Neil's health continued to improve throughout May and into June. The physician at first doubtfully blamed a stomach tumour for his continuing weight gain, and then, when it became undeniable that he was getting better, began to claim that his prescriptions had made the difference. The nurse boasted that her milk and sherry possets were the cause. Mrs Roper suggested it was barley soup and boiled eggs and toast. Verity didn't know why, but was blindly grateful that he continued to gain weight and strength, even if his still fragile mind worried her. Jane jokingly suggested to Richard that it was flirting that had done the job, and Richard almost forbade her from returning: himself, he thought the change was due to the clement weather, and argued with his father until Neil was allowed to spend his mornings on the terrace in the sun. Only Neil knew the truth, and dared speak of it to no one: a second voice had joined the incessant lullaby in his head, only this one he knew to be memory: I need you, I need you, I need you. The more the lullaby lured him towards sleep, the more the other voice begged him to stay awake and live. The other voice had started out softly persistent, but grew louder every day. It would ring in his ears until he found himself tossing his laudanum out the window, or in the chamber vase, or into the dirt of the potted orchid he had cunningly asked of Richard. It would plead with him to "Get up, get up," until he found himself shuffling about his room, his disused muscles aching with a gentle, persistent hum.
Despite his physical strength, his memory remained as tattered as ever. Sometimes he spent whole days believing Giulia was still alive and waiting for him; knowing, simultaneously, that Verity was carrying his child, he hated himself. Sometimes he remembered she was his wife, and that Giulia was dead, and tried to look upon Verity with fondness, because he understood why she needed him. At other times, when she would lay her hand on his, the touch would frighten him, and he knew not why. It was easier when, in June, she was ordered on bed-rest. He visited her several times, at Richard's insistence, finding the reversal of their roles strange. Her cheeks were pale and puffy, and her belly, under the blankets, was a mountain. The baby would be coming very soon, and the thought filled him with silent dread. Whenever Jane came to visit, he would creep away to the terrace with her, and beg her to tell him stories of her adventures in society, to take his mind away from the baby.
That was where they were now. Neil was leaning back on his chair with his eyes shut. Jane was watching him from her perch on the balustrade, taking advantage of his closed eyes to make a full and libertine account of his figure, stretched out from toe to chin. She enjoyed the muscles of his neck, still too thin, but attractive in line and form, exposed beneath the open-collared muslin shirt that disappeared beneath the collar of his yellow silk banyan. It was the nurse's directive that he not wear a cravat or starch his collar. Jane approved greatly.
"I have summer," he said blissfully. "I have attained summer."
"It's achievement for any Briton, not just a winter sick invalid."
"Tell me a story," he demanded, his eyes still shut against her blatant lechery. She wondered if it would disturb him if he knew. He always had been a prude.
"What kind of story?"
"One of your awful, improper London stories." Then, without waiting for the story, he added, "You know, I think I shall be returning to Italy soon. I am much better. Don't you think I am much better now?"
"You are a little better," she said cautiously, not wishing to encourage him. "I could come too."
"You? It is... Everybody would talk. They always talk about you anyway, don't they? Even I have heard gossip, away in my mercury tower."
"Pray, do not tell," Jane drawled. "I despise gossip. And I do not care what they shall say. I want to go to Italy too. It's unfair that men get all the fun. Take me."
"Giulia would be very offended." Neil paused. "Miss Baker as well."
Then today was one of the days when he believed that Giulia was alive and Miss Baker his pregnant mistress. Jane watched him carefully, her jaw set. She didn't like his theory. It made him feel guilty for betraying Giulia. Poor, dead Giulia. And she was irritated that he was worrying about offending Miss Baker at all. Miss Baker, who had trapped him into marriage, and then fatherhood. Miss Baker, who was so young and pretty and vulnerable.
"You weren't worried about offending Miss Baker when you left her pregnant and went to France alone," Jane said jealously. "Why worry about offending her by travelling with an old friend?"
"Well I do worry – I certainly do." Neil opened his eyes and looked discomforted, and Jane felt a spasm of guilt. It was petty to take her frustrations out on him, when he was so ill and confused. "But you mustn't accuse me of such callousness – I had no idea she was pregnant when I left."
"Is that what she told you? Are you sure she can be trusted?" For what other reason would Neil have refused to accept the freedom annulment had offered him? "You knew, even if you have forgotten knowing."
