Mrs. Drew Plays Her Hand (25 page)

"She is so thin," he whispered. He touched her arm, wincing to see her ribs so prominent. "And so warm."

Roxanna finished her work, standing a moment over her daughter, breathing along with her, then sank into the chair again. "She does not eat much," she explained, her voice toneless. "Dr. Clyde says that the fever will go away eventually, but I do not know that Lissy can last long enough to find out."

She was silent again. He glanced at her to see silent tears coursing down her cheeks. Such hopeless tears, he thought. He touched her face, wondering if she had cried this way for Anthony. Of course you did, my darling, he thought as he took out his handkerchief. Is this never going to end for you?

The dimness of the room bothered him. "Can I light some candles?" he asked.

Roxanna shook her head. "The light bothers Lissy's eyes. Oh, Fletch, how kind of you to come," she said, as though just realizing that he was in the room.

"When did you last sleep, Roxie?" he asked as he pocketed his handkerchief.

"I can't remember exactly."

"When did you last eat?"

She shrugged and looked away, as though it was of little importance to her. "I think it was yesterday. Yes, I'm sure it was. .." Her voice trailed off as she stared at her daughter. "I should eat, though. You see, Winn . . ." she began, and then stopped.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing that can't keep." She directed her attention to her daughter again.

He rested his hand against Roxie's cheek a moment, then left the room, taking Helen with him. "Come, my dear, let's light some lamps downstairs. Can you cook?"

She smiled at him. "I've been learning. Sally is in the kitchen now, fixing some soup for us."

Below stairs, he shook hands with the scullery maid he only dimly remembered from Christmas, overriding her shyness by sticking his finger in the pot of soup, rolling his eyes, and pronouncing it excellent. It is tasty, he thought as he took up a spoon for a further dip from the pot. In a few years upon retirement, Mrs. Howell may have a worthy successor. He turned to Helen.

"Now, my dear, if you will set the table in the breakfast room, and Sally, if you will brew a pot of coffee as fine as that soup, I'll try to coax Lady Winn downstairs for a bite. Helen, can you watch Lissy while your mother eats?"

Helen nodded and glanced at Sally, who smiled back. "We've both been doing that, sir. Sometimes Mama kicks up a fuss when we make her leave, but we insist at least once a day."

Lord Winn put his hands on the girls' shoulders. "I could have used you two at Waterloo," he said, his heart lifting as the light seemed to come back into their faces. "Come on, now, step to it. I'll get your mother downstairs."

While Helen set the table, humming softly to herself, he lit lamps in the breakfast room, entrance hall, and sitting room. He paused in the sitting room to blow dust off the piano lid and raise it. He played a tentative chord, pleased that the piano was still in tune. He looked at the music on the stand, seeing the little melody he had written earlier that spring for Helen. He played it, standing by the piano.

"I know that one by heart, Winn," Helen said from the doorway. "And I have been working on the Scarlatti, like you said."

He turned around to smile at her, pleased to note that she had brushed her hair and pulled it back into a bow. "Come, my dear. Let's go upstairs again and talk your mother into dinner. Do you think I will have any luck getting her to go to bed afterwards?"

"Not at all," Helen said. "She just sits in that chair and dozes."

"Not tonight she won't," he said firmly as he took her hand and walked down the hall. "I mean to do that in her place."

"She's stubborn," Helen said, her voice uncertain. . "So am I, dear. So am I."

He was prepared for real resistance, but Roxie offered little. He put it down to her general exhaustion. She nodded at his suggestion for dinner, and he had the good sense to agree with her rider that she return promptly to Lissy's room. "Of course, Roxie, anything you say. Isn't that what I promised the blacksmith?" he replied as he winked at Helen, who grinned back and seated herself in Roxie's chair.

Roxie, you've been losing weight, too, he thought as he took her by the hand and led her downstairs. The lights made her blink at first, but she gradually relaxed and allowed him to seat her at the table.

