A Soulmate for the Heartbroken Duke Page 11

  But Pierce lost the grace and height very quickly, and the world seemed to speed up once again as he was smashed, head first, against the wall.

  Thomas cried out, and seeing no way to get his horse into the field, jumped down from its back and clambered over the wall himself. He dropped down on the other side, landing heavily and twisting his ankle painfully. He half ran, half limped his way across the field, crying out to his brother as he went.

  “Pierce! Pierce!” He called again and again, never once receiving an answer.

  Before he was but halfway across the field, Thomas was drenched in sweat. His shirt clung to him, and he swiped sweat from his eyes with the cuff of the old brown tailcoat he always wore for riding.

  When he reached Pierce, he could see that he was motionless. His breathing was laboured and sporadic, and Thomas felt like a child again, a young boy who did not know what to do.

  Fear overtook him, and tears filled his eyes as he looked helplessly down at his brother. He dropped to his knees and touched his drip-white face but could get no response whatsoever.

  Knowing that he could not just stay there staring and hoping Pierce would come around, Thomas rose and snatched the reins of his brother’s horse. Struggling harder than he had ever done in his life, Thomas pulled Pierce up finally and laid him face down over the horse’s saddle. There was no other way to manage it, and that was all there was to it.

  If he left Pierce there, he would die without a doubt. More than anything, Thomas wanted to get him back to Shawcross and make him comfortable whilst the physician was sent for.

  At first, he walked on foot, leading his brother’s horse slowly along. But he could not bear the slowness, feeling the valuable, vital minutes slipping away, so he clambered up awkwardly behind Pierce’s drooping, horribly still body.

  It was near to impossible to ride the horse from so far back, but Thomas leaned forward, straining every muscle in his body, and managed to get the poor frightened creature moving again.

  Still, he could not go fast, for fear that Pierce would be dislodged and slide off the saddle, but it was certainly quicker than walking alongside had been.

  “We will be home soon, Pierce. You just hold on, alright? Do you hear me? You just hold on.” Thomas heard his voice crack as the emotions seized him once again. The weight of the last months seemed to almost crush him, but in a very different way.

  It was not the pain of losing Catherine this time, but the loss of the last eight months with a brother who had tried time and time again to apologize. If only he had known where it would all end up, Thomas knew he would have done things differently. But that was the wonderfully vile thing about hindsight; it had perfect vision.

  Suddenly, Thomas had an image of the two of them playing with bows and arrows that the old stable master had made for them. The arrows were purposefully blunt and harmless, but that had not lessened the boys’ excitement at all as they chased each other all over the estate, inexpertly loosing off the round-ended arrows in all directions.

  They had played until it was almost dark, and their governess was fractious with agitation. It was one of those childhood days that was so wonderful and seemed to go on forever. A day that would always stand out, even when they were old men.

  They had been friends.

  Before their mother had died and their father’s concentrated influence had changed Pierce into a proud young man who followed his father blindly into arrogance, they had been friends.

  But Thomas realized that even after that time, they had never particularly been enemies. They had aggravated one another and mistrusted one another on occasion, it was true.

  But that had not been the sum total of their relationship as young men. There had still been laughter, although it was true that it was very occasional, and they had continued to attend events together and converse without too much trouble, especially when out of their father’s company. They just were not as close as they had been. Without their mother’s countering influence, Pierce had been allowed to develop as his father would have him. But was that really Pierce’s fault? After all, he was the heir and could hardly escape the determined attention of their father.

  Perhaps being the afterthought had been a far luckier position.

  By the time Thomas reached the front of Shawcross Hall, he felt utterly shattered. He called out for help, his voice coming in ragged gasps, and was quickly joined by several of his father’s footmen and a host of young men from the stables.

  His father marched down the great stone steps of the hall and surveyed the scene there coolly. Thomas studied his face for a moment and could see nothing there; not fear, not love, nothing.

  “What is all this?” he said in his customary bluff manner.

  “Pierce was thrown from his horse,” Thomas said and fought hard against tears again; they would do him no good in the face of his father. “He hit a wall hard. He is very badly hurt.” Thomas looked back to where the footmen were gently trying to lift Pierce from the agitated horse.

  “Damn fool, what was he playing at? He needs to be more careful,” the Duke went on.

  “Father, did you not hear me? Pierce is very badly hurt.” He turned away from his father and approached one of the stable hands. “Please, will you ride into the village and call upon Doctor Harper. Tell him what has happened and that we need him immediately.”

  “Yes, My Lord,” the young man said and set off at speed for the stables.

  The footmen had finally lifted Pierce from the horse and were gently carrying him into the hall. Without words, they moved as one and set off up the staircase in the direction of Pierce’s chamber.

