Betrayed Countess (Books We Love Historical Romance) (44 page)

The old woman fiddled some more around Bettina’s lower lips.

“Please, what is happening?” she cried. The discomfort and the unknown were maddening.

“Think I have it
… push again,” the old woman said.

Bettina pushed, screamed and felt something slide from her body. She sobbed with the agonizing effort and the searing pain, heaving in exhaustion.

“Looks like … yes it be. You has a boy.” The midwife’s lips sunk into her mouth as she ministered to the baby. Kerra and Mrs. Camborne gripped hands and hovered nearby. The smell of blood and bodily fluids stank sharp in the room.

“Is he all right?” Bettina tried to sit up, but dizziness overtook her and she collapsed back on the moist mattress, sweaty hair sticking to her face. “Mon Dieu! Please, tell me!”

The old woman smacked the baby. A whimpering started. Bettina’s heart seemed to choke up into her throat. The midwife laid the baby down, and tied string around the umbilical cord, which throbbed like a bloody snake. She grabbed scissors, waited, then snipped it.

“Give me my baby!” Bettina thrust out her arms. “Is he breathing?”

A tiny wail emitted from the form the midwife wrapped in linen. She handed the baby to Mrs. Camborne. “He’s breathin’, thanks be to God. Now we ain’t done yet.” The old woman pushed down on Bettina’s belly.

She cried out. Then she felt a mass slip from between her legs, slimy against her thighs. The midwife inspected the placenta and nodded in approval. Bettina closed her eyes for an instant and quivered, feeling like an emptied sack.

“He’s a right proper lord o’ the manor.” Kerra smiled, but her eyes glistened with tears. “Can’t wait to tell Mads.”

“A boy,
mon fils
. I knew it was to be a boy.” Bettina stretched up her hands. “I want to hold him.”

“He’s so beautiful.” Mrs. Camborne, her features sagged with relief, laid the bundle in Bettina’s arms.

She touched his silky skin and cuddled the warm, squirming body to her throat. He cried out in protest, and she kissed his cheek, regretting she’d almost thought that losing him would be best. “I will never want to give you up,” she whispered.

Mrs. Camborne opened the bedchamber door.

Everett rushed in and sat on the bed, embracing her. “Thank God you’re safe. And a son.” He looked down and ran a finger over the baby’s red forehead. “You’re both so precious to me.”

Bettina sighed, languid with exhaustion, and snuggled to her two men. She longed to be safe, but felt like she tottered on a steep ledge.

Chapter Thirty-One

EXECUTION OF LOUIS XVI. KING OF THE FRENCH. Bettina’s mouth went dry as she stared at the headline in
The Times
. A heavy sadness washed over her. The National Convention had proclaimed King Louis XVI a traitor, and marched him to the beheading machine recently invented in France. She read:

The Republican Tyrants of France have now carried their bloody purposes to the uttermost diabolical stretch of savage cruelty. They have murdered their King without even the shadow of justice, and of course they cannot expect friendship nor intercourse with any civilized part of the world. The vengeance of Europe will now rapidly fall on them.

“‘The name of Frenchmen will be considered as deadly as poison.’” She quoted through a thickening throat, then looked up at Everett. “I suspected after the murder of all those priests in September, France would commit more atrocities. But to execute a king?
Affreux
.”

“Frightening, indeed. France already fights with Austria and Prussia. This act could mean worse conflict with England.” Everett tossed more coal on the parlor fire to chase away the January chill. He walked back and pressed her shoulder. “I’m sorry to bring you this news, it is a shock. Affable King George is indulged by his subjects, even in his wavering mental state. The hostility is usually saved for Parliament, and waiting in dread for the day his dissolute son becomes king.”

“These events, it is so much to worry over.” Bettina set aside the paper, leaned over and picked up their five-month-old son. She kissed his cheek to soften her upset. They’d named him Christian Samson: Chretien in French—her father’s middle name, and Samson after Everett’s father. She stared into her baby’s eyes, so dark blue they looked black. “What kind of world will we leave our children?”

