Page 15 of The Duke's Sister's Absolutely Excellent Engagement (The Notorious Briarwoods Book 11)

Several Weeks Later

L ike a rare plant finally given the attention it deserves, Monsieur Georges was thriving in the countryside.

They had brought him with them to the famous estate of the Westleigh name. After all, they had much to do to renovate the theater, and Monsieur Georges was going to be a part of the design process. There was also the fact that Margery didn’t wish to stop dancing, even though she was with child. And Monsieur Georges seemed to like the idea of getting away from London for a little while.

She had always disliked her own family’s estate. After all, she’d been allowed to enjoy so little there. She had not taken to the gardens or enjoyed the forests. But here, oh, bliss! Oh, heaven.

Perhaps that sounded trite, but the fields and streams and forests upon the estate filled her soul with a peace that had long eluded her. It was like finally, truly coming home to herself.

Here, she felt as if she had finally been transported into a place where she could be one with herself and the world about her. The countryside was so beautiful. She could at last understand why some people spent their whole lives dwelling out of doors or committed entirely to the beautification and preservation of nature.

The house, well, castle really, was magnificent, and here she felt entirely free to roam and discover all the old place’s secrets and histories as her middle began to grow.

Portia’s grew too.

It was absolutely wonderful to have a companion in this experience.

The first weeks had been quite difficult. She had sipped tea and drank beef broth, and she understood why Portia had looked so very green most of the time, but she was now beginning to feel completely and totally alive. Exhausted but alive.

And she danced every day with Monsieur Georges to keep her spirits up and her body in good health. When they were not dancing, Monsieur Georges was either dancing in his own personal chamber to keep up his physique, or he was going on long walks, or he was working on the miniature reproduction of the Duke Theater that they had assembled in the library.

It was like an elaborate doll house of the theater building that they could alter with several choices that the architect had supplied to them.

So, daily, she and Monsieur Georges got together and rearranged the miniature curtains, the chairs, the boxes to see what might suit best.

And then Cymbeline, who was also quite an excellent artist, would join them and sketch their plans so that they could be sent to London to inspire the architect and make the build possible. The theater would likely be ready for its first production in a year’s time.

She wouldn’t see the progress though, for they would now be in the countryside for months. And frankly, she was rather looking forward to just being with family, to just being with her husband, to watching her belly grow.

It was sheer perfection.

At their estate, the Briarwoods seemed louder than ever. One would’ve thought that in the city, they would seem the loudest, with all of them piled into Heron House.

After all, while Heron House was a large home for town, there were so many of them! Surely, they should have created a cacophony that would resonate off the walls.

But in the country, they shouted and laughed, played games, sang at the top of their lungs, and orated all day long. Margery did not ever have a moment alone. It was rather thrilling.

There were even more cousins who ran this way and that. All of the adopted children of Achilles and his wife, that they had taken in from Europe, thrived, playing games all over the green or taking lessons from their tutors.

The younger cousins also rushed about with a pack of nannies and nurses, ensuring that none of them toddled into ponds or down staircases.

It was hard to believe how many Briarwoods there were, but they all acted as a family. No one was made to feel as if they were different. It was such a shock to Margery, the way that everyone was taken in by the Briarwoods, and there was no differentiation between those who were Briarwoods by blood and those who were Briarwoods by choice.

Portia bustled out of the breakfast room and caught sight of Margery standing in the foyer. She was contemplating whether she should go for a long walk or go practice some of the particularly difficult steps that Monsieur Georges had tasked her with.

“Come along with me,” Portia gushed as if she could read Margery’s thoughts. “The day is far too fine to stay indoors.”

Margery looked to the windows. It was true. The cold would come quite soon, the air would turn brisk, and then there would be rain. Heaps and heaps of rain. Rain would slash down from the sky, keeping them all indoors.

So, she nodded and said, “Let us go.”

She and Portia linked arms, and they headed outside, down the elaborate, beautiful steps, out past the formal gardens, and they strode and strode, allowing the sunshine to spill down upon them.

“Do you want a boy or a girl?” Portia asked quite boldly.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” she replied. She worried her lip. “I suppose I want a boy, though I am loathe to admit it,” said Margery. “It is my duty to bear an heir.”

“Oh, duty,” Portia huffed, but then she nodded her understanding and leaned towards her. “Yes, I suppose it’s true, and I would be most disingenuous if I didn’t say that an heir, of course, is important to a duke. The truth is, I feel the same,” Portia replied.

“Do you really? I know Rufus would be terribly happy if you had a daughter.”

“I’m sure he would,” Portia agreed. “He’s a darling, but he needs an heir too.”

“It is very difficult being a woman, isn’t it?” Margery asked, thinking of the many, many women over hundreds of years in this country who had felt the pressure to produce a male heir, loving husband or no.

“Yes, I think so,” Portia said. “The gentlemen do their job, and then we have to make the babies, and we have to pray that they will come out with the right sex.”

“Right sex,” Margery echoed with a groan. “What a terrible thing, really.”

“It’s true, but it’s the way English society works,” Portia lamented. “Only male heirs inherit. It’s not fair, and it’s not right. I know many young ladies who are far superior to their brothers who inherit the title. But until Parliament changes and gains some wisdom, it is how it is. Still, I suppose all I truly care about is a healthy child. I would hate it if something happened,” Portia said softly.

Margery gave her sister-in-law’s arm a squeeze. “Have you worried about that?”

“Only a little,” Portia confessed with a taut smile. “I try not to think any dark thoughts.”

“I feel the same,” agreed Margery. “You see, I knew quite enough darkness before. I don’t need any more.”

