Page 18 of The Duke's Sister's Absolutely Excellent Engagement (The Notorious Briarwoods Book 11)
N estor would not leave her, and the feeling was terrible. At long last, he loved her. He said that he loved her, and she believed him. It should have been joyous. It had only been a distant dream that he might one day utter those words and that she would be worthy of them. But she wasn’t worthy, and she never would be, and she never had been, especially now that her body had failed her, and she had been unable to do the most important job that a wife was given, that a woman was given.
She had been raised with one purpose, to marry and bear a son. It had been instilled in her from almost the moment she could walk. It was everything she had been raised for, and now that was gone. The gaping wound of it? It filled her up with the most horrible poison, so intensely that she could hardly breathe.
Her chest felt heavy, her limbs dead. She stared at the wall, wishing Nestor would go, but he refused.
The door opened. Footsteps padded softly into the room, and a voice whispered to Nestor, “My dear, you must go and eat. I will stay with her.”
“I don’t want to leave her,” Nestor said.
“Just for a little time. If you do not take care of yourself, you cannot take care of her.”
Margery wished that everyone would leave her, that no one would take care of her, that they would just allow her to slip away. But no, they had insisted that she stay and fight. She didn’t want to fight. She was exhausted. All through the night, they had talked to her, railed at her, insisted that they needed her. She didn’t want to be needed now. She didn’t want anything, except to be left alone.
Nestor slowly raised himself up. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, Margery,” he said again, as if repeating it would somehow heal her.
He was wise enough to say nothing else, but even those three words were like blows. Why did he love her, especially now? She couldn’t contemplate it. She closed her eyes, trying to squeeze out the world, and she heard him drift out of the chamber.
Someone else sat upon the bed and a hand began to stroke her back. It was gentle, yet firm.
“Margery, soon you will need to eat as well. But for now, I want you to have a drink of water.”
She heard water being poured into a glass. She shook her head.
“Please, if you drink, it will give me a great deal of peace.”
“That is very manipulative,” Margery ground out.
There was a soft laugh. “I know. I know that you like to please people. It’s what you’ve been raised to do, so I am trying to use that part of you to help you. Cleary, I am a mercenary.”
Margery turned slowly, her body aching as she did so.
“Go slowly,” Mercy said.
Her mother-in-law gazed down at her softly, kindly, without judgment, and somehow that made it worse.
She wished Mercy would condemn her for losing her grandchild. Instead, Mercy gently helped her to sit up on the pillows and gave her the glass, holding it herself, taking Margery’s head as if Margery was but a little girl. Mercy helped her drink. The water was cool and filled her mouth, and much to her shock, her body took over and she began to gulp it.
“Slowly now. Slowly,” Mercy warned, and then she took the glass away. “Mother Hannah has things for you to take later and salves we must use for your recovery. I’m so grateful that you’re with us this morning. We weren’t certain you would be.”
Margery said nothing.
“I understand,” Mercy said gently.
“You don’t,” she bit out.
“I do,” Mercy said without rancor. “And I think that I should speak to you about it now so that you do not waste months in the dark.”
Margery shook her head, confused, but unable to turn her mother-in-law away.
“There’s a reason that I only have the twins,” Mercy began, before letting out a slow breath, as if that breath was dearly needed to tell this tale. “I am so grateful that I have Nestor and Calchas. They fill my heart with joy. But I looked at my own mother-in-law, the dowager duchess, and I wanted what she had. When I married the duke, I thought that I would have eight children, ten, one a year! Why not? Everyone was so happy. All Leander’s brothers and sisters love each other, so why would I not want that for myself? A big, merry brood. Nestor and Calchas were born,” Mercy continued. “They thrived and were such beautiful boys. And two years later, I learned that I was with child again. The happiness I felt was so intense. I can’t even tell you. But you know what it’s like to be happy that a child is coming, because we have the wealth and the ability to take care of that child and love them. And we have such a wonderful family to support us and our children.”
Mercy paused as if she had to will herself to continue. “The baby grew inside me. Month after month, my belly swelled and the time came for it to be born. What should have been one of the most joyous days of my life became the most agonizing instead.”
Mercy swallowed as if the memory coated her mouth with a bad taste. “Not just physically, for that was brutal too, but the baby was in the wrong position and refused to come. It was hours and hours,” Mercy managed, her face transforming with her grief, even after all of these years. “She was born, but not living. I held her in my arms, and I looked at her little face, and I mourned for the little girl she could have been. It was terrible, so terrible, because I had made so many plans about what I would share with that child.” Mercy’s voice shook. “None of those plans would ever come to be. We buried her in the churchyard, and I often visit her now, and I speak to her all the time.”
Margery wanted to beg her mother-in-law to stop. She did not want to feel hope that she could be happy again, as Mercy clearly was. But there was something in this shared secret, as Mercy then climbed onto the bed and pulled her into her arms, oh so gently, and held her almost as a mother does with a child.
Tears began to spill down Margery’s face.
Her own mother had never held her like this, had never comforted her in her suffering as a child. Now, in this darkest moment, Mercy held her and Margery cried.
She sobbed and whispered, “Oh, Mama, how I shall bear it?”
“Oh, my sweet daughter, it is an unbearable thing,” Mercy said honestly, her own voice full of tears. “But I promise you, though you may not wish to hear it, time will do the strangest things. It will feel like forever and a day at once. It will feel dark, even if there is some sunlight. But then, one afternoon, you will emerge out into the light, and you will realize that your life means something, that you matter for yourself alone, not for who you can be for other people, and that you are deserving of love again.”
“I do not think I will ever be worthy of love,” she sobbed against Mercy’s shoulder.
Mercy stroked her hair. “My brave girl, you already are, and I know that you cannot see it, but Nestor and I and every Briarwood in this house will walk with you until you can see it too.”
“Oh, Mama,” Margery cried, “it hurts. It hurts so much.”
“Yes, it does,” Mercy agreed, “and I will bear it with you, as will Nestor, if you will but let him. He will never truly understand. No man can, because they do not carry the child within them. But he will also mourn with you. He wants to. Let him in, my love. Let him in. Do not fade from us. Do not take the beauty of your soul from the family that loves you so well.”
Tears continued to slip down Margery’s face. She let them flow. She had no words, she had nothing, as her mother-in-law held her. But she no longer wanted to disappear. No, she wished to be with her family, with those who loved her even though she could not yet love herself.