“We must try to make the world better. These people seized power with valid grievances. Then it went to their head, ending in brutality.” Everett sat beside her and caressed the infant’s head. Christian cooed and smiled at his father. “Did you know your king?”

“I was presented once, but of course it was very rehearsed, no chance to ‘know’ anyone. My father called the king well meaning but unprepared for his duties, though not where he might hear. The king had little respect at Court. Everyone found him awkward. But did he deserve death?” She held on to the belief that her father hadn’t deserved his fate. Would he have accepted these drastic changes? Now she’d never know that either.

Her mind slipped to Versailles. Her tall, handsome father had been so proud to present her that day. She and her mother had worn gowns with long trains, their panniers pushing out their skirts like wings.

Christian tangled his fingers in her hair, keeping her from tumbling too far into sorrow. Bettina rocked him and remembered her father’s sturdy hand holding hers in that glittering spectacle of the past assembled in the Grand Gallery of the palace. She remembered Louis XVI, shambling along with his sword. And the Queen, haughty, ornate in her diamonds, her hair towering over her high forehead. “We were blinded by our opulent lifestyle—the bowing, the curtsies, and the empty flattery, frivolous rituals. But is it fair to murder? What will happen to the queen and her children?” She choked back despair. “I will never return to that life, nor do I want what I lost anymore. Now my mother is in worse peril. I so hope she left France. I want her to see her grandson … some day.”

“We’ll pray that she escaped.” Everett kissed her cheek. “I spoke with my solicitor in London
—one more year to go before we can marry. But Christian is as legitimate to me as if we were wed.”

“I know he is.” Bettina also knew she’d be helpless under the law. She snuggled the baby to her full breasts that ached with milk. He watched her with luminous eyes. Kissing his silken head, she wanted to protect him from life’s dangers and cruel judgment.

* * * *

Maddie set two bottles of brandy on the roughhewn table in the inn’s kitchen. “Here they be. Don’t know how much more we’ll get from France these days.”

Bettina handed her the coins. “We will enjoy them slowly.” She inhaled the smoke and meat smells she once abhorred. Compared to the cavernous manor though, Maddie’s kitchen seemed a cozy haven on this chilly first of February.

Maddie lifted Christian from her arms and held him up as he giggled. “A fine big boy you be.” She made a funny face. “You was lucky Mr. Camborne got his divorce. Just like a man to keep that he had it already in the courts to hisself.”

“I was very lucky, it is so true.” Bettina sat and arranged her skirts to divert her gaze.

“Divorces is impossible to get unless you’re rich.” Ann chopped onions and kept glaring at her with suspicion. “A proper religious ceremony did you have now?”

“It was as proper as it could be.” Bettina hated the continued lies she had to tell people about her marriage.

“Don’t matter how fine, when you get this little angel in the bargain.” Maddie bounced the baby and spoke gibberish.

Watching them, Bettina felt a prick of sadness as she remembered her friend’s tale of ridding herself of her deserting lover’s child.

“There’s no religion left in your country. Nothing but savages would behead their rightful king.” Ann hacked down the knife; a slice of onion slapped to the floor. Bettina winced.

“We English beheaded a king in the past, Ann,” Maddie said.

“I believe now that my king made many mistakes.” Bettina blinked, eyes watering from the onions. Ten days had passed since Louis Capet, stripped of his “XVI”, was guillotined. “King Louis intended to fight with the Austrians against France. He should never have tried to run away. Many of the nobles…
.” To admit this condemned most everyone she’d known. “They behaved in a selfish manner as well.”

The door burst open and Kerra rustled in, face flushed. “Won’t never believe it.” She plopped down at the table and clasped Bettina’s hand. “Glad you be here, too. Charlie wants to make an honest woman o’ me. Made me wait all this time. Now he's in a big rattlebrained rush to get married.” Kerra laughed, her delight obvious despite her scoffing.

“When will you have the ceremony?” Bettina swallowed her envy, genuinely pleased for her friend. “I am so happy for you. What do you need for a wedding present?”