  Thomas followed quickly behind, not knowing if their father would join them.

  Several quietly tearful maids did what they could to make Pierce comfortable in his bed as Thomas looked on helplessly. He could see that his brother’s breathing was becoming ever more rapid and shallow, and his skin was a pale grey against the almost purple of his lips.

  The moment the maids had finished, Thomas drew up a chair at the side of the bed and reached out to lay a hand on Pierce’s cheek.

  “I do not know if you can hear me, Pierce, but I shall speak anyway,” Thomas began, looking over his shoulder to be sure they were alone at last. “I want you to know that I do not blame you for Catherine. I know my behaviour would suggest otherwise, but I have been in such pain these last months. But I have always known there was more to it; something else at the root of it all, and you were never really to blame. The way life has been led in this house since before we were born has infected everything in its path, us included.” Thomas’ voice broke, and his tears fell. He knew with certainty he could never have explained that there was not long left. “And now I am asking you to forgive me. Forgive me for shunning your efforts, even when I could see true remorse. Let this awfulness now be done between us. Let us be the little boys who ran about Shawcross with our bows and arrows all those years ago.”

  Thomas felt the tiniest movement from the bed and looked intently at Pierce. There was the faintest, briefest flicker of a smile on his brother’s face, and he looked almost serene.

  And then he was gone; one last gentle rush of air from his lungs, and Pierce Carlton took no more breath. Thomas let his head fall forward onto his brother’s chest and wept.

  Chapter 14

  They had been in Lytham for almost four months when Catherine’s first twinges came. She knew it could not be long before the child that she and Thomas had created would come into this world, and she was excited and terrified all at once.

  “How are you feeling? Your colour is a little high, Catherine.” Agnes Price sat next to Catherine on the wide window seat.

  “I can feel more movement, Agnes, and little pains. Well, hardly pains, but I do not know how else to describe them.” Catherine smiled at Agnes before staring out of the window and across the calm blue sea. “I suppose I am more uncomfortable than anything else.”

  “Then I do not think
it can be long now.” Agnes gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and stared out at the sea also.

  Agnes was such a kind, warm woman that it was not difficult to see why it was Celia had kept her as a companion.

  “Agnes, tell me again, is it a nice place?” Catherine heard the tremor in her voice.

  “It is clean and warm, one of the nicest I have seen. And they are very discreet, Catherine; you need have no fear of it.”

  Catherine did not doubt that Agnes was telling the truth, but it was not discretion or lack thereof that she feared. It was parting with her baby; Thomas’ baby.

  Even after so many months, Catherine still thought of Thomas every day. She thought of how he had held her hand down by Stromlyn Lake and how they had both known that it could not last forever. It had seemed almost cruel that they had fallen in love so completely. Of all the people in the world, why were they meant to be together? Why, when they could not be?

  If Catherine had the energy left to be angry, she would have been. Life ought to have been different for them; they had no argument between them, no feud. All they had, all they had ever had, was love.

  They should have been able to court, to become engaged. They should have been married by now, eagerly expecting the birth of their first child with their families around them, all smiles and congratulations.

  But no. Because two arrogant men had fought over a woman so many years ago, they were apart; their lives ruined, and the birth of their baby reduced to a matter of shame and secrecy.

  Catherine suddenly burst into tears; she could not bear the wheel of thoughts which went around and around in her mind.

  “I am so sorry, my dear,” Agnes said and pulled Catherine into her arms. “I know that none of this can be easy for you. I cannot imagine how you are feeling.”

  In the absence of Celia, who had walked into the town in the hope of buying some apples, Agnes was a very fine substitute.

  “I know I should think of myself as wrong, as having behaved badly, but I cannot. It should never have been this way, and only the stubbornness of old men has made it so. That is the difference between me being thought of as bad and thought of as good. Two old men. It is so very wrong, Agnes, but I am powerless to make it right. My heart is already broken. I lost Thomas, but it seems that is not enough. There is more to pay, and I am to let go of my precious baby. I am to have my heart broken again as if I deserve it to be so.” She wept hard, her breath coming in noisy gulps.

  “I know. I know,” Agnes soothed and began to rock her back and forth. “And I am so sorry. You are not bad, my girl. You have done nothing wrong, and you most certainly have not deserved any of this.”

  How wonderful it was to be surrounded by people who did not judge her. Society’s main pastime was just that, criticism and judgement, but Celia and Agnes did not partake.

  Suddenly a great dragging sensation ripped through Catherine’s belly, and she cried out in pain. She lurched forward as if to escape it, and Agnes, as efficient as ever, expertly got her to her feet and sped her through to the little chamber.

  As Catherine perched, afraid and breathing heavily on the edge of the bed, Agnes hurried back and forth with everything that she needed to prepare for the delivery.

