Verity rubbed a clear patch in the glass of the carriage window. It was raining outside, and the window kept fugging up. Every now and then she cleared it and examined the view: here, the outskirts of town; there, the highway; and now, new-laid fields that in the rain were mostly mud.
"We could not have delayed much longer," Mrs Roper said. "To have stayed so long, indeed, was courting trouble."
"Yes." Verity's voice seemed very small and quiet to her.
It had been two days since she had so abruptly and improperly married Neil, and now that they were finally leaving Albroke, she was second guessing every moment of it. She huddled into the corner of the carriage, one hand resting on her belly, where Neil had kissed it.
Then this was it.
They had said their goodbyes. There was nothing to do but part ways, and part honourably, without looking back. It would be best, even, to move somewhere far away from Houglen, in case Lord Albroke did find out about the marriage, and attempt again some intervention or revenge. Until the day Lord Albroke died, Verity had to consider herself the ghost. She had made that deal with him – made it, and broken it by subterfuge.
A deal! He had taken Neil from her. He had as much as told her that he would take one: Neil or the baby, and she had -
Meekly.
Cowardly.
Yielded.
She was as angry at herself as she was him. Away from his presence, it was easy to forget how coercive and violent he had been. If she had not been so flustered or weak, she would have resisted. At first, she apportioned only an equal share of the blame to herself, and then, as the miles separated her from both her enemy and the man she loved, began to claim more of it. If she had not allowed Richard to be so weak. If she had not been scared of Lord Albroke's fists. If she had not fled. If she had only trusted Neil's recovery.
Mile by mile, she hated herself more and more. In the final mile, somewhere near Stevenage, sense came to her, and she turned her hatred back over on its true target, and determined to ruin him.
"Mrs Roper," she said. "We're turning back to Albroke."
Mrs Roper looked surprised. "But – my dear, you cannot afford to wait in that inn, until he – gets better."
"I'm not going to wait. And I'm not going to the inn. I have business with Lord Albroke."
"No – no, my love."
"But yes." She squared her shoulders. It seemed inconceivable that she had come so far already. "That odious man – I'm not going to fall to him. Not I, and not Neil either. I won't let us."
There was an attempt at argument. Mrs Roper could be almost as stubborn as Verity – almost, but not quite. The carriage turned around in the drizzle, and made its way to Albroke Manor.
When they arrived, the drizzle had become a downpour, and they fled up the steps of the manor to huddle under the terrace, where Mrs Roper clanged the bell. It was some time before the butler opened the door, and when they explained their desire to see Lord Albroke, he made them wait for over an hour in the cold waiting room before he brought them through to Lord Albroke's office.
"I didn't expect to see you again," Lord Albroke said, by way of greeting. He did not bother to hide his malice. Verity curtsied, but did not smile. Now that she was in front of him, she realized the difficulty she faced in persuading him to let her change his mind: out of pure bull-headed disagreeableness, he would likely refuse.
"I believe I promised you that you never would," she said. "I have broken that promise. I found it necessary. My Lord, I was in error, and made the wrong promise before."
"The wrong promise?" He raised an eyebrow. It was a move so evocative of Neil's expressions, and so alien to his character, that Verity felt sick at the sight of it. "Elaborate."
"I believe you told me that I must be either your son's mistress, and this child his and not mine, or this is my child, and I am not his mistress. Well, I was his mistress. I am. I shall be until the day he dies. I cannot deny it, no matter how much I wish to have this child as well. The child is his. Your grandchild." Her voice shook at the admission. "Will you let me now choose the other side of the deal? I shall not renege again. With time, I have realized my true position."
He considered it for some time in silence, pacing back and forth in front of the windows. Verity stood silently and waited. Mrs Roper made one or two attempts to speak, but thought the better of it each time, and kept quiet.
"I will take it in writing," Lord Albroke said eventually. "It is the only way I can be sure. State your position, and sign it."
"If you will do the same," Verity answered.
There was the hint of a smile when he met her gaze. She did not like it. "Very well. What would you have me say? Here – Mrs Roper, ring the bell, and you and the butler shall witness it."
The pause gave Verity time to think. She realized she had a chance to perhaps forestall the inevitable suit of annulment against their marriage, if the wording was subtle enough. Lord Albroke's eyes were cold and triumphant upon her. She bowed her head to escape them.
"What shall I write?" he pressed.
