believe me? I wouldn't lie to you over a thing like that?”

But the painful memories, seen through the uncomprehending eyes of boyhood, had warped the emotions he had carried forward into manhood. He could not allow himself to trust Caroline's daughter!

If they stayed together, Lynwood thought, if he married her even, there was no hope of happiness and contentment for them while this jealousy and distrust ate at him like a canker. Yet, if he sent her away, his life would be empty and a lonely misery.

She was looking at him now, her green eyes beseeching him, but he hardened his heart against her silent plea.

“Well, madam,” he stood up and walked to the end of the bed. “I am glad you are safely delivered of your child and that both of you are healthy, but I must make it clear that I have no intention of marrying you – not now or ever!”

Adelina trembled. “Oh, Francis. You can't mean to allow your daughter to go through life with the stigma of being a bastard? You could not be so cruel to an innocent child?”

Lynwood flinched, but he set his jaw in a hard, unyielding line and said slowly and deliberately, “ I will not marry you, Adelina. I – cannot!” He came close to the bed and, looking down at her he said through clenched teeth, “If you had been a virgin when you came to me, or if your child had been a boy, then I might – I just might – have married you!”

It took some seconds for the full impact of his words to strike her. Then her hopes crumpled. Never had she loved him as much as she did at this moment, when he turned his back resolutely upon her and walked out of the room – and out of her life!

Some while later Jane came into the room.

“Oh, madam, what is it?” she asked sympathetically, putting her arm around Adelina's shaking shoulders. “ Don't fret so. The baby's fine. She's a beauty. Nurse will be bringing her along to see you soon.”

“Nurse?”

“Why yes, didn't his lordship tell you? He's engaged one of the best dry-nurses in London. Rumour has it she's been nurse to a duke's children. She's a bit old and very strict with all of us, but she's as gentle as a lamb when she holds the baby. Then, of course there's the wet-nurse.”

“Well, you can send
her
away. No one but me is going to suckle my child,” Adelina declared.

Jane's mouth dropped open in surprise, but she made no comment. After a few moments she said, “ By the way, madam, what are you going to call the dear little thing?”

Adelina dried her eyes and blew her nose. Anger made her stop weeping. “ I don't know.” She paused then asked, “What's the equivalent of Francis for a girl?”

“Well, there's Frances, but I think it's spelt differently, but I'm not right good at spelling, ma'am.”

Adelina nodded. “ Yes, with an ‘e' instead of an ‘i'. Can you think of any more?”

Jane wrinkled her brow and thought. “The only other one I can think of, ma'am, is Francesca.”

“Francesca,” Adelina repeated the name and thought for a moment and then nodded. “Yes, I like it. I'll call her Francesca Caroline. My mother's name was Caroline.”

She did not see Lynwood again, but he made lavish and generous arrangements for the care of the baby – whether or not he really believed the child to be his. As soon as she felt well enough, Adelina made preparations to leave London.

And there was only one place she could go.

Adelina was returning to Abbeyford.

She travelled by stage-coach, taking only Jane with her to care for the child. The nurse, engaged by Lynwood, was dismissed.

The journey was a nightmare. The baby, Francesca, became sick. The horses were old and tired and travelled at only five miles or so an hour. The journey seemed endless and took three days instead of two. The cold seeped into their bones and once all the passengers were obliged to alight from the coach at a particularly steep hill, for the horses could not pull the loaded coach up the hill.

“I hope we don't have an accident, ma'am,” Jane said, panting along at the side of Adelina who carried the baby. “ I reckon this coachman's not to be trusted. Strikes me he's overloaded the coach.”

Adelina said nothing, but bit down hard upon her lower lip and held the child closer to her against the winter wind.

After what seemed weeks instead of days, bruised and battered through being tossed about in the rattling coach, they arrived near Amberly. Hiring a local cab, Adelina took a bold step. “Lynwood Hall, please, driver,” she instructed him.

Jane gasped and looked at Adelina with wide eyes. “Oh ma'am. Ought we to?”

“Just for the present, Jane, until I've had time to look around.”

Adelina did not take her maidservant into her confidence, but she intended to stay at Lynwood Hall just long enough to find out, once and for all, whether she could be reconciled with her grandfather. If not, then she would return to America.