He looked at the table in pleasure. Helen had put out good china and crystal, and the place mats and napkins gleamed so white against the dark wood. It was a room of pleasant memories, too, of Felicity peeking around at him, waiting for cinnamon buns. And now .. . The pain of seeing Lissy lying so still upstairs washed over him again and he hung onto the back of the chair where he had seated Roxanna. The moment passed and he seated himself, nodding to Sally to serve the soup.

"You should have written me sooner," he said mildly as he sat and watched his wife eat, wondering at her ravaged beauty and its power over him. You are much too thin, but I am captured all over again, he thought. Beyond the misery of the moment, there was something different about her that he could not quite put his finger on. When she made no reply, he gave his attention to the soup, and then bullied Roxie into a second bowl, and a glass of sherry, too.

He poured himself another cup of coffee, preparing for an assault on Roxie's plans to return to Lissy's room. "Now then, my dear . . ." he began, and then stopped, looking at her. He grinned, raised the cup in a toast, and finished his coffee. So much for my strategy.

Roxie was asleep, her head nodding over the table, her hand still wrapped around the stem of the sherry glass. "You poor dear," he whispered as he got up quietly and eased the glass from her hand. He picked her up and carried her upstairs, marveling again how light she was. She smelled faintly of lavender, and his heart was full.

He thought she might wake when he laid her on her bed, but she only sighed and rested her hand on her stomach, relaxing completely as though she knew she could surrender to sleep, now that he was there. He lighted a branch of candles and the lamp beside the bed, looking around in appreciation at the new wallpaper and draperies. I could easily prefer this place to that slab of stone I live in, he told himself. I certainly prefer the company.

He removed her shoes, and considered leaving it at that, then changed his mind. Better to take the pins from her hair and divest her of her dress, he reasoned. He sat on the edge of the bed, taking the pins from her hair, spreading it out to flow over the pillow. Roxie slumbered on, captured by sleep. I could whistle "Lilliburlero" and accompany myself on the drums and you would not wake up, he thought, smiling to himself.

She parted company from her dress without a whimper. He pulled her arms from the sleeves, remembering how boneless she was that first morning in his bed, satiated with love. And now you are exhausted by Lissy's illness, he thought, fingering her wedding ring.

She looked more comfortable without her dress, but he continued, untying the cord that held up her petticoat. It was while he was sliding Roxie out of her petticoat that he noticed his wife had a little company.

"What's this, Roxie?" he asked out loud as he ran his hand lightly over the slight bulge below her middle.
"Oh, Roxie, no
wonder you didn't want to write," he said as he rested his
hand on
her belly.

He sat back a moment, moved beyond words, then
touched her
again, delighting in the experience. So we made a baby in
March,
he thought, and I can cup my hands around
three
and
a half
months of our child. As he sat there, he felt the tiniest
flutter
under his fingers, like someone tapping lightly. "Oh, God," he breathed, and it was a prayer of gratitude.

The strength of the woman lying on the bed humbled him. How could you do it? he thought. How could you take on Tibbie's work, and watch Lissy, and suffer Meggie's death? And all this time you were probably in the throes of morning sickness, if I can remember anything my sisters complained about. I think our child is determined to be born.

Sitting there with his hand resting on his baby, he considered the matter. "In all this long agony, why didn't you say anything, my love?" he asked her sleeping body. He had his answer almost before the words were out of his mouth, and he could only wonder at his stupidity. How many times have I insisted to you that I did not want children? he berated himself. You must be terrified that I will find out and be furious.

"It can keep then," he said as he gently replaced her petticoat. "We can wait until Lissy is out of the woods. I can't wait to hear how you're going to bring up this subject, my dear wife!"

He laughed softly as he covered her with a sheet, kissed her cheek, and strolled out of the room on air. He was still smiling when he relieved Helen in the sickroom. "Go to bed, my dear," he whispered. "I'll watch tonight."

She stood up and allowed him to sit in her place, then sat down in his lap, leaning against him. "I missed you," she said softly. "We all did."

