Author's note: My Lady Coward, Part 7 can be found at www.jaimeygrant.com (scroll to the bottom of the page).
Snowflakes fluttered to the ground. Each one survived only moments before disappearing into the parched dirt.
Lady Maria watched them fall all around her, watched them land, watched them die. Desolation swept her ermine and wool cloaked form. She didn't feel the air's chilling caress. All she felt was pain, humiliation.
Failure.
A Society wife had one job: conceive a child, bear her husband a healthy heir for his title (if he possessed one) and his wealth. Maria's husband had little in the way of money, other then what she'd brought to the union, but he had property and a title. A duke simply had to have an heir!
A sigh tried to escape but Maria stifled it. One sigh would only lead to another and another, then a tear would form, thus opening the door for all the tears that lurked just below the surface. She couldn't cry, not now. There would be enough of that when she told Richard she was mistaken. There was no child.
Her monthly courses were late. Hardly daring to believe she'd already conceived, she'd waited another week, just to be sure, before telling her husband the joyous news.
Richard's face in that moment was something she'd never forget. The joy that suffused his features, the wonder and awe as he glanced from her face to her still flat belly was indescribable. Then he snatched her up from her chair and danced her around the drawing room, pressing an enthusiastic kiss on her astonished lips. Her smile grew to a painful wideness, her delight with her condition growing in the face of Richard's.
His reaction stunned her, such an uninhibited display of joy from a proper gentleman, but not as much as his actions afterward. He stopped dancing her around, kissed her again but this time in a lingering, worshipful manner that sapped her mind of coherent thought and threatened to buckle her knees, then returned her to her chair, seating her with the utmost care.
Staring into her face, he asked, “How do you feel? Are you well? Should I call a physician?”
He'd been solicitous of her ever since, asking after, seeing to her every need, escorting her to balls and parties, never leaving her side and glaring at any gentlemen she danced with—just being generally underfoot. She loved this new side of him, loved him all the more. But she couldn't help wishing his love was for her and not the child she'd bear.
A snowflake landed on her neck, the shiver that consumed her body way out of proportion to the tiny icy bite. She pulled her cloak tighter, the ermine tickling her chin.
How could she tell him? Four days ago her world shattered. Four days ago she felt failure, dread, and horrible, aching loss. Four days ago her courses started. It had taken her all those four days to screw her courage to the sticking point, to decide to tell her husband there would be no child, at least not yet.
The conflicting emotions finally drove her to the garden, despite the chill. Her maid did not accompany her, but her much sought after peace still eluded her. She took in one deep cleansing breath, allowing the chill to refresh her, letting it out on a shudder.
Four days. For four days she'd allowed Richard to believe she still carried his child, selfishly soaking up his attention, dreading the moment the truth would come out. It was only in those moments that she was thankful he'd avoided her bed since she told him about the baby.
But her conscience demanded she confess. Dread held her back, an unwillingness to watch the joy die from his face, the expectation turn to disappointment.
“I do not want to do that,” she told the setting sun. “I do not want to shame him.”
But he's shamed you over and over, taking his mistress about, whispered a nagging voice in her head.
She shook that off. It was the way of Society. Gentlemen had their amours and ladies turned a blind eye. He'd married outside his class, seeking a bride amongst the working classes. It was natural that he'd seek his pleasure elsewhere. And if she wanted to be regarded as a lady, she had to pretend it wasn't happening.
Maria brought money, beauty, and a ready womb to the marriage. A lot of expectation rested on her womb. A woman, no matter the station she was born into, was born with this one expectation.
There was nothing for it. The sun sank below the horizon, streaking the sky in red, orange, and pink. Tomorrow was a new day. Maria wasn't looking forward to confessing but it was inevitable. She straightened her spine and left the barren gardens.
###
Richard bent over his desk, brow furrowed as he scratched a quill across the foolscap before him, an open accounts book beside it. Eyes darting between the book and paper, he bit his lip, scratched out a few more things on the sheet, and paused to study the book again. Maria stood by the door, admiring the way his brown curls refused to lay in any semblance of order and the way he bit his lip when perplexed. His dark frown detracted not a whit from his strong, handsome features.
