Anne was in her own room, ready for bed. She had put on her nightgown and brushed out her hair. Bella had been dismissed for the night. The baby had been fed. It was so much easier now that she was sleeping through the night. She was standing by the window of her room, staring out into the darkness. It was almost March, almost spring. She had smelled it in the air that morning, when she had been walking in the garden. Soon the first flowers would be in bloom. Would Alexander see them? Somehow it seemed very important to her that he should. Almost she felt she would be safe if he could only see the spring blooms, though she could not explain to herself why she felt this way. It was no good, though. She must reconcile herself to the fact that he would go soon. She could not keep him much longer.
There was a brief tap on her door and it opened. Anne turned, expecting to see Bella returned for some forgotten item. Her eyes widened when her husband stepped into the room.
"My apologies," he said. "I did not realize that you had retired already. But I did not wish to wait until morning. I shall be leaving tomorrow, Anne."
Her stomach lurched and her knees felt weak, but she showed no outward sign. "I see," she said.
"You will be glad to see me go," he said abruptly. "Soon your garden will be keeping you busy, I expect."
"Yes," she said.
"I shall try to leave before noon," he said, "so that we can be home before dark. I shall take the carriage and have it returned within a few days for your convenience."
"Yes," Anne said, "that sounds sensible." Her hands were twisting the sides of her nightgown.
"I shall take Nurse with me and hire a wet-nurse as soon as we reach London," he said.
"What?"
"Is she too young to be weaned?" he asked. "I am not sure. I have meant to ask you."
"What are you talking about?" Anne was whispering.
"I shall take Catherine with me tomorrow," he said. "Perhaps she is too young to be taken from you, but I thought it best to take her when I am here to care for her and protect her on the way. My God, Anne!"
Merrick lunged forward and caught his wife as her knees buckled under her. He could almost feel sound coming from her before the terrible wail finally escaped her lips.
"My God," he said, "what is it?"
But Anne could only wail and clutch at him. He looked around for a glass of water and cursed the luckless Bella when he found none.
Finally Anne's hysteria gave way to sobs, but she continued to clutch at Merrick's sleeves. "Oh, you could not be so cruel," she managed to get out between sobs. "Don't be so cruel, Alexander. Please. Oh, what have I ever done to deserve this. Oh, please, no. I just want to die."
Merrick took her firmly by the arms and sat her down on the edge of the high bed. He knelt on the floor in front of her and smoothed a damp strand of hair away from her face. "What is it?" he said. "What have I done?"
Anne covered her face with her hands. "Don't take Catherine from me, Alex," she said, still unable to control her sobs. "Please, anything but that. Don't take her from me. She is all I have."
He stared up at her for a moment and then got to his feet and drew her into his arms, pressing her face against his shoulder. "Anne," he said against her hair, "I didn't know. Don't distress yourself like this. I didn't know."
She was too distraught to hear him. "Please, Alex," she said. "Please. Don't take Catherine. Oh, I shall die. I shall die." She put her arms up around his neck and clung to him.
"Hush," he said, rocking her in his arms. "Hush, love. I would not hurt you for worlds. Hush now."
Anne still did not hear his words. But some instinctive part of herself knew that there was comfort somewhere within reach. She turned a tearstained face up to him without even knowing she did so, without even seeing him. And he kissed her.
They were both shaken, Anne by the terrible shock of knowing that he meant to take her daughter away from her, he by the realization that he would not even have the child with whom to comfort himself when he left the following day. Grief on both sides quickly ignited into passion. They set each other on fire with eager, searching hands, hot, demanding mouths and tongues, and bodies that arched into each other. They reached blindly for the ultimate comfort, the ultimate release from feelings that were too intense to be borne.
Merrick tore at her nightgown, too impatient to open the buttons down the front, and lifted her naked body onto the bed. He followed her there in but a few moments, his own clothes having suffered just as rough a fate. He came between her thighs and pushed urgently into her so that she cried out and twined her arms and legs around him. And together they found a rhythm intense in its need to be completed. He thrust deeper and deeper into her, and she opened and lifted herself more intimately against him, each straining for the unity that their love craved, both believing in their hearts that it was in reality but a one-sided experience. Yet they reached their climax together and murmured their release against each other's lips.
When rational thought returned, Anne found herself lying in the crook of her husband's arm, both of them still warm and damp from the exertions of their passion, covered by a disordered tumble of blankets, which Alexander must have pulled over them. She felt sore. It was almost a year since he had last used her, and she supposed that recent childbirth had left her tender. It would pass. It was almost a pleasant discomfort, caused as it was by the body of her husband, whom she loved. She turned further into the warmth of the naked man beside her.
Childbirth! Her eyes opened wide and she jerked away from him so that she might look into his face. He was looking back at her, a strange, almost bitter twist to his mouth.
"You are going to take Catherine from me," she accused. "You cannot do it, Alexander. I shall fight you. I promise I shall fight you. She is my daughter. I carried her for more then eight months and I suffered to bring her into the world. She needs me. I still have the milk that feeds her. And I shall not allow you to take her from me. You have always been a taker, have you not? You have taken from me all I have to give except my daughter. I will not allow you to take her. I won't allow it, Alexander. Please, oh, please, don't take her from me."
Her head still rested against his arm; her hand was still splayed across his warm chest. His mouth tightened into a parody of a smile.
"Don't distress yourself, ma'am," he said quietly. "I have done all the taking from you that I intend to do. I shall complete the process tomorrow by taking myself permanently from your presence. My apologies for tonight. I did not intend for this to happen. And you can set your mind at rest about our daughter. She will remain with you here. I will not take her from you. She is more yours than mine. I merely begot her in a moment of pleasure. You have suffered for her."
He eased his arm from beneath her head and swung himself out of the bed. He dressed quickly and left the room.
The morning was almost over. He should have been on his way before now. Even if he left within the next quarter of an hour, he would have to ride hard to arrive home before dark. He would not, of course, take the carriage now. There was little point when he would be traveling alone. His belongings could be sent on after him, as they had when he came. There was no purpose in his delaying any longer. He had told Dodd at breakfast that he would not be at home for luncheon.