"Even your mother?" he asked, his eyes lively. He kissed the top of her head and settled Helen comfortably on his lap. He prepared for a long night of thinking and watching, his mind on the child lying so still in the bed, but his heart on the woman in the other room and her careful secret.

Fortified with a pot of Sally's coffee and a Fielding novel, he kept awake all night. Around midnight, Helen staggered off to bed with a wave of her hand, and he returned his attention to the child before him.

Lissy slept in odd little spurts, muttering to herself, turning from side to side to find a cool place, and then sitting upright once to stare at him, speak nonsense, then lie back down. He made her drink the heavily sugared water on the nightstand, and sponged her down several times. Her skin was tight and dry, and warm enough to worry him. Just watching her was a draining process, he decided. No wonder Roxie looked like the walking dead.

His wholehearted admiration for his wife grew as the night dragged on. How on earth had Roxanna managed to tend Lissy and the estate, too? Whoever thinks women are weaker vessels never knew Roxie Rand, he thought. He counted the months on his fingers, and concluded that their son or daughter would be born around Christmas. Such a lovely gift.

As much as he loved Moreland now, he wanted his first child to be born in the family seat at Winnfield. We can spend our summers here, he told himself as he sat Lissy up to take her fever powders.

"Good girl," he said out loud, when she swallowed the bitter liquid without complaint. To his gratification, she opened her eyes at the sound of his voice and turned her head to stare at him. Her lovely eyes looked so wide now in her thin face that she seemed almost a caricature.

"Winn."

That was all she could manage, and it was such an effort that tears started in his eyes. As he laid her back down on the bed she tried to reach for his hand. He took her lightly by the fingers. "Hang on a little longer, my dear," he pleaded.

She slept then, and he dozed, too, waking before dawn to hear a carriage on the front drive. He stood up and stretched, his neck on fire from his awkward position in the chair. He pulled back the draperies to see, and could just make out the Manwaring carriage.

After a glance at Lissy, he tiptoed from the room and hurried down the stairs. He grabbed his sister and gave her a kiss as she came up the front steps.

"Honestly, Winn," she protested, a smile on her face. "We only parted company yesterday!"

"That's how glad I am to see you," he replied. He looked beyond her to the others leaving the carriage. "And you brought an army. Thank God for that. Clarrie, when was the last time I told you I loved you?"

Clarice grimaced. "It escapes my memory, brother." She introduced him to a tall young man who came next from the carriage. "Here is David Start, your new bailiff," she said as they shook hands. "Annie here will go to the kitchen or wherever she's needed, and Mrs. Mitchum is your housekeeper until the redoubtable Mrs. Howell returns." She handed a heavy basket to the bailiff. "Here we have lemons and jellies and potions galore. Lissy will not dare to remain sick."

He put his arm around her and led her into the house. "Such a lovely old place," Clarice murmured. "Is Roxie asleep?"

"Yes, and thank goodness for that," he said, helping her with her cloak. "Oh, Clarrie, she was burned right down to the socket."

"I can imagine."

He shook his head, amusement welling up in spite of the situation. "No, you really can't, my dear."

He only grinned at her quizzical expression, and then waited while she dispersed her help to various locations. She took the basket from the bailiff, and told him to wait there while she settled herself upstairs with Felicity. "And then the sun will be up, and Lord Winn will show you to Tibbie's house."

"Clarrie, you are a real general," Winn commented as they climbed the stairs. His sister only snorted and dug him in the ribs.

All joking ended as she stood silently over Lissy, shaking her head. "Flu is such a vile illness," she whispered, "never letting go until it is too late." She touched Lissy's arm and leaned over her. "Well, my dear, we shall see what can be done yet. Since you're a child of Roxie's, there's fight in you yet."

She removed her bonnet and allowed him to lead her to the next door. He opened it quietly. "Roxie's still asleep," he whispered, looking in on his wife, who lay in the same position he had left her in. "I wish she would stay in bed herself, but I am sure she will be up soon."