“My lord?”
He didn't acknowledge her soft query, muttering something under his breath that she didn't catch and slamming his open palm on the desktop. Her brows lifted. She'd never seen him so upset. Whatever happened to cause it?
She raised her voice just a touch, no more. She didn't need their servants telling other servants that the duchess behaved like a common fishwife. “Richard?”
He jumped, slamming the accounts book closed and surging to his feet. “My dear?”
Her brows rose higher as he yanked his pinched finger from the book's grasp. “I have something I must tell you.” She paused, sending a pointed look at the book beneath his outspread hands. “What ever are you doing?”
Richard scowled down at the book. “Dratted accounts don't add up,” he admitted. With an extra frown, he shoved it all aside, nearly upsetting the inkpot. “Bah! Never did have a head for figures.”
“Would you like me to have a look?” she dared to offer, knowing ladies did nothing more than keep the household accounts. What Richard had was for all his holdings.
“I couldn't ask that of you. You shouldn't have to worry about this. Not in your condition.”
Meaning she should if she wasn't pregnant? What a strange thing for him to say.
“Why do you not put it before Bennington? Is he not the one you pay to do this very thing?”
“It's a devil of a situation.” He shoved a hand though his unruly curls. “He's the one cheating me, I think. I just can't determine how or why.”
“It will all work out,” Maria soothed. “I'm sure it will.”
She saw evidence of his deep upset and frustration. His hands moved without pause, clenching, fiddling with the quill, brushing over the leather-bound book, clenching again. But deeper than what she saw, she sensed it. Tension coiled through him and around him, filling the room. If she said or did the wrong thing, that tension would erupt. Would her confession push him over the edge?
Richard had never struck her but Maria heard whispers of other wives who were not so fortunate. She trusted him now to hold his temper.
He glanced up, golden eyes meeting hers. She wanted to fidget under his steady gaze. Though his body coiled hard with tension, his gaze bore straight through her, as if divining her every thought. His eyes were clear, unwavering.
Maria opened her mouth but Richard spoke first. “There is no child, is there?”
A tear gathered, begging for freedom. Maria refused to grant it, refused to open the floodgates.
“No,” she said around the lump in her throat, “there is no child. I was wrong.”
Silence stretched between them. She wanted to ask him how he knew but the words wouldn't come. Richard studied her, tawny eyes sweeping her face, down her body to linger on her clenched hands, and back up to her face. Her eyelashes fluttered against incipient tears, fingers tightening until she could no longer feel the individual digits. Surely his disappointment would emerge, maybe in anger, maybe in sadness, but directed at her regardless.
He strode forward, reaching for her hands. “I am so sorry.” Pulling her into his arms, he stroked her back, his tender caress sending a jolt through her whole body. She choked on a sob, squeezing her eyes shut. A quavering breath swelled her chest, bringing her into closer contact with Richard.
“You must be so disappointed,” he breathed into her once charming coiffure.
A sob shuddered through her, tears soaking her lashes. She nodded into his chest, the only way she could convey the one feeling she'd managed to mostly suppress.
Unutterable desolation. Loss.
Oh how she longed for a child! A child to take her mind off her husband's amours, off her unlikely ability to make him fall in love with her. Her heart broke when she realized she'd failed to conceive.
“Shh,” Richard soothed, lifting her head from his chest. Her eyes fluttered open. His thumbs wiped away the tears streaking her cheeks. A smile touched his lips, a warm, comforting, and—dare she think it?—loving light softening his eyes.
Feathering a kiss over each eye and each cheek, as if kissing away her tears, Maria's own tension eased. All the anxiety she'd carried melted away, replaced with a warm glow suffusing her limbs.
When Richard's lips met hers, tentatively at first, she ceased to think altogether. Arms tight around his waist, she pulled him closer still, letting her emotions become caught up in him instead of her loss. He responded to her unspoken plea, deepening the kiss, stealing her breath and her senses.
“All is not lost, my love.” The breathless endearment slipped so casually from his tongue. “We must simply continue trying.” And, taking her hand, he led her from the room.