Realm 07 - A Touch of Honor (28 page)

Her words shook John’s composure: His wife drifted between reality and fancy, and the lines had blurred. “I am a wealthy man, Satiné, but even I cannot command the heavens; yet, I will see you in which ever home you wish to claim. Just follow me inside.” John extended his palm to her and waited for his baroness’s response.

She blinked as if bringing his countenance into focus. “I have no home.” Her voice had shifted to a shrill rasp. “Uncle means to marry. Like everyone else, he has replaced me.”

“I have not,” John promoted. He extended his arm further. “I remain your devoted husband.” He stretched his stance to where he might reach her. “I have always thought you one of the most beautiful women of my acquaintance.”

“But I am not beautiful,” she insisted harshly. “I search the mirror each day and never do I see beauty in the reflection. In its place, I am the disgusting caterpillar, which never becomes the butterfly. I wished to be Henrí’s princess, but he chose a woman of little note. She is the butterfly, while I crawl away to hide among the foliage of York.” Her words struck John a mighty blow, but he shook it off. He would deal with her dislike for all he could offer her once he had his wife safely inside the tower. She pointed to the tree line in the distance. “I wish to escape the dirt and the mud–to fly above the trees–above the rooftops. See how the clouds beckon to me.”

John caught at the makeshift harness to make certain it would hold his weight. If possible, he would lunge for her and pray Satiné would not fight him. However, before he could move, she froze him with her words. “I despise you.” Did she mean him or herself? Satiné looked to the sky. “I despise this world, for try as I may, I have never been comfortable in it. I have attempted to make myself into the kind of woman everyone admires, but the mold has never fit. I am different. A mismatch in Society.”

“You err, Satiné,” John argued. “I have witnessed your successes.”

She accused, “What am I to you?”

John breathed deeply to steady his voice, not to betray his anxiousness. “You are my wife. My baroness.”

“Your possession,” she said sadly. “When you look upon me, why can you not see the grief inside?” She teetered forward, and John caught her hand to bring Satiné to a solid stance. At least, he could keep her from pitching to her death, but the effort had cost him. A sharp jolt of tenderness shot through his chest. “Why do you not see my soul is smothered by your good intentions, a bit each day?”

“What do you wish of me, Satiné?” he pleaded.

“Permit me to disappear. The world would never grieve for I am dispensable.”

He gave her arm a small tug as he protested. “You are essential to me. Do not leave me, Satiné. Everyone has left me alone. I cannot bear it.”

“You sound as Cashémere did when we were in Scotland; yet, any more than I could my twin, I cannot assure you of my loyalty. I will never be your perfect match. Unfortunately for your plea, the pity in your eyes says I speak the truth.” She resisted his maneuver to pull her closer. “I am cut too small and my living is killing us both.”

“I cannot permit you to do this, Satiné. I am your husband. I must protect you even from yourself.”

She said defiantly, “I mean to walk among the clouds and beyond. You cannot prevent it, my Lord.” And with those words, she stepped from the ledge.

John tightened his grip about her arm and braced for the impact of her body against the side of the tower. Her momentum jerked him forward, stretching his left arm out over the land below and pitching him, half bent over at the knees, toward the waiting earth, only to be jerked a second time to the right as the cravat tightened about his wrist. He was being stretched like a man upon the rack, but John closed his eyes and his mind to the pain.

He heard the air escape Satiné’s lips as she slammed into the brick wall. “Argh!” Recovering from the initial collision, his wife twisted and squirmed, using her legs to shove against the wall to pull John further from his perch. “Release me!” she screamed, but John simply tightened his hold and waited for her to cease her caterwauling. At that moment, he said a silent prayer of thanks: His wife’s diminished weight had turned into a blessing.

“Please, John,” she sobbed.

“I cannot,” he declared before his baroness suddenly went limp, her weight tugging sharply at his shoulder joint.

“Dear God!” he heard Lexford grunt and felt the viscount’s hands reeling in the stretched cloth of the cravat. “Hold tight, Swenton!”

John lifted Satiné’s weight a few inches higher, but he could not return her to the ledge in her current unconscious condition, and so he edged closer to the window, literally dragging his wife’s body against the stone. She dangled at his feet, but he could not bend to lift her to him. Every second, that ticked by, her weight, combined with gravity, pulled at his left arm, but still he refused to abandon her.

“Assist me!” he growled when he reached the window.

Lexford wrapped one arm about John’s waist and the other he laced between John’s legs. There was no time to untie the cravat–no time to design a more efficient plan. “Now!” Lexford’s muffled call came at the back of John’s knee as the viscount pulled John backwards through the window to tumble in a contorted heap, half in and half out of the opening.

