Chapter 1
Nicola curled up in her bed holding a pillow over her ear. Would the screaming never end? It had gone on for over an hour now she was sure. The sound was only slightly muffled by the feather stuffed pillow.
She’d never thought of her room as being overly close to her parents’ quarters. But she’d never had sounds like this to hide from.
Still, she wouldn’t go anywhere else. Despite the midwife and physician insisting that she would only be in the way, she couldn’t do away with the idea that her presence might be needed. What if her mother should call for her? Or what if the worst happen and she was outside the manor somewhere? She couldn’t live with that possibility. So instead, she endured the screams, helpless as she was to end them.
At forty years of age, Lady Matilda Beauthorne was thought to be done with the business of having children. But when Nicola’s older brother Anthony had died suddenly two years previously, the baron had been left without an heir. So he had put all hope into securing another heir through his wife. Plenty of women had children into their forties, so it wasn’t an absurd prospect. Except that even in her youth, Matilda had struggled with bearing children.
Until now, the scheme seemed to be working. Nicola of course had no memory of her mother’s previous births, nor even her subsequent miscarriages. But she had on occasion brought things for laboring tenants, so she’d heard the sounds other women made. The sounds emanating from her mother’s quarters were different. They were wrong. Perhaps it was her limited experience, or perhaps it was instinct. She wouldn’t even write off the possibility that it was her imagination. But in her heart, she was positive things were not going as they should.
When the screaming ceased, instead of feeling relief, she felt instant panic. Throwing her pillow to the floor, Nicola leapt out of her bed and ran to her mother’s chambers once again. When the servant at the door was hesitant to let her in, she ignored him and pushed her way through.
The sight she came upon was ghastly. There was so much blood. A pale-faced servant bustled through the space removing soaked red linens which had previously been white. But her paleness had nothing on the unearthly pallor of Lady Beauthorne’s face.
The baron stood in a corner watching as the midwife and another woman hunched over something in a basket. Nicola ignored everyone but her mother. Matilda’s chest moved with slow, shallow breaths. But her eyes were unfocused. Dr. Clarke was doing something to her mother’s stomach. Sewing, she thought, but all the blood was too terrifying to focus on. Instead she rushed to her mother’s side and took her hand in both of her own.
Lady Beauthorne’s hand was as cold as a corpse. Nicola attempted to warm it.
“Mother!”
“I’m sorry dear,” came the physician’s voice as he stood up and pulled the cover over her mother’s lower half. “I’ve done what I can for her. Your father insisted I get the baby out by any means possible. I’m afraid she’s lost too much blood.”
“Mother!” Nicola said again, ignoring the physician. “Mother, look at me.”
The woman’s eyes moved as if looking for her, but never landed on Nicola. Then they rolled back so that only the lower halves of the irises were exposed. A convulsion followed and when it ceased, her mother lay unmoving.
Nicola watched for the next rise and fall of her mother’s chest. But if it came, she couldn’t see it through the blur of tears in her eyes.
For a long time, Nicola clung to her mother with her head upon her chest. If anyone attempted to speak to her or touch her, she pushed them away.
The last year had been rough. She was meant to have her debut, but it had been put off due to her mother’s confinement. She would be seventeen when the next season arrived. She had looked forward to the time with a mix of apprehension and excitement. Knowing her mother would be there to help choose her dresses and guide her had been what she’d looked forward to the most.
All those dreams had slipped out of this world along with the blood from her mother’s womb. A feeble cry from the other side of the room followed by a relieved sigh was a cold comfort during this time.
Somehow she eventually found the strength to push herself back up to her feet and cross the room to find the cause of all her grief.
In the midwife’s arms was a squirming pink thing. It mewled like a kitten with its eyes still closed. When it turned its head to the finger caressing its face, the midwife alerted a servant to summon the wet nurse.
“This is your brother, Nicola,” came her father’s baritone voice. “He will be called Francis.” She looked up from the child to her father. She half expected a look of satisfaction on her father’s face. He had gotten his son, after all. At the expense of his wife, her mother. But the man simply looked tired. The fury that wanted to build in her simmered slightly.
The baby let out a soft cry and she looked down at him again. She wanted to hate the child. But she didn’t have it in her. This was no more his fault than it was the wind’s. And he was now as without a mother as she was. At least she had gotten to know their mother. This boy—Francis—would never know the warmth of Matilda Beauthorne.
Nicola held her arms out to the midwife. “Give him here please. I would like to meet my new brother properly.”
