A Baron for Becky by Jude Knight Page A

Aldridge. You were here, too. ‘Plenty of
time’, she said. ‘Go to London. You can be back before the baby is
born,’ she said. ‘Women’s business.’ Lying bitch.”
    He said nothing
more for several minutes, just sat and swirled his brandy
meditatively. Aldridge relaxed. Perhaps the soul-baring was
over.
    But no such
luck. When Overton spoke again, in a quiet voice that carried no
further than Aldridge’s ears, the drunken slur was gone, as if his
memories had burned the alcohol out of his brain. “I went home
early, when you and I argued. Anyway, I missed the girls. And I was
worried about my wife. She seemed—she was huge when I left, and
Crawford’s wife had just had twins.
    “Besides, we
had children to think of. Not just the new baby, but Pankhurst’s
girls. And if we could have one baby, perhaps there would be
others. I wanted to mend the marriage. Well, build a marriage,
really. What we had was a contract. But we could do better than
that, couldn’t we?”
    “Mm hmm,”
Aldridge mumbled, hoping the noncommittal sound conveyed sympathy
and support, and didn’t sound too much like a whimper. He topped up
the man’s glass.
    “The midwife
was with her when I returned home, and things were not going well.
I rode for the doctor, of course.”
    “Of
course.”
    “A six-month
baby, she told the doctor. I saw the midwife shaking her head, but
I didn’t understand.”
    So, Overton’s
baroness had tried to tuck a cuckoo into the Overton nest. Aldridge
made another noncommittal sound.
    Tears rolled
disregarded down Overton’s cheeks.
    “Something was
wrong. The baby was in the wrong position, or too big. They told me
to stay downstairs, but she was fighting this battle for me. I had
to be there.”
    “You did,”
Aldridge agreed, desperately wishing something would stop Overton
mid-confession.
    Overton gave no
sign of hearing. “She was screaming with pain. Cursing me. Cursing
some other man, too. John something. I didn’t understand, didn’t
really listen. She was half out of her head.
    “Then the
doctor and the midwife... something changed. They managed to move
the baby. They said it would soon be over. I tried to reassure her.
I don’t remember what I said exactly. Something about her being
brave, and we’d soon have our son or daughter. I told her I was
grateful.
    “She screamed
at me. Everyone in the house must have heard her. In the village,
likely. I should be grateful, she said. Did I know how hard it was
finding someone as tall as me to give her a boy since I was only
half a man? And it had better be a boy, because she wasn’t going
through all that again.
    “It was a
little girl, Aldridge. I didn’t care. The doctor put her in my
arms. I loved her the minute I saw her. If she had lived, I would
have loved her as my own.”
    “She died?”
Stupid thing to say. He knew the baby had died, and the mother,
too. But the woman’s betrayal cast a new light on why Overton never
talked about them.
    “No. Not then,”
Overton said. “Polyphemia didn’t either. She tore, and she bled. It
took them a long time to stop the bleeding, but they did it.
Everyone heard, though, Aldridge. The doctor. The midwife. The
servants. They knew what she’d done. The whole household knew. Even
if she’d said nothing... I’ve seen six-month babies. I am not as
big a fool as my cheating wife clearly thought.”
    He emptied his
glass and held it out for Aldridge to pour another. “Grace... I
named her, because Polyphemia wouldn’t. Wouldn’t even look at her.
Grace was born at term, and nine months before she was born, I was
at sea on my way back from Jamaica.”
    “Ah,” was the
best Aldridge could do.
    “What was I to
do? Divorce her? I had the evidence. But then what would become of
the girls? I said nothing. I didn’t even speak to her—didn’t go to
her room. When she wouldn’t feed Grace, I found a wet nurse. When
she wouldn’t see Sophie and Emma, I made excuses, told them she was
tired,