[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Ssh, Dearest, Phoebe soothed. It won t do any good to think such things. You
did what you thought was right. Come, have a draught of laudanum. You need to rest.
I don t want to lose this baby. Don t you see? If I lose this baby, I lose whatever
I have left of Blaine.
Mistress of the Night Charlotte Featherstone 162
No, Madeline. You re wrong. Hardcastle loves you. He may be angry but he ll
soon see that he can t live without you.
He told me to get rid of the child, she said at last, exhausted from the crying and
the consuming weakness. And now I m losing it, just as I ve lost him. Had I known the
depth of his private hell I would never have seduced him. I would never have willingly
submitted him to such pain.
Maddy, Phoebe whispered, pressing a soft kiss on her cheek. Go to sleep,
Dearest. You may find that things will look better when you awake.
They won t, Madeline hiccupped, feeling the comforting warmth of sleep
making her limbs heavy.
Remember, Madeline, the road to love is often long and treacherous, but
anything is possible in dreams and love. Never forget that. That thought has seen me
through many times of darkness and I m certain it ll see you through, too.
* * * *
Madeline, Blaine shouted through the echoing thunder in the distance. Let me
in.
The cold, driving rain continued to come down in heavy sheets around him as he
looked up at the dark and barricaded façade of Montgomery House.
God damn it, he swore, rapping the knocker against the wood with such violence
his fingers stung. Where the hell was everyone and why the hell wasn t anyone coming to
answer his summons? Didn t they know his wife was in there, bleeding--possibly dying?
Madeline, he roared again, not caring that a candle flared to life in the window
of the neighbor s. Let me in, God damn it, or I swear I ll kick the door in.
The cold rain quickly soaked through his greatcoat, running in icy rivulets down
his neck. In anger and frustration he threw his hat against the window, the rain drenching
his hair, the water running into his eyes. The fear clenching his insides, refusing to let go
of him.
Madeline, he thundered, pounding his fist against the thick pane of glass. Let
me in this instant.
Another candle flared to life, this time across the street. An elderly couple,
dressed in nightclothes and caps appeared in the window, watching him with interest.
He was on display, his emotions bared--naked for all to see. And he didn t care.
He only cared that Madeline and his child were slipping through his fingers and that he
was losing them due to his own selfish pride and stupidity.
I ll stand here all night, Madeline. I don t care who hears me, he shouted,
cupping his hands around his mouth so that his voice would carry above the wind and the
rain. I won t give a damn about making a scene. Damn it, Madeline, you re my wife, and
I demand my rights as a husband.
The lock clicked and the rusty hinges sounded through a crack of thunder. You
fool, a quiet voice said through the darkness. You ll have all and sundry gossiping
about this.
Ignoring the scathing remark uttered by Phoebe Knightly, Blaine stepped over the
threshold, heedless of the large puddle he was creating on the floorboards.
What the devil do you mean by standing out there and creating a stir? For the
Mistress of the Night Charlotte Featherstone 163
love of God-
I ve come for my wife, he said, shrugging out of his coat. I suggest you stand
aside and let me find her.
My lord, Phoebe halted him with trembling fingers. You mustn t-
I fear I must, Miss Knightly. You see, I cannot bear to stand to be without her for
another minute. Stand aside, if you please.
She studied him a long while before nodding and stepping away from him. She s
in my room, the last on the right side, my lord. Lets pray you find her well.
I m afraid I ve forgotten how to pray, Miss Knightly. Perhaps you will see to the
task for me, for I fear that God has never listened to my prayers.
He s listening, Phoebe smiled up at him. And he ll answer them, too.
Remember, my lord, anything is possible in dreams and in love.
Mistress of the Night Charlotte Featherstone 164
Chapter 21
Blaine stood frozen in the doorway, the ashen appearance of his wife halting him
from stepping into the room.
My lord, Maggie Noland jumped as the sound of the bedroom door connected
with the wall.
Is she& his throat was dry and he licked his lips, trying again to say the words.
Is she dead?
Heavens! Maggie cried, waddling over to him and pulling him into the room.
Yer soaked to the bone. Get by the fire and out of those wet things.
Ignoring her protests, Blaine walked to the bed, his eyes nervously studying the
white figure. He could perceive no movement of her chest beneath the blankets. Her face,
ashen, almost gray, blended into the faded white sheets, terrifying him. Is she dead, he
asked again, his voice cracking. Am I too late?
She sleeps deep, Maggie said, tugging his soaked coat down his arms. I gave
her some laudanum.
Is& is& Jesus, he couldn t talk, couldn t think. Not with Madeline looking like
she was at death s door, ready to leave him in misery forever. Is the babe all right?
Maggie made a clucking noise while she placed his coat along the back of a chair,
drying it by the fire. It is a matter of time, my lord. The bleeding seems to have stopped,
but one can never tell.
But do you think? he asked, staring at his wife, wishing she would open her
eyes, wishing he could take back his words.
I think the matter is in God s hands, now. It is not for me to say.
Leave us, he ordered, finally taking a step closer to the bed.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]