Soon the weight of the baby was settled into her arms. She’d held infants before, but somehow this child felt unbelievably fragile. As she gazed into his innocent little face, she felt a fierce pang of protectiveness. This world had taken Anthony from her, and now her mother. On the spot, her heart appointed her this child’s guardian.
When the nurse arrived for the child, she begrudgingly parted with him. It was now time to prepare for her mother’s funeral. Her father asked that she personally write letters to their closest friends and family. These weren’t people she’d known particularly well, but she didn’t mind. It was better to have something to do.
Over the next couple of days amidst the whirlwind of changes and preparations about the manor, it became apparent that something was wrong with the child.
His nurse said he wasn’t eating well. The midwife and physician both returned to examine the child. After careful observation and experimentation it was decided that Francis was abnormal.
He ate poorly and grew slowly. When the nurse decreed that he should be sitting up, he remained on his back. When her own child of a similar age was toddling around a year later, Francis was still struggling with crawling.
It was at this point that the physician admitted the child may be mentally deficient. “Moron” was the term he used. It was something that had been evident for some time to Nicola. Yet the news sent the Baron into a spiral of depression which he fed with alcohol.
Nicola suggested that at fifty he might not be too old to take another wife and try again for a suitable heir. She hated the idea. But the baron’s behavior worried her. He closed up the house and soon they all became recluses. Though they had the money to spare, the staff was reduced to a bare minimum to keep the shame to themselves.
He wouldn’t hear anything else. He insisted that the Lord had seen fit to take his heir and give him this moron in his place. And who was he to argue with the Lord’s decree? He had already tried to replace one heir, and this had been the Almighty’s answer.
So during a time when Nicola had once thought she’d be attending balls and meeting handsome suitors, she instead found herself caring for her half-mad father and simple brother. The former she grew to dislike, and the other she grew to love more than any other person or creature on earth.
She took over the duties of managing the household after her mother passed away. And as her father disappeared further and further into himself, she learned to take over his duties as well.
By the time he passed away when she was twenty-three, it was almost a relief. He was one less thing she had to manage. However she hadn’t taken into account what would happen when the outside world saw that the heir to the estate was a disabled child and his guardian an unmarried young woman who’d never even been introduced properly to society.
Before her father’s body was in the grave, distant relatives who’d seemingly ignored them all this time began appearing at her door.
“This is what Hazelbrier has come to,” said a white-haired old Mr. Beauthorne who claimed to be her great-uncle or some similar level of relation. His lip curled with disdain.
She looked around the dimly lit foyer trying to see it as he did. She didn’t see the point in over using candles and lamps in areas that they rarely spent time in. But the place was clean. She’d put away any decorative items she felt were not safe for young Francis. It may have seemed sparce to an outsider, she supposed.
“Thank you for your visit,” she said instead of addressing the slight.
“I’m not one to ignore a familial responsibility, unlike my deceased nephew.” He paused and looked her over in the better light of the drawing room. “I should think you would have been taken by a husband by now. You don’t appear to have any of the same infirmities the boy has.”
“No uncle. I’ve just been preoccupied and have not had the need of a husband.”
“Nonsense. All girls need a husband if they can get one. How old are you, now? Twenty?”
“Twenty-three.”
He visibly shuddered at her answer. “Such an appalling oversight by your father. And you’ve not even been introduced into society?”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Beauthorne.”
“I shall have my wife get on that at once. It’s rather embarrassing to bring a girl out so late, but not unheard of. I hope you have something better to wear than that.”
She looked down at herself. The clothes were simple, but clean. She liked to dress comfortably because she spent a good portion of every day with Francis.
“I thank you for your care, uncle. But I am quite content where I am.”
“And manage this entire estate all on your own? Don’t be ridiculous. And don’t forget there is the issue of the heir. No one even knows if a child with his condition will even make it to adulthood. The title will die with your brother. But if you have a son of your own, you might petition for it to go to your child.”
Nicola felt a rage begin to burn in her chest at his words. How dare he speak of her brother’s death with such an attitude. What happened to the title was no concern of his. As for the management of the estate; she had been doing that on her own entirely for over three years now, including farms and all finances. She hadn’t done so flawlessly, but she was managing well enough.
She could say none of these things though, as the words all caught in her throat.
“I will send Mrs. Beauthorne to see to you soon. Please try and have this place ready for visitors by then.”
With that her great-uncle turned and left her home having never gone farther than the foyer. It only occurred to her afterwards that she was probably supposed to have invited him in properly.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be a terrible idea to hire enough staff to make entertaining possible again. She was loathe to do it, but Mr. Beauthorne would not be the last meddling relative or neighbor to darken her doorstep. She needed to be better prepared.