"Get the pen, the paper," she said. "Quickly now, Lord Albroke, I am not good with words and I find it hard to keep them straight in my mind."
He lumbered through the contents of his desk, giving her the time to check her phrasing. When he had the pen in his hand, and two fresh sheets of paper, he sat down and looked enquiringly up at her. "Well?"
"I, Lord Albroke," she began statefully.
"Oh? So proscriptive?" he said mockingly, dipping the nib in the inkwell and beginning to write. "Continue."
"Agree that I shall not challenge, morally or practically, the attachment between Verity Baker and my son, Neil, the formally intimate nature of which accords the woman some rights to his society and person, which are also protected from my challenge, and I agree shall be recognized as vulnerable alone to Neil's revocation, according to his sensible choice."
He finished writing as the butler entered, and looked up. "Jackson, I need you to witness this, and one other. Mrs Roper?"
The two servants scrawled their own names at the bottom of the paper. Lord Albroke wafted it gently in the air to allow the ink to dry a little, before placing it tantalizingly on the desk in front of Verity
"You must think me a brute of a man."
"You are."
"Perhaps." She still did not like his smile. He passed another sheet of paper over the desk, and held out the pen. "It is your turn."
She took the pen and bent over the desk. She knew she would have to break this document if Neil died, and knew too that she could only rely on Lord Albroke keeping his word as long as she was pregnant. But it gave her time. And he did not know of their secret marriage, or he would not be smiling now.
"I, Verity Baker," he mocked, "Avow that upon the birth of my child I shall relinquish all claim to it and impart it to the custody of its father, Neil Armiger, or, in the event of his death, his heir as named by law. I further promise that upon the event of Neil Armiger's death, I shall no more associate, in public or in private, with the Armiger family or name or the Albroke title, excepting in the duty of giving birth to and carrying Neil's child." He paused. "It's a bit untidy, but I think it covers it."
She wrote the document with shaking fingers and signed it – Verity Baker. One day she might again use the name Armiger openly. Lord Albroke read it once, was satisfied she had not cheated him, and gave it to the butler and Mrs Roper to sign. But still, the smile hovered on his lips.
"May I see him now?"
"I cannot prevent you." He locked the paper she had signed in a drawer. "However you may find it crowded. The physician, the nurse, practically everybody but the gravedigger is waiting."
"He is... already..."
"He wasn't when I left." Lord Albroke's smile grew bolder. He said something as Verity grabbed her own paper and ran from the room, but she never heard it.
She did not know the way to his room from this wing of the house. She turned uneasily in the hallway.
"This way, my love." Mrs Roper came hurrying along behind. "Come – do not panic. His Lordship may only be testing your nerve."
Verity doubted that. She doubted it further when Mrs Roper led her back to the sitting room, and the little dark bedroom beyond. It was crowded. There were piles of servants, a surgeon with his saw, a physician with his cravat and delicately gloved hands, the nurse, and even Richard, who got up when she arrived.
"Miss Baker!"
"Lord Landon – is he...?"
He was not. She saw that he was sweating and turning on the bed, making quiet fretful sounds. The physician was leaning over him. But he turned and cast a concerned eye at Verity.
"The presence of a lady in the room is inadvisable," he said. "She will surely faint, and be a nuisance to the care of the patient."
"Why are you here?" Richard said, in a quiet, unfriendly tone. "Come."
She accepted his arm, and they went back to the sitting room, where he pushed her down on a sofa and sat beside her.
"He's dying – you can see that, can't you? Why did you come?"
"Dying? Then it is true." Her heart pounded. The paper was still in her hands. "I have told your father that I cannot stay away from Neil – he says until the day he dies, I may stay. He shall not die today. He shall not. I shall not let him."
"Miss Baker." Richard took her hand, in a trembling grip that reminded her that she was not the only person who cared. "Leave. For your own sake. There is nothing you can do."
"I can stay by his side."
"For the sake of your child."
"I must stay." She had a conviction about it. She had seen Neil's pale, sweating face, and understood. It had taken from her any thoughts of the future, any plans to combat Lord Albroke. It had told only the immediacy of the dilemma, and that she must stay for the man she loved, and give him what comfort she could.
Richard must have seen it in her eyes. He shook his head, and bit his lip. "I see. Come."
Back in the room, Mrs Roper was arguing with the nurse in a low tone, and the physician was arguing with the surgeon, in a louder tone. The three servants, two chambermaids and a footman, listened but tried to look as though they weren't.
