That day, Hugh wrote to Aldridge. "Come immediately. Any way you can. As fast as you can. Becky is threatening to kill herself and I can't..." He crossed out the last eight words, and replaced them so the last sentence read, "Becky needs you."
He wrote several copies and addressed them to all the luxurious places the Marquis of Aldridge might be holed up for the winter, with a notation on the front saying they were urgent and should be sent on. Then, Hugh settled in to watch Becky even more closely, until her rescuer arrived to save her again.
Aldridge must have been closer than Hugh expected. Three days after he sent his letters, a train of elegant sleighs coasted up the drive. Carriages, really, but with skids rather than wheels, each pulled by a pair of sturdy horses. The children, taking advantage of a break in the weather to play in the snow, stopped in their tracks and watched.
From the study window, Hugh could see three of the ornately carved and painted sleighs turn away towards the stable yard, and the remaining two continue to the front steps. He was not surprised all five sported the Haverford crest.
He excused himself to Becky, who didn't look up from the fire she was examining so intently, and sent a maid to sit with her while he went down to greet his guest. He pasted on a smile. Hugh had sent for the arrogant, self-centred, wife-stealing son-of-a-bitch. And if Becky wanted to go with him, then that was the price Hugh would pay for Becky to be well again. Even if it meant losing Belle.
Smile. He needed to smile.
One carriage was disgorging an enormous number of retainers. How had they all fit? Sitting on one another's knees? Aldridge stood at the door of the other, handing down a lady. Surely even Aldridge wouldn't bring one of his paramours here!
Then the lady lifted her head. The face under the bonnet brought his smile out in truth.
He hurried down the steps to greet her. "Your Grace. I am so glad you have come."
Then Aldridge was there, right in his face. "Overton, you scum-sucking louse! What have you done to Becky? If you've hurt her, I'll..."
"Aldridge," said Her Grace, "please do not embarrass me, my love. Lord Overton will explain all to us shortly. Now, give Cousin Agatha your hand, dear. Lord Overton." She held out her own hand for Hugh to escort her up the steps, where the butler was standing with his mouth open.
"Will you come into the parlour to warm by the fire?" Hugh asked. He settled her in a chair, took the cape she handed him, and went to find out what had happened to Aldridge and the cousin.
The butler was still hovering in the hall. Hugh gave him a few terse, low-voiced instructions about chambers and refreshments. When Becky had proved to be so good at making his house a marvellously comfortable place to live, he had let his elderly housekeeper retire. He could do with her now. Even more, he could do with his wife back, and that was the truth.
Aldridge was outside on the steps, sitting on his folded greatcoat, talking to the girls while the cousin hovered anxiously.
"May I invite you in, ma'am?" Hugh asked her, but was interrupted by Sarah, who shouted, "Papa, Uncle Lord Aldridge says Mama and I may go with him if she wants, and I won't, Papa. I can stay, Papa! Say I can stay? You said I could stay with my sisters forever and ever, and Mama too." And she turned on Aldridge, fierce as a tiger cub, and shouted at him, stamping her foot. "You go away. You just go away, nasty, old Aldridge. Mama is sick, but when she is better, we shall be all happy again, like we were before. You just go away."
Hugh reached her as she burst into tears, hissing at Aldridge as he passed, "I should break your neck." Then he was occupied with soothing all of the little girls, since the other three were weeping in sympathy, and the governess was doing nothing, torn between correcting her charge's manners and attacking the invading home-breaker on her own account.
"No need for tears, Sarah, I invited Lord Aldridge here, because he may be able to help make Mama well. You do not need to worry, girls. No one is going anywhere, unless they choose."
Sarah glared at her former favourite. "Then why did he say he had come to take Mama and me away?"
Hugh thought manners should make an appearance again, now that the tears were being blotted up. "You say 'His Lordship' or 'Lord Aldridge,' not 'he.' Why did Lord Aldridge say such a foolish thing? Because he did not precisely understand the situation. He will meet with Mama, and then I will come and tell you all about it." Somehow, it had not occurred to him that shocking Becky out of her lethargy might lose him Sarah, as well as Becky and Belle. How would he live without them?