  No sooner did she have everything ready than Celia returned from town. Catherine knew her time had come, and she prayed to God to help her child be delivered safely into the world. All thoughts beyond that moment would have to wait until her work was done.

  And hard work it was, although Catherine had known it would not be easy. It was the way of things and always had been.

  But the moment Catherine set eyes on her baby boy, her exhaustion fell away. She was energized and suddenly full of purpose as she took him from Celia and held him in her arms for the first time.

  She looked into his tiny, perfect face and saw Thomas’ beautiful blue eyes looking back at her. She squinted at the sparse little tuft of chestnut red hair and touched it lightly with her fingers.

  “Beautiful. He is just beautiful,” she said through tears of joy. “His hair and eyes are so like his father’s. He is the image of him.”

  The baby breathed slowly and made contented little noises as he peered back up into the eyes of his mother. He squinted as if he was trying to focus and then fell asleep.

  “He is beautiful,” Celia said, taking a seat by the bed as Agnes set about tidying up. “Agnes is emotional, I can tell.” Celia let out a secret laugh. “That is why she cannot sit still. But you must not mind it, for it is just her way.”

  “Agnes has been wonderful. You both have. I will never be able to thank you both enough for what you have done for me today. For both of us,” she said and looked down at the sleeping baby.

  Suddenly, Catherine felt an immense sense of peace. It was as if she knew she would never be parted from her child now, come what may. Whatever life threw at her, she would manage it as long as she had her baby with her.

  “He certainly is a handsome little boy. He will fair very well in this world with a face like that.” Celia smiled sadly at the sleeping infant.

  “We may or may not fare well in this world, Aunt Celia, but we shall do it together,” Catherine said, not knowing how else to begin to tell her aunt she would not be surrendering her baby.

  “I know you are in pain, Catherine. I know this is going to be the hardest thing you will ever have to do, but …”

  “I cannot do it. I love you dearly for what you have done, not just you and Agnes, but Uncle Charles too. You have all been so kind, and you have all put me first. I cannot think that anybody in this world has done so much for me, and it pains me more than I can say to hurt you. I would not wish it, especially after all you have done.” Catherine paused to wipe her tears with the back of her hand.

  “Here, my sweet girl.” Celia handed her a fresh white handkerchief.

  “Thank you.” It was clear that Celia was not angry with her, and something about that made Catherine feel all the worse. “Aunt Celia, I do not expect you to support me more than you have done already. I know the shame of this situation, and I would not bring that down upon you. This is mine to deal with, and I shall find a way.”

  “But my dear Catherine, I could never …”

  “I will do whatever I have to do to keep my little boy with me. Now that he is here,” she began and looked down into his angelic little face. “I could never part with him. It was hard enough before he was born to think of the moment when I would have to let him go, but I know with the deepest certainty I could not do it now. I care not what poverty I must live in, what low circumstances. I would even go into the workhouse to keep my child with me; that is how strongly I feel. I hope you can forgive me for all the trouble I have caused you.”

  “Catherine, what I was trying to say was that I could never abandon you, no matter what choices you make.” Celia laid a hand on her cheek. “I do not yet know how best I can help, but I am sure Charles will be able to think of something. He really is awfully clever. That is why I married him.” She laughed, and Catherine knew her aunt was trying to put her at her ease.

  She should have known that Celia Topwell would not try to shame her into giving away her child, nor turn her back on her entirely. Celia was cut from very different cloth, and Catherine gave a silent prayer of thanks that it was to Celia she had been sent when she had been disowned by her father.

  “Now then, you get some rest, and Agnes and I shall fashion a letter to be sent to your Uncle Charles today.” She rose and leaned forward to first plant a kiss on Catherine’s forehead, and then one on the baby’s soft cheek.

  “Thank you,” Catherine said tearfully as Celia left her little chamber.

  Catherine stared around the tiny room, its pale lemon walls reminding her of her room back home. By home, of course, she meant Ivy Manor.

  The idea that she probably would never be able to go back there was a painful one, even though she knew she could not let go of her child just so that she could return. However
kind Celia and Charles were, they could not possibly support the idea of having Catherine and her baby living under their roof. They were not society figures, it was true, but they were still respectable and well-respected. They would be made pariahs by association, and she could never do that to them.

  But perhaps there really was a way they could help her. Perhaps she would not be entirely alone or brought so low as to find herself and her child in the workhouse.

  Catherine was once again gripped by the unfairness of it all. This should have been the happiest day of her life, not one marred by thoughts of poverty and sadness and shame.

  “No, my little boy, we shall think happier thoughts,” she whispered to her sleeping child. “We shall imagine life as it should have been, with your Papa here and looking down at you in wonder.”