Satiné’s body had trailed over the rough edge of the lip upon which they had stood, the stones leaving a scrape of raw skin and blood upon her cheek; however, John never relinquished his hold on her–his fist set in stone upon her thin wrist.

Somehow, he managed to place one stockinged foot upon the floor while Lexford scrambled to his feet from where his friend had landed upon his backside. The viscount wedged himself between John’s body and the narrow opening, leaning out precariously to grab a handful of Satiné’s hair.

“Hold her!” Lexford ordered as he made a swat for Satiné’s flaying arm.

“Hurry,” John groaned. He heard his shoulder bone pop from its joint, and he bit his lip until the blood came; yet, nothing changed.

Lexford finally caught Satiné’s other arm and tugged her upward, and John felt the relief ever so slightly, but the crisis was far from over.

“Balance her while I bring my other leg through the opening.” John spit the words through tight lips, and Lexford caught Satiné’s shoulder with his other hand. John twisted his torso to lift his wife higher as he pulled his other leg through the opening. His right arm was attached to the tether of his cravat, while his left held onto the soft skin of his wife’s wrist. Through the narrow space, at last, he reclaimed a bit of the window’s opening–muscular chest to muscular chest, he joined the viscount to catch Satiné closer to them.

However, his wife’s distorted lucidity had returned, and she did the unthinkable. Satiné grasped Lexford’s lapels and pulled with determination. “I mean to walk in the clouds,” she said in the same voice John recalled from long prior, the one of the simple girl he had met at Linton Park. “Will you join me, Henrí?” With that, Satiné shoved hard against the wall, throwing herself backward and taking Lexford with her.

John acted by instinct. A release of her wrist. His arm and body draped across Lexford’s back, anchoring his friend to the window’s casement. As soon as he had responded, John knew his baroness had won. A sickening thud echoed through his body, and then she was no more.

“My God, Swenton,” Lexford said in true regret. “I thought your lady unconscious.” The viscount frantically untied the cravat to release John’s right arm. “How can I ever thank you for saving me? And at the expense of…”

“Do not say it!” John said bitterly. He had sent his friend to assess Satiné’s condition before he had accepted any of the viscount’s care giving, and Lexford had returned pale faced and shaken.

“You are certain Satiné did not survive?” he had asked through trembling lips.

Tears misted Lexford’s eyes. “Your lady will suffer no more,” his friend assured. “I covered her with my jacket.” His friend rubbed the feeling into John’s right arm. “Permit me to assist you.” He hoisted John to a seated position upon the stool. “Can you negotiate the stairs on your own?”

“What of Jamot?” he asked, attempting to think upon anything but what awaited him below.

“I had thought to give chase, but then I looked up to…” Lexford caught John’s arm in a firm grip. “I should reset your shoulder.”

John breathed deeply to avoid the nausea rolling through his stomach. He knew enough of the viscount’s personality to recognize Lexford’s need to be useful, but before his friend could administer the maneuver, which would return John’s shoulder to a proper alignment, frantic shouts below drew their attention.

“Lexford! Swenton!” A familiar voice called as its owner stormed the steps.

“Here!” Lexford called. “The third storey.”

The frenzy had disappeared from James Kerrington’s voice, but not the urgency. “Is Swenton with you?”

“Yes.” Lexford said calmly as Lord Worthing’s footsteps slowed as their friend appeared in the open doorway. “I must set the baron’s shoulder,” Lexford explained to an out-of-breath Kerrington.

Without asking the multitude of questions John was certain his former “captain” held, Worthing moved to assist Lexford’s efforts. With a hand under his armpit and a sturdy grasp upon his shoulder, a quick jerk moved the bone into position, and John blinked away the darkness, which wished to claim his mind.

“So, the prince’s employee spoke the truth?”

“Yes.” John swayed as he stood. “I will explain all after you assist me below. I mean to view my wife’s body.”

“I do not think…” Worthing began, but ceased his protest when John’s gaze hardened.

“I failed her.” John accepted the tears, which had tugged at his eyes. “The least I can do is to grieve for Satiné.”

Worthing nodded his acceptance of John’s feelings as Lexford retrieved John’s belongings. “I will fetch the blankets from the chamber Jamot used and join you below. We can use them to protect Lady Swenton’s body until someone is dispatched from the town.”