Clarice nodded. "Roxie would never stay in bed, but between the two of us, when she sees that we can manage, she might allow herself to rest."

He closed the door and leaned against it. "She really needs to rest, Clarrie. Roxie is expecting a baby." He grinned. "That March visit may have been brief, but it was potent, apparently."

She gasped and hugged him. "Winn! This is wonderful!"

He nodded, pleased to share the news with his sister. He put a finger to her lips. "I only discovered it last night when I removed her dress. Don't say a word. She has no idea that I know, and really, she doesn't show much."

Clarice took his arm as they walked back to Lissy's room. "I suspect she is afraid to tell you. I can't blame her."

''Nor can I, my dear," he agreed. "I shall have to dance very fast to repair my wounded credit. And Clarrie, I
am
delighted. In fact, I can't imagine why I had such a crack-brained notion about not wanting a child of my own."

Clarice touched his face and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Brother, it was probably a combination of too much war at home
and
abroad." She went into Lissy's room. "Now go downstairs and show David Start what he is to do. Then go to bed yourself. I think yours will be the night shift."

"Oui, mon capitan," he said.

"Winn, you're a nuisance," she said affectionately as she bent over Lissy.

"Before I sleep, I think I will compose a little note to Lord Whitcomb," he said, his hand on the doorknob.

"Whatever for?"

"Call it pride. If we are to remain here, off and on, in the North Riding, it's time to mend that particular fence."

Clarice looked dubious. "Since when did you become a diplomat?"

He grinned and closed the door softly behind him.

When Roxanna opened her eyes, her room was bright with sunshine and there was a vase of roses on her nightstand. I must be dreaming, she thought. She sniffed the roses, grateful that her morning sickness had receded enough to permit pleasure again at sharp fragrances. She settled more comfortably on her side, her hand going almost automatically to her belly. The baby was moving now; she was sure of it.

She sat up then and threw back the covers. "Lissy!" she exclaimed.

"Lissy is being quite carefully watched, my dear," said an unfamiliar voice from the window seat.

Roxanna looked around quickly, and then smiled. "Oh, Lady Manwaring," she said, relieved to recognize her visitor.

"Clarice to you, Roxanna," said the woman as she set down her knitting. "Your husband is quite the bully. There I was, minding my own business on a visit to Winnfield, when your letter arrived. He drafted my services, plus those of a bailiff, housekeeper, and servant from his estate. Annie is watching Lissy."

"Thank God," Roxanna said as she lay down again. She wiggled out of her petticoat, which had twisted up around her waist. "Thank you for getting that dress off me last night."

"Oh, well, yes," Lady Manwaring replied, just a hint of laughter in her voice. "Now, my dear Roxanna, why don't you just go back to sleep? Annie is watching, and I will take over from her in an hour."

"You're sure? Where is Helen?"

"I'm sure. My brother—-remember, he is a bully—-convinced Helen to ride out with David Start, the new bailiff. She knows all the fields and can give him some real assistance." Clarice came closer. "Roxanna, you are raising a very capable daughter. Tell me your secret."

"She had no choice, the same as I," Roxanna said simply. She lay down again, and offered no objection when Clarice straightened her pillow. "Yes, Helen does know the estate. Heaven knows we've ridden around it enough lately. Fletch is right about Helen, of course."

Clarice laughed. "Well, don't ever tell him! That sort of confidence makes husbands intolerable." She touched Roxanna's cheek. "My dear, go back to sleep. There's nothing going on here right now that we cannot deal with."

Roxanna closed her eyes. I'll never sleep, she thought. When she woke, the afternoon sun was slanting in the window, and Clarice had been replaced by Lord Winn.

He sat in the chair by the bed, hand on his cheek, reading the book in his lap. She lay still, not wanting to attract his attention yet, and soaked in the familiar sight of his spectacles scooting out to the end of his rather long nose. He is a handsome man, she thought. I wonder if our baby will have green eyes, too?

"Fletch," she said, to get his attention.