“Of course not,” Portia affirmed, her smile nervous but determined. “And besides, I agree, you surely shan’t have any more since you have already had your fair share of suffering.”

Except Margery wondered if that was how life really worked, that one could have their fair share of suffering. She wasn’t certain.

They headed out farther along the stone-fenced fields, looking at the glorious countryside covered in ancient oak trees, verdant hills, and lush lanes. “England is so beautiful,” she breathed. “We really are quite lucky to live here. It’s so sad that my parents were both so terribly miserable.”

Portia nodded, rueful. “Yes, because their misery compounded and was passed on. Thank goodness you and Rufus will never do that to your own children.”

“No,” she said firmly, her heart pounding. “Never.”

What a chance it was to fix the past! To right the wrongs her parents had done. She would never hurt her child. Oh, she could not wait to hold her baby in her arms and bathe it in love. Her child would only know love and be surrounded by people who did not have a bitter bit in them.

As they continued to walk, she tilted her face back and enjoyed the sun, and she ignored the strange little twinge in her left side. But then, as it grew and became more intense, she forced herself to admit her discomfort. “I think we should head back. I’m not feeling particularly well. I think I’ve gone too far today.”

“Well then, of course we must,” Portia said gently, and they turned back.

She looked and spotted the castle far in the distance, its roofline beckoning like some fairy tale apparition. Her lips tilted into a smile. She truly had found everything that she was meant to, every bit of happiness.

Pain stabbed through her lower back.

And that’s when she realized that, of course, it was all going to be taken away, for the twinge increased and pulsed through her lower body.

“Portia,” she rasped, instinct taking over.

“Mmm?”

“Something is wrong,” she bit out.

“What is wrong?” Portia asked, still not quite realizing the gravity of the turn of events.

“Something…” she said. She couldn’t articulate it, but she was suddenly afraid, and her entire body felt clammy and cold. A chill raced through her. “We need to get back to the house at once,” she said.

Portia’s eyes grew wide with alarm, and her hold on Margery’s arm turned into a fierce grip. “Of course.”

But now, every step she took was one filled with pain.

“What is amiss?” Portia asked, though the fear in her eyes told Margery that she had a suspicion.

“My belly,” she whimpered. “It shouldn’t feel like this.”

Portia’s face grew white. “Everything will be fine. You must not allow yourself to give in to worry, Margery,” she said, as if she was trying to convince herself too.

“Yes, of course,” Margery replied with a forced smile that felt like a grimace. “I shall see a physician and have a little rest and a little bit of beef broth. Then I’ll put my feet up, and all shall be well.”

But even as she said the words, terror shot through her. It was a terror so intense she could scarce breathe or think, and her heart beat so fast she felt as if her body was burning.

She had not let herself think about how dangerous childbirth was. After all, why would she? She’d found her fairy tale, her happy life, where nothing could touch her. Marrying Nestor had meant that, hadn’t it? Nothing could hurt her anymore. Even he had said it.

But now, she realized that it had been an entire illusion. Death still happened. Illness and poverty still plagued the masses. The world still careened with injustice, and war still raged on the Continent. Reality crashed in upon her, fantasy departed, and her body began to rebel.

“It hurts,” she moaned. “I don’t know if I can keep going.”

“You must,” Portia all but begged. “We are close now. I would carry you if I could, but—”

“No, you mustn’t, Portia,” she soothed, even as tears began to fill her eyes at the pain. “I wouldn’t wish anything to happen to you as well.”

So together, arm and arm, they stumbled back towards the castle until they spotted a figure in the distance.

Nestor.

He was standing, as if awaiting their return.

The moment she spotted her husband, her whole soul cried out for him. He would save her. He would make this all right again. It was what Nestor always did.

“We need help!” Portia cried. “Help!”

Nestor tensed for a single moment, then charged across the fields. Within what felt like moments, he swept Margery into his arms, cradling her against his broad chest. “My love,” he called, “whatever is it?”

“The baby, Nestor,” she whispered, wishing she did not say it. Wishing she could pretend it was anything but this. “I feel something is wrong.”

Portia began to race towards the house. “I shall let Grandmama know and send for a physician.”

Nestor nodded. He said nothing as he carried her towards the castle. They crossed into the foyer.

This was so very different than when she’d met Portia before their walk. There was no happiness or joyous anticipation of a day in the sunlight or an afternoon dancing. No, Nestor rushed up the many wide staircases to their bedroom. He did not look back. He did not look side to side. He did not even look down at her.

In one deft move, he opened the door and strode to the massive four-poster bed. He laid her out gently on the goose-down mattress. Then he sat down beside her and took her hand. He looked into her eyes.

“Everything will work out just as it should, Margery,” he said.

But terror was on his face. He was trying to convince her that he was not full of fear, but she couldn’t be tricked. No, he was humming with alarm.

“That is what I’m afraid of,” she murmured as she slowly began to feel the strangest thing… As if all this wasn’t real. The pain, the knowledge that death was standing at her door, eager to come in.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“My life has always been suffering, Nestor.” Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she scarcely noticed them. Oh no, for she was confronting reality now. “What if it always will be?”

“Don’t say that,” he begged, his voice rough with emotion.

“But what if it’s true?” she bit out.

And then pain so intense there were no words for it burned through her and she cried out—a wild, fierce sound that pierced the castle.

And from the look on Nestor’s face, his heart.

She grabbed Nestor’s hand so hard, she knew her nails were biting into him, and all the happiness she thought she’d found began to slip away. She’d lost it. She knew that she had. She’d lost her future, her joy, and her purpose.