It had been one of the most difficult things John had ever done, but he remained determined to view Satiné’s person. His shoulder throbbed. His legs were bruised and exhausted. His ribs shot pains up and down his spine. However, he finally reached the spot where Satiné’s body rested upon the ground. With her upper body covered, one might think her asleep upon the grass, for other than a few scrapes and cuts, no damage was evident. Evidently, when she had shoved away from his grasp and the tower, his wife had led with her upper torso in her descent. The impact had crushed one side of his baroness’s head, the gray matter seeping into the damp earth.

“Enough,” Kerrington ordered as he assisted John to a seat upon a flat boulder and then covered Satiné again. He retrieved a flask from his saddlebag. “Here. Drink this.” John did not argue. He was beyond making decisions for himself and was thankful for his friends’ interventions. “I have sent Lexford to Brighton for your coach to return you to the town for proper medical care. He is also to fetch a constable so we should decide what we will tell the authorities. Lexford provided me a quick summary of what occurred, but is there anything else I should know?”

John shook his head in the negative. “Whatever you decide, you will own my agreement.” He hesitated before adding, “As much chaos as she brought to my life, my wife deserved a better end.”

“Did Lady Swenton scream for assistance as she fell?” Worthing asked in earnest.

John scowled. He searched his mind for the memory of his wife’s fall. When she had jerked Lexford to her, the viscount’s body filled the window, plastering John against the side framing as his left arm and shoulder struggled to hold onto his baroness. He realized belatedly, he had not observed Satiné’s descent: Lexford’s body had blocked the scene, but John held no memory of his wife’s knowing fear. “Not of which I am aware.”

“Then it is possible the baroness had recognized her fate and had accepted her choice.”

John confessed, “Satiné spoke of the pain of her soul and wishing to know freedom.”

“Those of us left behind cannot imagine such devastation, but you have seen how each person handles tribulations differently. Your father withdrew from everyone but you. Eleanor’s father sought love where none could be found, nearly destroying his daughter’s life in his fruitless search. I raced away from parents most dear and a child I adore when I lost Elizabeth. One can never explain how the mind finds its escape. Likely, as the youngest and the most vulnerable of the Aldridge sisters, Satiné unconsciously mourned the loss of her parents more than did her sisters. I would venture to say in the situations in which they found themselves, neither Lady Yardley or the Duchess had much time to reflect upon her loss, but Ashton created a world of perfection for his niece, so much so, Satiné never learned to meet the world’s cruelty.”

John agreed with Worthing; yet, he could not escape the guilt, which gnawed at his heart. “I should not have released her.”

“John, it will be a long time before you accept absolution, but I assure you, no one will place guilt upon your shoulders.”

*

It was decided among them they could not hide the fact Satiné had consumed the laudanum, which had controlled her mind, for both the innkeeper and the girl his wife had hired as a maid would divulge the information to the constable assigned to investigate the incident; therefore, they led everyone to believe Jamot had forced her to drink more of the opiate than the physician had directed. “The man my associates describe has a long history of crime, including the opium trade pouring into our shores,” Sir Carter had told the local constable, who often stood in awe in the baronet’s presence: No local authority would consider speaking against the Home Office. Before he had called at the inn earlier in the day, Worthing had sent an express to Pennington regarding Lady Swenton’s calculated “insult” to Prince George, and the Realm leader had sent Sir Carter to pacify the English prince. “I know for a fact Murhad Jamot is not beyond providing the baroness with the opiate, which drove reason from Lady Swenton’s mind. Lord Swenton and Lord Lexford fought valiantly to save the baroness, but their efforts came too late.”

John could hear Worthing and Sir Carter direct the constable’s steps, sending the man to question both Viscount Setcliffe and Prince George’s former employee, both of whom would acknowledge the truth of Jamot’s tracking Satiné. His friends had created a tale in which his baroness had become a victim. He appreciated their protecting Satiné’s tattered reputation for his sake.

“You must rest your shoulder,” the surgeon had instructed. John reclined upon the man’s surgical table, his eyes closed to the turmoil surrounding his wife’s plunge from the tower. “I have set your ribs into place, but you must keep them bound tightly until they heal.”

John stared at the ceiling. “I understand.”

“What will you do with your baroness’s remains?”

John opened his eyes to study the surgeon more closely. “I had not thought on it. I suppose I will return Lady Swenton to my manor and the family cemetery. Is there some reason of import to rouse your curiosity?”

The surgeon had the good sense to blush. “I apologize; I am not a man who knows how to speak of life’s trials with anything less than the truth.” John held his tongue until he knew the man’s purpose. “As a surgeon, I am fascinated with how the body reacts to trauma. In our medical schools, we have so few opportunities to study the human anatomy outside of books.”