He smiled at her, closed the book, and took off his spectacles. "Well, my love, you look less like a potter's field candidate now than you did yesterday. Feel better?"

"Oh, I do," she said. "My love," is it? she asked herself. He tugged the blanket a little higher on her shoulders and went to the fireplace to give the coals another stir. "How is Lissy?" she asked when he returned to her side, sitting on the bed this time. She wanted to touch him, to rest her hand on his leg to assure herself that he was there, but she did not. "I pray she is no worse,"

"About the same. We're just continuing what you were doing so well, my dear. Dr. Clyde looked in on her, and pronounced us capable. I thought about asking him to look at you—"

"Oh, no!" she said hastily, eyes wide. "I am fine. Only tired."

He raised his eyebrows. "Don't like doctors, do we?" he asked.

"I am not the patient here," she said firmly.

"Of course you are not," he agreed, his voice serene. "You're not sick. You're just.. . tired."

"And now I must get up," she said.

"I'd rather you just rested," he said, putting his arm across her so she could not move.

She looked up at him. "Clarice is right. You are a bully," she whispered, and let him give her a hug. She clung to him, trying to press his strength into her own body, so thankful to have him here.

"I'm not going anywhere, my dear Roxie Rand," he assured her finally. "Plenty of time for this later."

Not after you find out, she thought as she released him. I have to tell you.

"Winn, I need to—"

But he was getting up now, and retrieving his book and spectacles from the chair.

"What you need is a hot bath. I promised Game I would tell her when you woke up. The tub's already in front of the fireplace. I think she enlisted Inca runners to bring in hot water, so I will leave you now."

He was gone with a wave of his hand and a wink. When she made her appearance an hour later in Lissy's room, he was feeding Lissy. She stared at him and tiptoed closer, resting her hand on his shoulder in her surprise. How does he do that? she thought, watching the wonderful sight before her. Everything she had offered, Lissy had rejected, turning away. And here he was, spooning down oatmeal without a complaint.

"You're a wonder, Fletch," she marveled when Lissy finally closed her eyes and he lowered her back to the bed. "She wouldn't eat so much for me."

He set down the bowl. "My dear, as a former colonel commanding, I am not used to disobedience in the ranks. I think she knew I meant it when I ordered her to open up." He took her hand and leaned back, sniffing the air. "Ah. I love that lavender. If she will eat a little more each day and gather her strength, she might outlast the fever."

Roxanna nodded, her heart too full for words. Tell him, Roxanna, she thought, tell him now while he is mellow.

"Fletcher, you really should know something."

"What, my dear? That I am handsome and charming, and more than you ever dared dream of in a second husband?"

She laughed, then put her hand over her mouth when Lissy moved. "No! That you are aggravating and tyrannical and ... and quite essential to my peace of mind right now," she finished in a rush, disappointed with herself that her courage failed, yet wanting to tell him how she felt at the moment.

He was about to reply when Mrs. Mitchum opened the door. "Lord Winn, there is someone below to see both of you," she whispered, her eyes on Felicity.

Winn raised his eyebrows. "Who, pray?"

"Lord Whitcomb," she replied. "I put him in the sitting room. Shall I tell him you will be down?"

Roxanna put her hands to her mouth and shook her head. Mrs. Mitchum looked at her, a question in her eyes, but Lord Winn only smiled at the housekeeper, as though this was the best news of the week. Roxanna stared at him in horror.

"Yes, Mrs. M. Tell him we'll be down directly," he said.

When Mrs. Mitchum closed the door, Roxanna leaped up and retreated to the far corner of the room. "I will not go down there," she said, her voice low with emotion.

"I think you should," Winn said, coming to her side and putting his arm around her. "You see, I wrote him this morning and told him what was going on here."

She wriggled from his grip, her eyes wide. "You did what?" she gasped. "Suppose he does something. Suppose .. ."

He took hold of her more firmly this time. "There is nothing by law that he can do, because you are my wife. Let me remind you that Felicity and Helen are his nieces. I think he has a right to know how they are. Don't you?"