Fortunes of Fate: Prequel Story Page 3

  A’laya’s mama had been questioning her since the morning after the Everly soiree when Pierce had arrived on his first of many social calls at their home. “He is only anxious to see his parents once more—and tell them of his good news.”

  “I am certain he wrote them of his upcoming marriage, did he not?”

  A’laya had been under the impression Pierce had indeed spoken to the duke and duchess of his betrothal and their impending marriage, yet his fluctuating demeanor as of late made her question his truthfulness.

  He would not lie to her, would he? She wished he would share more with her. But then she reminded herself this was only the beginning of their life together. They would share many hours together, alone, as they journeyed to his home. Perhaps he’d tell her more of his concerns, his hopes, his dreams…

  “Mama, you know Pierce and his father have not always been in agreement on my husband’s”—her heart fluttered at the word—“path in life. Pierce’s parents wanted him to follow the duke’s edicts, but Pierce…he is a man of his own ways and means. I do so love that about him.”

  “Very well.” Her mama reached over and laid her hand upon A’laya’s chest. “Do not forget your necklace, my love. Wear it always. So long as you do, I shall always be close.”

  Her mother’s reminder and touch sent A’laya’s previously unshed tears cascading down her cheeks. “I will miss you with a fierceness, Mama.”

  A’laya was pulled into her mama’s embrace, and her tears soaked into the fabric of the shoulder of her mother’s simple cotton dress. They hadn’t the funds to purchase new gowns for the ceremony, and Pierce had said that unnecessary finery and expenses were not needed. Only the pair of them before her family’s vicar, joined forevermore.

  Once she’d explained things to him during their courtship, his understanding and acceptance of her family’s limited finances had been one of the things that drew her closer to Pierce. He was the only son of a grand duke but did not flaunt his wealth nor purchase extravagant, unnecessary items. The earl seemed unconcerned about her past or worried about their future. Much like her own father when he’d fallen in love with her mama.

  “Write to me often.”

  “Every day, Mama.” A’laya pulled back and held her mama’s grey-blue stare.

  “Goodbye, my dear A’laya.” Mama leaned forward and pressed a kiss to A’laya’s forehead.

  “This is not goodbye for long,” A’laya said, shaking her head. “Pierce promised we would visit very soon. Mayhap for Christmastide.”

  “A’laya!” Pierce’s shout rattled the windowpanes of the vicarage. “The carriage is ready. Come along.”

  Outside the open door, A’laya watched Pierce pace near their waiting carriage.

  “Be well, dear daughter.”

  “I will, Mama.” A’laya drew her mama to her for one final embrace. “And you be well, too. I love you.”

  “You have always been my path, A’laya—my destiny, my fate. Now, I must let you go off on your own to discover what life holds for you.” Mama lifted her chin and smiled, not bothering to brush away the single tear that fell with agonizing slowness down her cheek.

  With one final squeeze, A’laya pulled from her mama’s embrace and rushed to catch up with Pierce. She would be a good wife. They would have a happy life. A’laya would do everything she could to make him as happy as he made her.

  Their love would only grow and become stronger as they built a life together.

  This time, she did not look back. She was confident in her love for Pierce and his love for her.

  Chapter 3

  Oxfordshire, England

  May 1802

  * * *

  A’laya placed her hand on her belly, relishing the tiny flutters from the child in her womb. Staring through her bedchamber window, she looked out over the long drive leading to the main road that crossed the nearly sixty miles to London proper. She closed her eyes and whispered a short prayer that Pierce would return soon as he’d promised.

  In the many months since she’d arrived at Shrewbury Gardens, her husband had journeyed to London often—and had been away far more than they were together.

  He’d said it was to please his father, who’d expressed abject disapproval at his son’s impromptu wedding. Pierce had implored her to remain at his family’s country estate in an attempt to mend the relationship between him and the duke and duchess. As his wife, A’laya had gladly agreed. A’laya grimaced at the remembrance of the duchess’s cold reception when they arrived after the wedding. Even the announcement of the impending babe had failed to draw any warmth from the woman. Surely, the duke and duchess should have been happy, overjoyed even, that their daughter-in-law was carrying the next De Vere babe, be it a girl or an heir.

  Yet, they’d barely acknowledged it.

  Still, A’laya pressed on, reverently writing her mama every chance she got. She could not speak of her troubles concerning Pierce’s absences or his parents’ aloof nature. Nor could she tell Mama that she sensed Pierce had wed her just to displease the duke and duchess. No, A’laya only spoke of the good things: her lovely private chambers, the Shrewbury estate with its pond and expansive gardens, and the local town which boasted an apothecary.

  She did not speak of the lonely nights and even lonelier days. She did not put nub to paper about the grave sickness caused by her pregnancy. Never would she discuss the duchess’s fondness for acting as if A’laya did not exist.

  No, A’laya wrote pages and pages, gushing about her baby’s coming birth. Possible names, the nursery, and the tiny booties she’d knitted just for her child. He—or she—might have Pierce’s blond locks and A’laya’s deep coloring. Their father’s strong jawline, and their mama’s compassion. A’laya would regale the baby with tales of her heritage: their great-grandmama’s journey to England from Barbados. Their grandmama’s grand love affair with a neighboring baron. And A’laya’s first soiree where she met and instantly fell in love with the dashing Earl of Holderness.

  Those were the writings she hurriedly scribbled on paper to her mother and rushed to send out with the morning post, praying they reached her mama without delay.

