But Pamela would not hear of anyone else’s waiting on her. She went to the kitchen herself. The marquess was sitting in the taproom when she came out again, carrying a tray.
“Come and sit down,” he said, indicating the chair next to his own, between him and the fire, which he had just built up himself. “It is quieter in here.”
She hesitated, but he got to his feet and took the tray from her hands.
She sighed as she sat down and then looked at him in some surprise as he picked up the teapot and poured her cup of tea.
“Is she going to deliver?” he asked. “Or is there some complication?”
He liked watching her blush. Color added vibrancy to her face. ”I hope not,” she said. “Oh, I do hope not.”
“Do you have any idea what to do?” he asked. “Or does Lady Birkin?”
“No,” she said, and she closed her eyes briefly. “None at all. We can only hope that nature will take care of itself.”
Oh, Lord. There was a faint buzzing in his head.
“You are a clergyman’s daughter,” he said. “You were never involved with such, er, acts of nature?”
“No,” she said. “My mother made sure that I had a very proper upbringing. I wish I knew more.” She looked down at her hands. “I hope she does not die. Or the baby. I will always blame myself if they die.”
A thousand hells and a million damnations! He reached out and took one of her hands in his. “If they die-and probably they will not,” he said, “they will die in a warm and reasonably comfortable inn room instead of in a stable, and tended by two ladies who have given them unfailingly diligent and gentle care instead of by a hysterical boy.”
She smiled at him rather wanly. “You are kind,” she said.
He looked down at her hand and spread her fingers along his. “You have artists’ hands,” he said. “You must play the pianoforte. Do you?”
“Whenever I can.” She looked wistful. “We always had a pianoforte at the rectory. I played it constantly, even when I should have been doing other things. I was often scolded.”
“But there is no instrument at your place of employment?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “A beautiful one with the loveliest tone I have ever heard. I give my pupil lessons and try to steal a few minutes for myself whenever I can.”
He felt angry suddenly. “They have to be stolen?” he asked. “They are not granted?”
She smiled. “Mrs. Raven, my employer, suffers from migraine headaches,” she said. “She cannot stand the sound of the pianoforte.”
His jaw tightened. “It is not a good life, is it,” he said, “being a governess?”
She stiffened and withdrew her hand from his. She reached out to pick up her cup and raised it to her lips. “It is a living, my lord,” she said, “and a reasonably comfortable one. There are many women, and men too, far worse off than I. We cannot all choose the life we would live. You do not need to pity me.”
He looked at her broodingly. Her hand was shaking slightly, though she drank determinedly on. Did he pity her? He was not in the habit of pitying other mortals. No, he did not think it was pity. It was more admiration for her and anger against employers who evidently did not appreciate her. It was more the desire to protect her and see happiness replace the quiet discipline in her face-the desire to give her a pianoforte for Christmas, all wrapped about with red ribbons. His lip curled in self-derision. Was this unspeakably dull Christmas making him sentimental over a governess?
“What would you be doing now,” he asked her, “if it had not rained?”
She set her cup down in its saucer and smiled down into it, her eyes dreamy. “Decorating the house with the children,” she said. “Helping my mother and our cook with the baking.Finishing making gifts.Delivering baskets to the poor.Helping my father arrange the Nativity scene in the church.Getting ready to go caroling.Looking forward to the church service. Running around in circles wishing I could divide myself into about twelve pieces. Christmas is always very busy and very special at home. The coming of Christ-it is a wonderful festival.”
He took her hand again, almost absently, and smoothed his fingers over hers. He was the Marquess of Lytton, she reminded herself, and she a mere clergyman’s daughter and a governess. Last night he had held her and kissed her, and she had almost gone to bed with him. She was still not sure if she would have allowed the ultimate intimacy or if she would have drawn back at the last moment. But he had drawn back, and now they were sitting together in the taproom, talking, her hand in his. This was a strange, unreal Christmas.
“What would you be doing?” she asked. “If it had not rained, I mean.”
He raised his gaze from their hands, and she was struck again by the keenness of his blue eyes beneath the lazy lids. They caused a strange somersaulting feeling in her stomach. “Stuffing myself with rich foods,” he said. “Getting myself inebriated.Preparing to make merry and to drink even more. Flirting with a lady I have had my eye on for some time past and wondering if I would be spending tonight with her or if she would keep me waiting until tomorrow night.” One corner of his mouth lifted in an expression that was not quite a smile. “A wonderful way to celebrate the coming of Christ, would you not agree?”
Pamela found herself wondering irrelevantly what the lady looked like.
“I cannot judge,” she said. “We all have our own way of enjoying ourselves.”
“Yours is a large family?” he asked.
“I have three brothers and four sisters,” she said, “all younger than myself. It is a very noisy household and frequently an untidy one, I’m afraid.”
“I envy you,” he said. “I have no one except a few aunts and uncles and cousins with whom I have never been close.” He raised one hand and touched the back of a finger to her cheek. “I am sorry you have not been able to get home for Christmas.”
“I believe that everything that happens does so for a purpose,” she said. “Perhaps I was meant to be trapped here for Lisa’s sake.”
“And perhaps I was meant to be trapped here with you for… for what purpose?” he asked.
His eyes were looking very intently into hers. She could not withdraw her own. “I don’t know,” she said.
“Perhaps,” he said, and his voice was very soft, “to discover that innocence can be more enticing than experience. And far more warming to the heart.”
He raised her hand while she watched him with widening eyes and warming cheeks, and set his lips to it.
“I must be going back upstairs,” she said.
“Yes.” He lowered her hand. “You must.”
But the next moment they were both on their feet. Lady Birkin had appeared at the top of the stairs. She was looking distraught and was beckoning urgently.
“Pamela,” she called. “Oh, thank heaven you are there. Something is happening. Oh, please come.” And she turned and hurried out of sight again.
Pamela could feel the color draining from her head as she rushed across the room toward the staircase. She scarcely heard the quite improper expletive that was the marquess’s sole comment.
“Bloody hell!” he said.
The bed was soaked. Fortunately Mrs. Palmer had given them a pile of old rags and told them to spread some over the sheets. There was something about waters breaking, she had mumbled before scurrying away about some real or imagined chore. Pamela and Lady Birkin stripped away the wet rags and replaced them with dry ones. But Lisa was in severe distress.
She was panting loudly and thrashing about on the bed. Her moans were threatening to turn into screams.
“Hot water,” Lady Birkin said, trying to keep her voice calm. “I have heard that hot water is needed.”
“Lisa,” Pamela had a cool cloth to the girl’s brow. “What may we do for you? How may we help?”
But there was a feeling of dreadful helplessness, an almost overpowering urge to become hysterical or simply to rush from the room.
And then the door opened. Both Lady Birkin and Pamela looked in some surprise at the Marquess of Lytton, who stood in the doorway, his face pale. Perhaps they would have felt consternation, too, if they had not been feeling so frightened and helpless.
“I think I can help,” he surprised them both by saying. And he grimaced and turned even paler as Lisa began to moan and thrash again. He strode over to the bed. “I think she should be pushing,” he said. “The pain will subside soon, will it not? Next time we must have her in position and she must push down. Perhaps the two of you can help her by lifting her shoulders as she pushes.”