"I wish you wouldn't say such things." Neil shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I don't want to talk about this, but I suppose I must defend myself. You are wrong. I could not possibly have known. I might be capable of begetting a child out of wedlock – it seems certain that I am – but do you really imagine I would abandon the woman, leave her alone, without first accounting for her future and security? For the future and security of my child? Jane, I surely could not."
"But-" She fell silent. His argument made too much sense. Stupid, honourable, fool. If he had known Verity was pregnant, he would never have left her, not even if he planned to return and marry her in three months. He would have stayed by her side, and imagined himself to be her knight in rusted armour, never seeing the crown she wore was false. He would never have set foot upon that ill-fated ship, unless she was by his side. Jane felt a stab of loathing for Verity – if only she had told him – she must have known.
"You're playing tricks with me, Jane. You know I'm ill, and you're playing tricks. You mustn't suggest such things."
He never did answer my question that night, she realized. He never said he did or didn't love her. I wouldn't let him answer.
Neil was pacing back and forth on the terrace now, his voice high and desperate. "It isn't true. Giulia – and Miss Baker – I may be a foul man...I am not so foul as that. I might have deceived my wife, I might have seduced Miss Baker, but I would never abandon my child."
"You never deceived Giulia," Jane said brokenly. "You could never betray anyone you loved, you fool. She's dead. She died two and half years ago. Miss Baker was your wife. I knew her as Mrs Armiger."
* * *
Confined to her bed, to her dark, dank little room, with the blankets pulled up over the mound of her belly, despite the sweltering warmth of the days, Verity grew irritable and angry. Part of it was the baby, which made her back ache and cramp until she could barely breathe. Part of it was worry. Neil had come to visit her three times, and three times only. She did not like how he looked – not ill, exactly, but scared, somehow, distant. He wouldn't talk to her properly. She was sure there was something wrong.
Cautiously, she slid her legs out of bed, and made her way to the window. About noon. Too late for breakfast, and too early for dinner. She felt well. Surely it was not necessary to stay in bed all day and all night until the baby came. She kept her hands gently supporting her belly as she walked. It felt better to walk anyway. Subtle, squeezing spasms had been arcing down her back all day. Walking eased them.
Five days since she had last seen Neil. She glanced anxiously at the door. Had he been ill, and no one told her? A sudden burst of anxious conviction descended on her, and with it another spasm. Ignoring the fact that she wore only a billowing, crumpled nightdress, she moved to the door, in the awkward, swaying gait her condition imposed upon her. There was no one in the hallway outside. She was half-way down it when Richard's bedroom door opened, and he stepped out, almost running into her. He stopped still, looking her up and down, and then looked away, cheeks scarlet.
"Are you ill?"
"No!" she hissed. "I must see Neil. That is all."
"Good god -" He looked at her again for a moment, and then hastily away. "No. Back to your room."
"But-"
"Miss Baker! You are not dressed!" His cheeks still scarlet, his eyes still fixed away from her, Richard put a hand delicately to her shoulder and pushed her in the direction of her room. Thinking that she could persuade Richard, but not the nurse or anybody else who might come if they argued in the corridor, Verity pendulated back down the hallway with him.
"I must see Neil though," she said, firmly.
"You must get dressed," Richard said, equally firmly.
"But I haven't seen him in days – is he ill?"
"Quite well – for himself." Richard opened her door and directed her through. "A dressing gown, please."
"But it's too hot for that!" Verity put her hands to her back and squeezed hard at the muscles above her hips. The spasms in her back seemed to echo deep inside her, in a place she could not reach.
"At least cover your – yourself."
Reluctantly, Verity pulled a light shawl over her shoulders and arranged so it covered the front of the nightdress. It was a mother's nightdress, the collar of which came open when she undid the ribbon that tied it, but it was of quite sturdy material, and did not, she thought, warrant Richard's prudery.
"If I can't see him, why can't he come and see me?" she demanded. "Please bring him to me, Lord Landon."
Richard was silent.
"Please."
"I asked him this morning. Today, he believes Giulia is alive. He does not want to come. He is ashamed of himself."
"No – he shouldn't be..." She bit her lip. "Is he worse? Better?"
"He is eating well. Sleeping well. His mind – is as it was." Richard hesitated. "Perhaps, we should be grateful that he has never forgotten, at least, that the child is his. His shame won't let him forget that."