It was a struggle, but he smiled. "Now then, the snow is soaking through my trousers, and no one is going anywhere tonight, except inside to the warmth." He stood, lifting Sarah with him and standing her on her feet. Then he chivvied them all inside, kissing each girl, including little Portia, as they passed him on their way to the back stairs.
He opened the door to the parlour, ushered Cousin Agatha through, and went in behind her, followed by Aldridge.
On the other side of the room, the Duchess of Haverford had opened the double doors into the study, and was talking to Becky.
In the past three days, he had rehearsed Becky's possible reaction a thousand times. It was both his nightmare and his dream that she would take one look at Aldridge and come back to herself. "Aldridge," he imagined her saying, "I knew you would come for me."
When he wasn't torturing himself with those visions, he accepted there might be no reaction at all, that the deep blanket through which she viewed the world would continue. Anything would be better than that.
He could never have predicted what happened: all the blood draining from the already pale cheeks; the haunted distant eyes focusing in horror; the tortured scream. "No-o-o!"
Before anyone could react, Becky was up, hurling herself across the room and through the doors with a careless disregard for furniture and the duchess, whom she brushed past as if she were not there.
Aldridge clearly thought she was coming for him, because he tried to shoulder Hugh to one side, but Becky dodged his reaching hands and flung herself at Hugh's feet, clinging to his knees as if losing grip would mean a fall into oblivion, repeating, "No. No. No. Oh, Hugh, please, don't make me go back. I know I failed. I'm so sorry, Hugh. I tried. I really tried. Let me stay. Don't send me away. Please, Hugh."
Aldridge, who had had the presence of mind to close the door on the startled eyes of the servants, now hissed in his turn, "I should break your neck, Overton."
"If you will take my recommendation, Aldridge, you will not make yourself ridiculous," said Her Grace. "Overton, you and Lady Overton might be more comfortable in the study, with the door shut."
Hugh, preoccupied with trying to comfort his wife and lift her from the death grip on his knees, was barely aware of anyone else in the room.
"Stay, Becky. I want you to stay, my love. You haven't failed; you've given me a beautiful daughter. So beautiful, but never as beautiful as her mother. Not to me, my love. Never to me. I want to see you, every day of my life, Becky. Treasure of my heart. My love. My wife. Stay, Becky. Please stay."
Unable to raise her, he was kneeling with her, brushing the hair off her wet cheeks, trying to kiss them dry as he wet them again with his own tears.
"But... Aldridge?" she asked.
"Forever and ever, Becky. You promised. We promised. To have and to hold, from this day forward..."
"Till death..." Becky whispered. She looked at him then, met his eyes deliberately for the first time since Belle was born. And her eyes were clear, focused on him. She recognised him. She yearned for him.
"I love you, Becky. I love you so much."
Becky went very still, her eyes clinging to him as her hands went limp. And then, with a sigh, she collapsed into his arms, snuggling under his chin as she had before That Day.
"Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God." It was quiet, almost under his breath, but in his heart he was singing great, rolling paeans of glory. He lifted her; she was so light, so frail that it broke his heart anew, but then she shifted to put her arms around his neck and the joy returned.
The duchess's party was gone. He vaguely remembered her herding her companion and her son out of the room some time ago. He would need to thank her. Later. For now, his wife needed him. His wife. His Becky.
*****
Hugh fed Becky her dinner, only a few mouthfuls, but more than she'd eaten in weeks. He had the maid cut it, so he could use just his fork, since she clung to his hand as if without that anchor, she would drift back into the darkness. He had left instructions for Aldridge and the duchess to be given his apologies if he didn't come down in time, afraid to leave her, but she surprised him again.
"Hugh, you should go and have dinner with Her Grace and... Will you tell them I am sorry? I don't think... should I come down? Will the duchess think me rude?"
He reassured her. She had been ill. She should rest. She could meet the guests tomorrow. He instructed the maid to call if he was needed, and crossed to the door, then hurried back to her bed for another clinging kiss. "I love you, Becky," he said again.
He was a little early for the meal, but he needed to go via the nursery to reassure the girls. He ran up the stairs two at a time, relief making his legs light.
*****
He could be hopeful, but shouldn't expect the current rally to last, the Duchess of Haverford instructed him. She had sent her son to play cards with her companion, and demanded that Hugh escort her into his study, where she asked him incisive questions about Becky's illness and her treatment.