With difficulty, John sat upon the table. “Are you asking my permission to cut upon my wife’s body?” Incredulity rose in his tone.

The surgeon backed away from John’s lethal stare. “No, my Lord. I assure you that was never my purpose.” He swallowed hard. “Occasionally, when the local sexton has a case which challenges his abilities…”

“Such as my wife’s accident?” John eyed the surgeon suspiciously.

“Exactly!” The man said with relief. “I assist him in making the person presentable.”

John eased from the table to stand stiffly. “And you are being paid by the sexton to make my wife
presentable
?”

“Do you object, my Lord?”

John thought of the damage to Satiné’s head. “Although the coffin will remain closed, if you have talent in this area, I hold no objections. However, know I mean to set a course for York on the morrow.”

The surgeon cleared his throat. “And what of the child, Baron Swenton?” John’s heart turned a somersault in his chest. “I suppose most would not consider the fetus a child. Some three to four months in its development. Most miscarriages come long before this time in a woman’s childbearing. I suspect the influence of the fall caused your wife’s body to reject the pregnancy. Does your Church accept the child’s remains in the same coffin as the mother? Some do, but others…”

The man rattled on, but all of which John could think was of Satiné’s lie: She had sworn her monthlies had returned–that there was no child. “Could the babe have survived if not for the fall?” Blind bitterness consumed John.

“Only if the mother had done as well,” the surgeon assured. “Our skills are not advanced enough to save a child when the mother passes, but perhaps some day.”

“Is it possible to know whether the child was a boy or a girl?” It was essential to him to know. John would have loved either unconditionally, but an heir for his title would have been a blessed event.

“I am sorry, my Lord. It was too early to know for certain. At this stage, both genders have a genital tube, which later turns to either a penis or the clitoris. I simply wished upon permission to examine the child more closely. To make some notes upon what I observed.”

John found the idea more than a bit morbid; yet, he understood the necessity of science. He hoped some day mankind would be able to care for a child beyond the mother’s efforts. “I do not wish the child’s remains cut upon, and I wish it placed in the coffin with its mother rather than destroyed in a fire.” He attempted to speak without rancor, but he thought he might run mad into the street; no one could devise such a bizarre situation.

“Certainly, my Lord. I am extremely grateful.”

John nodded curtly and walked away as briskly as his injuries permitted. He barely saw Sir Carter and Worthing speaking to the constable or heard the man calling after him. He had no idea where he was going or what he intended to do when he arrived, but John knew if he did not escape the current insanity surrounding him, he would not be responsible for his actions.

Sir Carter caught his arm. “What has occurred?” the baronet hissed with urgency.

John shook off his friend’s hand. “I married a conniving devil.” He noted Sir Carter’s look of surprise, and the baronet’s glance about the street to check for eavesdroppers, but John cared not for who might overhear.

“Let us seek privacy,” Sir Carter insisted.

“There is no privacy,” John growled, but he permitted the baronet to lead him to a nearby alley.

Once there, Sir Carter pleaded, “Tell me quick.”

“Satiné!” John spit his wife’s name. “She killed my child with her fall, and now I am expected by Society to grieve for a woman, who despised all for which I stand. A woman who lied to me regarding her condition. A woman who denied me the one thing I have always desired: a family.”

Shock crossed the baronet’s expression. “Satiné carried your child?”

John scrubbed his face with his dry hands; yet, exhaustion remained. “I discovered Satiné’s condition by accident–in a letter to Coyle, which I franked for her. Earlier at the abbey when I expressed my concern, my wife…” Again, John spit the words. “My wife claimed her womanhood in tact, but the surgeon says otherwise. Satiné’s fall caused her to lose the child she carried. My child. My heir.” The anger and the despair ricocheted through him, and John sank to his knees in sobs. “My child,” he whispered harshly.

As if it was not an unusual event, Sir Carter, joined by Lord Worthing, had caught him in their combined embrace, and they rocked him as no one had ever done previously. Rocked him as if they were his brothers. His friends–two of England’s finest and most lethal agents of the Crown–openly sharing his grief, and John found comfort for the first time in his life. Comfort in of all places, a filthy alleyway in a British seaside resort. Comfort in the face of the complete devastation of all he was and all he cherished.

After a few minutes of self-absorption, Worthing braced John to his feet. He thought to apologize for his weakness, but a slight shake of Lord Worthing’s head said John’s regrets were not necessary among friends. “I have instructed the constable to return later today to pose the last of his questions.” Worthing spoke as if John’s anguish had not been on display for all to observe. As idiocratic as it seemed, the future earl’s words brought flickers of reason to John’s sensibility.