“Truth be told, just ’bout everything in the world.” Kerra stood and took Christian from her sister. The baby giggled and tugged at her wavy brunette hair. “We’re thinkin’ in April.”

“Be ’bout time. Men think we wait around for them with nothin’ better to do.” Maddie snatched over a bowl and wiggled slimy pig entrails around as she cut them up.

Kerra put Christian on her hip and undulated across the kitchen. “When the banns be posted, no one best say a bad word against me, or they’ll be hell to pay.”

“Church roof will fall in, no doubt.” Ann crimped dough in a pan for the Muggety pie.

“I hope you have many children.” Bettina prayed Kerra could still have babies after her abortion. “I will need to have a dress made. I have not lost all the weight since having the baby. Not that Everett complains.” Bettina looked down at the straining bodice and waist of her gown. The odor of breast milk wafted off her clothes. She’d have to feed Christian soon to ease her discomfort.

“'Course not. Men love it when you got teats up to your ears.” Kerra laughed when Christian patted her sparse chest. “Gives ’em something to hold on to.”

“Kerra! As an almost proper married lady, you must learn to speak more genteel like,” Maddie scolded, pointing the knife at her.

“Is Charlie out of mourning now?” Bettina asked, after laughing. Then the thought of Stephen’s death and who had murdered him blurred her elation.

“He be just out. His mamm still wears black, but she said she do want to go through with the ceremony. Can’t believe she likes me so much.” Kerra snorted. When Maddie went out to the taproom, Kerra leaned down to Bettina’s ear. “Don’t tell Mads, but I’m with babe again. It’s good we’s tying the knot.”

Bettina eyed Kerra with concern, picturing her skinny body soaked in blood, the mad gallop up the coast. She stood and kissed her friend’s cheek. “I wish you the best.”

Shouts and angry voices came from the taproom.

Maddie strode back in, her mouth in a grimace. She put her hand firm on Bettina’s shoulder. “Don’t know if it’s true, but a gentleman out there just said that France has declared war on England.”

* * * *

Bettina jounced beside Everett as they rode in his curricle through the warming spring air down to the little church in Sidwell. He’d barely made it back in time from London, due to the war concerns with his business the last two months.

“Thank you for hurrying home for Kerra’s wedding. That means so much to me.” She smiled at him. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

When they entered the church, she felt every glare in the place scouring over them in the rustle of Sunday clothes and beribboned straw hats. She was glad she’d left Christian home with his grandmother. The church felt cool and smelled a bit damp. The morning light seeped in through its high narrow windows.

“That’s Newlyn’s betrothed,” Maddie whispered when they sat in the scratched front pew. Newlyn Tremayne, looking uncomfortable in his Sunday frock coat, stood with a young woman pale and thin as a wisp of straw. “She’s a mite dull, just like him.”

Bettina recalled her ill-fated Michaelmas dance with Newlyn, and Stephen’s ‘escort’. It was the first time she’d met Everett.

Kerra stood with Charlie before the communion table. She wore the exquisite high-collared gown Maddie had fashioned. The ivory satin dress was sprinkled with the seed pearls Bettina bought. Kerra, slender as a willow switch, showed no signs of her pregnancy.

The vicar came forward as Charlie’s parents smiled and nodded—his mother, Avis, was a tiny blot of black.

“Too bad our own father couldn’t be here,” Maddie said in an undertone. “Probably in a ditch somewhere, his throat slit for cheating the wrong person.”

“You do have a colorful way of putting things, Miss Tregons,” Everett told her, an eyebrow arched. Bettina muffled a laugh.

“Kerra, she is beautiful and Charlie so handsome. They are very fortunate to be marrying,” Bettina whispered when the couple recited their vows. Newlyn, as groomsman, dropped the ring, then knelt and groped under the table to retrieve it at the vicar’s feet.

Everett squeezed her hand. “Everything will come in time.”

“I know. I wish only the guests would stare at the wedding couple, and not at us.” Bettina glared down one of the village gossips sitting across the aisle.