The months had been solitary ones for Anne. She had only the household staff for company most of the time. She had accepted a few invitations from neighbors until she felt her condition was becoming obvious, but afterward she had hardly gone beyond the confines of her husband's estate except to attend church on Sundays.
The months had been solitary but not lonely ones. The ache of longing for Alexander that had driven her almost insane for several weeks had gradually dulled in the face of the symptoms of her condition: the unusual tiredness, the slight nausea, and finally-and gloriously-the first movements of the child within her womb. Her life had become more placidly contented than she could ever remember it being. She had spent countless hours dreaming of what it would be like to have a baby in the house, a child to bring noise and disorder and laughter into the ordered quiet of her life.
Anne had not immediately written to inform her husband of her condition. She had not known quite how to broach the subject and had not known how he might react. It was only when she received an invitation to the wedding of Freddie and Miss Fitzgerald that was to take place in September that she realized that the truth must be told. She had wished to attend because she had grown very fond of Freddie during the two weeks of their acquaintance and because she had come to love the whole family. But she could not go. Alexander would be there, and she could not risk meeting him again. Her resolve might crumble. She would have to use her pregnancy as an excuse, to stay away. So finally she had written to Alexander two days before penning a refusal to attend the wedding.
She had been surprised at his reaction. His reply must have been written the same day as he received her letter. It had been impossible to detect his feelings from the words he had written, but he had made lengthy and detailed inquiries into the state of her health, and he had seemed to realize the reason for her decision not to travel to Portland House for the wedding. He had urged her to go if she felt well enough to make the journey and had offered to stay away himself if she felt that his presence would be distressing to her. Anne had stayed firm on her decision, but she had been strangely touched by the offer. She did not normally associate sensitivity with Alexander.
It had not been merely her pregnancy and her dreams that made the months tolerable for Anne. She had not been idle during this time. The grounds outside the house had been made attractive, so thai anyone approaching the house along the long and winding drive was given the impression that the owners lavished love and attention on their property. Now she had turned her attention to the interior of the house, determined to make it a place of taste and elegance as well as a bright and comfortable home.
Heavy and faded draperies had been pulled down from windows, and old and threadbare carpets rolled up from the floors. New items had been ordered to replace them. Paintings and family portraits that had been crowded into an upper room that boasted neither size nor light had been moved to the upper gallery, where they immediately took on a new glory. Priceless seventeenth-century tapestries that had been removed from the dining room a few generations before in the belief they were old-fashioned had been replaced and immediately gave a new luster to the family silver and crystal. The Wedgwood china collection that had been partly hidden for years in a heavy wooden cabinet had been displayed openly around the living apartments. And old furniture that seemed to add only gloom to the rooms had been reupholstered and transformed. The list of improvements went on and on.
By the time Anne was heavy with child, her love for Redlands had converted into a great pride. She could wander from room to room and stroll around the grounds, muffled up warmly against advancing winter, and feel that it was her home and surely the equal of almost any of the grand estates in England. It was a place fit for the son of a viscount, grandson of a duke. It was a place in which she could contemplate with peace of mind spending the rest of her days.
Her time came upon her quite unexpectedly, ten days before she had expected to begin her labor. It was a gloomy morning when she came down to an early breakfast after a night in which she had slept little. It was so difficult to find a comfortable position in which to sleep, and turning over in bed was a major and exhausting undertaking. It looked as if it would snow before the day was out.
Perhaps it was the threat of a storm that set her to thinking about Alexander. It was a day very similar to the one on which she had first met him. She could not shake off her thoughts of him, though she tried to keep herself busy as far as the advanced condition of her pregnancy would allow. She sat finally in the morning room putting the finishing touches to a gorgeously embroidered christening robe that she made for her child. He would come for the christening, of course. Perhaps duty would make him come as soon as she was able to send him the news that his heir had been born.
Alexander. She gazed through the window at the gray world without and saw him as he had appeared to her on that first evening: handsome, vibrant, almost dangerously attractive. He had appeared like a creature from another world. She saw him as he had been at Portland House: disdainful, contemptuous, aloof, yet inexplicably tender and passionate in their more intimate encounters. She returned her attention to her embroidery. She must not allow herself to indulge in memory. Not only was it a pointless exercise, but some instinct of self-defense warned her that her fragile peace of mind could be shattered very easily if she did not cling to the present and the immediate future.
It was at this moment that the she felt the first of the pains, a stabbing sensation and a tightening of muscles that robbed her of breath for a moment and left her feeling frightened and very much alone. She continued to embroider, every nerve in her body tensed for another sign that her time had indeed come. When she had counted eight such pains, she rang for Mrs. Rush and calmly suggested that the doctor be summoned. A half-hour later she was in bed, knowing that the pains were not going to stop. She wanted Alexander.
The doctor, standing at a window gazing out into the darkness, turned as the bedroom door opened, and his eyes widened in surprise. He took one step in its direction but stopped when he saw Mrs. Rush about the same errand, horror written large on her face.
"My lord," she said in an urgent whisper, "this is no place for you. Do go downstairs at once and I shall have Dodd bring you refreshment. I shall come myself to inform you as soon as there is any news."
Merrick brushed past her just as if she were not there. His face was still deathly pale. He stood looking at the bed, where his wife lay on her side facing away from him, breathing in deep gasps, whose duration she seemed to be trying to control. She moaned quietly to herself before relaxing and turning her face into the pillow.
Mrs. Rush hesitated for a moment, threw a hasty and pleading glance in the direction of the viscount, and bustled to the bed, where she dipped a cloth into a basin of water and proceeded to dab at her mistress's hot face.
Merrick continued to stand just inside the door, which he had closed behind him. He watched Anne for a couple of minutes until the pain gripped her again and her breathing again became deep and even in her attempt to control panic. He watched, as he had when he had first entered the room, one hand come behind her back and push ineffectually against her lower back. He did not remove his eyes even when the doctor crossed the room to his side.
"My lord," that flustered individual said in a lowered voice, "I really must ask that you leave the room now. It is not at all fitting for you to be here. There is really nothing to be done at the moment. I must wait until her ladyship is ready to deliver. I assure you that all is well under control, and Mrs. Rush is an able assistant. But there is no knowing how long it will be."