"But he shouldn't be ashamed." She circled the room, rubbing one hand at her back and using the other to keep the shawl over her shoulders. Another cramp was building, deeper this time. "I wish – I wish he could understand."
"Miss Baker, won't you go back to bed?"
"No!" She stamped her feet childishly as she walked. It seemed to ease the cramp. "Does Jane entertain him?" she added bitterly.
"She is good for him. She makes him laugh." Richard was watching her. "She's with him now," he added, miserably.
"I hate that woman." Verity stopped by the window, clenching her bare toes as the cramp peaked, and then slowly released. "I hate that she makes him laugh."
"She's not going to seduce him," Richard said, some of his old acid creeping into his tone.
"She already did! Oh – I didn't..." She wheeled to him. "I don't mean – I was..."
But Richard had understood. The expression in his eyes was curiously blank, but a muscle in his jaw was twitching.
"Don't tell him. He doesn't remember," she begged. "The last night I saw him – it was only a kiss. It was really only a kiss. But..."
"But it was Jane. I shall tell her not to return."
Verity shrugged helplessly and shook her head. "She makes him laugh." She rubbed her back, wincing.
"You should go back to bed." Richard touched her arm. "I'll go to him now, and bring him here, and send Jane away."
She shook him off. "Don't bother." She walked, foolishly, to the other end of the room. "I don't need you to rescue me from Neil's antipathy. You can't." She paced up and down in the corner by her bed, kicking at one of its legs every time she passed. "Stop trying."
"For god's sake, stop moving around so much!"
"I can't!" she snapped. "It hurts to sit still." She felt another cramp beginning, not just in her back, but deep within her belly, a pressure rising in her core. "Richard." She put both hands to her belly, and the shawl fell off her shoulders. The pressure rose higher, until she could hardly breathe. "Richard."
"Oh god." The blood drained from his face as the pressure within her deflated.
"I think I should keep walking..." she weaved between the beds. "Mrs Roper said it might help. And... we have a little time yet." She thought of the strange cramps she had been experiencing all day. "Probably."
"I'll go tell – everybody." He took his stick from beside her bed. "It's – this is it?"
"I think so." She breathed out slowly. "I feel quite well."
Richard was half way to the door when he turned back suddenly, and limped over to her. He looped his stick over his wrist, took one of her hands between both of his, and pressed gently.
"Good luck."
* * *
Mrs Armiger.
Baker always had sounded wrong.
'My name is Verity Baker. I shall be at your house at dusk.'
His legs buckled suddenly beneath him. Jane caught his arms, and steadied him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have said anything."
"Tell me everything," he demanded. He could see Verity, as she had been, with the sun setting behind her, and that fierce, cold challenge in her eyes. He had wanted her then. He had wanted her when he had first seen her. He had tried -
'Would you send your beloved daughter to me for a night?'
He had tried to buy her.
She had sold herself to him – hadn't she?
No wonder she made him feel guilty.
"Tell me everything, Jane."
"The baby she carries was conceived in wedlock – you needn't blame yourself for that. But she was underage, and your father managed to get the marriage annulled."
"Annulled."
Another memory came to him. The consistory court, full of men in black suits, with rumbling voices, and flint-like eyes. She had not been there. They would not allow women in. What had it been like, telling her afterwards? He was glad he had forgotten that.
"Then why do I feel guilty?" His head ached. A dirty glass of brandy. Shaking, pale hands. A rooftop, at night, and a woman's warmth in his arms. "What did I do to her?"
Jane was silent. In the desperate beats and pulses of his confusion, the old song began again.
Fa la ninna, fa la nanna...
I'm tired. I don't want to talk. It cannot be urgent.
His heart ached, and his legs swayed under him. He sunk helplessly against Jane, burying his head in the puffed white shoulders of her dress, and clutching at her like a child. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
"You were always very good to her," she said softly. But he could remember her flashing, angry eyes. "Don't cry, Neil. Don't cry."
Neil heard the door to the terrace burst open, and felt Jane jump. He raised his head blearily. Richard stood in the doorway. His eyes widened with shock, and then narrowed with fury. Jane's arms tightened around Neil for a moment, and then she slowly pushed him away. His knees were shaking. He sank down upon the balustrade.
"Miss Baker has reached her time," Richard announced.
When they did not move, he added, more cuttingly,
"Neil, your wife is giving birth to your child."
~~
A/N: ...I got nuffin. Next chapter up within 2-3 days.