"The doctor said her humours were out of balance, and he bled her, but..."
"Stupid," Her Grace said. "Very stupid. She had just had a baby and lost who knows how much blood, and the man bled her?"
"He bled her for the fever, too," Hugh admitted. "But the second time, she was so weak. I was afraid she was dying. I wouldn't let him do it again."
"Good." The duchess nodded. "You have some sense, then. I had my doubts. Very well, Overton. You shall place yourself in my hands, and I shall tell you what you must do."
"I will not put her away," Hugh said, firmly. "Even if her mind is weak..."
"Put her away? Why would you put her away? She will recover fully, and I will help. I have seen this before, Overton. Women, after giving birth to a child, often suffer a disorder of the humours. It passes. Your wife has had a worse time of it than many, perhaps because she also had childbed fever. I sometimes think that we gentry are more prone than cottagers, because others will do our tasks if we turn our faces to the wall.
"Several of my goddaughters have had this melancholy, and I, myself, after the birth of my dear Jonathan. Also, Overton, I think there has been some cause for estrangement between you. You will tell me whether I am right, for I do not suggest it to be a busybody, but because you need to mend it for your wife's sake. A misunderstanding, of course, because she cannot bear to be parted from you. And you, it seems, love her dearly, about which I am delighted, since I hold myself in some sort responsible for the marriage.
"Whatever the cause, she has roused now, and we shall keep her with us, but be prepared to work hard and be patient."
And so they began a strict regimen designed to build up Becky's body. "Her mind will heal itself, Overton," the duchess lectured, "but she needs good food, exercise, and sleep. And you must reassure her often. You will do that, will you not?"
Her Grace descended to the kitchen, and her visit inspired the cook to new heights in preparing small, tasty meals for a flagging appetite. Becky was served something tempting to eat every couple of hours. Hugh took her walking in the snow when the sun shone, and up and down the stairs and the halls when the weather closed in. And, on the advice of the duchess, he moved back into their bedchamber.
"She thinks you have moved out because you no longer want her," Her Grace said bluntly. "And if you continue to treat her like a plaster saint, Overton, you are a great fool. She is a woman, and if her needs are blunted at the moment by her sadness, that will not last."
So, Hugh slept spoon-fashion against his wife, but he continued wearing a nightshirt and made no attempt to make love to her.
Aldridge took over the work of the estate and the factories Hugh owned, so Hugh could spend most of his time with Becky, and Aldridge and Sarah reached an understanding to restore him to 'Uncle' status, a privilege Sarah's sisters also deigned to confer.
These activities kept him mostly away from Becky, and he treated her with cautious courtesy when they could not avoid being in the same room, as if she might explode if he ventured any familiarity. "I do not understand, Overton," he said once. "Was it so bad, being with me?"
Hugh could afford to be generous. "Not so bad. She said you were kind, Aldridge, and she will always be grateful."
Aldridge shook his head as if emerging from water, his mouth twisted in disgust. "Grateful! I did not want her to be grateful!" He never mentioned it again, but his puzzled gaze followed Becky when she was not watching.
Twice a day, Hugh and Her Grace took Becky to spend time with the children, and once a day Mrs Goodfellow brought them to her. And not just to be in the same room. "She needs to do things with them," the duchess insisted. "Read them a story, teach them a sewing stitch, or help them on the pianoforte."
Becky resisted only the duchess's last change.
"Did you intend to hire a wet nurse?" Her Grace asked.
Becky paused before she answered, as if she had to come a great distance to hear the question. "No," Hugh answered for her. "She said she would feed our baby herself."
The duchess narrowed her eyes, thinking, then nodded decisively. "It has been not quite two months, and you have fed before."
Becky shook her head. The duchess said nothing more then, but must have spoken to Becky later. Hugh came back from signing correspondence to find the duchess watching benignly, and the wet nurse anxiously, as Belle suckled at Becky's breast.
At first, Belle was as angry at the change as Becky, but the duchess persisted, and Belle was put to each of Becky's breasts every two or three hours for four days.
"It is no use," Becky said. "I have no milk."
But that very afternoon, a delighted Belle came away too replete to suckle from her wet nurse, and an equally delighted duchess reported success.