"You may take the chair by his pillow," Richard said. "He has been insensible all day. Perhaps he shall remember you."
"What is she doing here?" The physician demanded. "I said she will faint!"
"She is his – she is here." Richard, who did not reach a full height of five and a half feet on his good leg, managed by class of breeding alone to look down upon the physician, who flushed. "And she owes you no explanation for it. What is your decision?"
"We shall bleed him."
"No!" Mrs Roper snapped. "Can't you see he needs what he's got?"
Verity, sitting cautiously down by the side of his bed, was inclined to agree with Mrs Roper. Beneath his tan, Neil was greyish white. He managed to look at her for a moment, through eyes unseeing, and uttered some garbled sounds.
"It's alright." She took his hand in hers, and stroked the back of his palm gently. "It's alright. I'm here, and I'm waiting for you."
He lay back on the pillows, and made incomprehensible, fretful sounds.
"Beef tea," Mrs Roper ordered, to the chambermaid. "You run and tell her beef tea."
"He cannot eat," the nurse snapped. "He has not eaten since breakfast yesterday."
"Then he must." Mrs Roper dipped a towel in the steaming, herbal scented bucket by the fire. "Lavender!" she sniffed. "Oh, it will do."
Neil fidgeted when she placed it on his forehead, but Verity stroked his hand soothingly. "Quite alright."
Mrs Roper patted the towel down. "He's in a bad way, Verity."
"I know." Repetitively, she stroked his hand. "He cannot even hear us – thank god, for they are arguing so!"
The surgeon and the physician were coming to blows. The argument seemed to be between leeches and saws.
"Children!" Mrs Roper sniffed. She went back to Richard and the men, and said something very quietly, and a moment later the surgeon was dismissed. The physician remained, though some of his superciliousness seemed to be wearing thin.
When the beef tea was brought, it emerged that Neil could not drink without being held up by the two footmen and the stuff being practically poured down his throat.
"A good bit of whisky," the physician began.
"No."
The whisky did not eventuate.
Though Verity had vowed to stay by his side, there was little she could do except hold his hand and watch and wait, while at intervals Mrs Roper or the nurse put a fresh poultice on his head, or attempted to pour more beef tea down his throat. As night fell, he grew verbal, and cried out for Giulia, begged her to stay with him. Verity held his hand firmly.
"She's gone, Neil, she's gone," she whispered. "I'm here. Stay with me."
She did not know if he could even hear her, or if he could, if he sensed her words. In quiet moments, the nurse explained, with some softening resentment, that the previous days had been so good for Neil that she had been sure it was only the calm before the storm: patients were like that sometimes, when they were near death, granted a small reprieve before the last trial.
"I am sure it was not his visit to the nuns at Perlchester," she confided, "Though that cannot have helped, to travel so far."
"Nuns?" Verity pretended she knew nothing of it. "He visited a nunnery?"
"They run a sort of hospital. Lord Landon thought they might be able to help. But of course..."
It was quite possible the event of travel had pushed Neil beyond his limits. Verity touched his cheek. But if he hadn't gone... he had wanted to marry her... before he died.
"You must not die," she whispered. "You must not give up, you fool. I'm right here. Waiting for you."
For a moment, his eyes seemed to focus on her, and see her properly. It was only a moment.
The night wore on in cold, weary hours. At one point, Mrs Roper had somebody fetch a shawl for Verity. A meal was brought for her. She even sipped some of the beef tea, made more of a meal of it than Neil had.
At dawn, with the sky lightening, Neil slumped back on his pillow so suddenly that Verity felt her heart lurch. She stood up, bent over him.
"Verity," Richard said behind her, in a gravelly, exhausted, hopeless voice.
"He's sleeping." The relief was so great that for a moment she could not feel the ground beneath her feet, and felt as though she were floating, or falling, or flying – what was the difference, but direction? Then, she was earth bound again, and exhausted. She pressed a hand to the drawn cheek, which no longer burned. His chest rose in and out with a steady, if slow rhythm. "He is only sleeping – at last."
She put her head down on the mattress by his shoulder, and joined him.
~~
A/N: originally Verity fainted at the end of this chapter, fulfilling the physician's prediction, but screw the physician, he's a jerk. He can be wrong about everything. I'm too tired to do a final check for typos, but it's probably okay.