  “Layla.” A heavy knock sounded on the door, and A’laya’s entire body stiffened with dread. “Layla? Surely, you do not plan to idle about all day.”

  A’laya turned from the window at the duchess’s summons. Pierce had implored A’laya not to correct his mother when she’d taken to calling her Layla. And, once again, A’laya had been the dutiful, accommodating wife, though the address made her cringe. It was as if the duchess longed to strip her of her lineage by refusing to utter A’laya’s given name. A name her mama and papa had bestowed on her at birth—a moniker from her grandmama’s country.

  “No, Your Grace.” A’laya hurried to the door, pasting a smile on her face before pulling the portal open. “I have just finished penning a letter to my mama and was on my way downstairs to see if there was anything I could do for you.”

  “Tsk, tsk.” The duchess, Henrietta—though A’laya was forbidden to address the duchess in such an informal way—swept into the room, her usual frown deeper than usual. A’laya always fought the urge to stare at her feet under the duchess’s disapproving scrutiny. “I cannot keep requesting my husband pay the coins necessary to send a letter to your mother every day. It is frivolous and an unnecessary expense.”

  A’laya had quickly ascertained where Pierce had learned his thrifty ways. But in this instance, the duchess’s disapproval had naught to do with the size of the Shrewbury coffers and everything to do with A’laya herself, unfortunately.

  “I will endeavor to curb my correspondence, Your Grace.” She lowered her head, knowing full well the outcome if she were to irk the duchess. A’laya hated the angry silences that ensued for days on end. A’laya would do everything she could to stay in the duchess’s good graces. For, unfortunately, her mother-in-law was all that she had here. Until Pierce returned, and the baby came… “My mama will rel
ish one letter every fortnight as much as correspondence every day.”

  “You likely bore the poor woman as much as your chatting brings on my headaches.” Pierce’s mother scanned A’laya’s chambers. “She will be relieved, I assure you.”

  A’laya’s cheeks heated as if the duchess had physically slapped her. She always marveled at Henrietta’s way of wounding with mere words. She did not want to think of the lady possessing a physical weapon.

  “Yes, Your Grace.” A’laya’s stomach clenched as if even the baby within knew the falseness of the duchess’s words. “Have you heard from Pierce? He said he would only be away a few days, but he hasn’t returned home in nearly a month.”

  “Pierce is a gentleman, Layla. Gentlemen of his station are above your questions regarding their whereabouts.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Now, hurry down to the kitchens. Cook needs help preparing the duck for supper.”

  A’laya’s stomach roiled at the mention of duck—or any poultry. The stench in the kitchens always had her rushing from the house and into the vegetable gardens beyond. Her mama had never told her about pregnancy causing her to become ill at the aroma of a dish she’d once counted among her favorites.

  Following the duchess from A’laya’s private chambers she shared with Pierce when he was not in London, she closed her door. At least Henrietta did not dare step foot in the kitchens, which would give A’laya a few hours of peace from the woman. Cook and the kitchen maids were generally quick to force bits of ginger into A’laya’s hands to combat the nausea before she joined the duke and duchess for their meals. She’d found solace with the servants—something she’d been unable to find with those of her station. If the duchess knew of A’laya’s fondness for the kitchens, the woman would certainly strip A’laya of that comfort, as well.

  “Your Grace.” A’laya despised the tentative lilt to her voice. When the duchess paused before starting down the main stairs, A’laya hurried to continue. “I understand that it is not proper to question Pierce’s comings and goings; however, there is much we need to discuss in regards to the baby before its arrival. Pierce promised we’d travel to Nottinghamshire to visit my mama—”

  “I expect he will return soon,” the duchess snapped, taking the first step down the stairs. “Walter and I have cut off his allowance, and there is one thing guaranteed to bring the boy to heel. No funds.”

  “His allowance?” A’laya knew her mistake when Henrietta spun around and looked up at her. “Why ever would he need an allowance?”

  They’d never, in nearly a year of marriage, discussed finances.

  A’laya required little as she’d learned long ago to live with what small things she possessed: four sturdy dresses, one evening gown, underpinnings and gloves, and two pairs of shoes. Besides those few items, she had come to Shrewbury with only a handful of personal possessions. Her talisman necklace being the single treasured piece. Pierce had gifted her nothing during their stay at Shrewbury, and A’laya didn’t allow herself to ponder why or what had changed from their brief time of courtship. Something had changed, that fact was evident enough. However, once the babe came, things would be different. A’laya reassured herself of that fact with each passing day.

  The duchess laughed, a cackle that had A’laya retreating. “You do not think you wedded a wealthy lord, do you, little girl?”

  “Truth be told, I have not given the earl’s wealth much thought, Your Grace.” She was not a woman in search of a fortune. In fact, she hadn’t even been looking for love at all when she met Pierce.

  Yet, love was what she’d stumbled upon.

  Or she believed she had, at least.

  She dismissed the thought as quickly as it popped up. Of course, it was love.

  Bitterness seemed to roll off the elder woman. “You think he married you for love? It was spite. The one thing he could do to get back at us for controlling his purse. And now, who knows if he’ll return. If he does, it will certainly not be for you or…that babe. The Holderness earldom is destitute. And without Walter and I…and our kindness, Pierce would likely have perished in some hovel in Seven Dials, a light-skirts under him, and not a shilling to his name. He wedded you to shame me, to disgrace my family name.”

  Revulsion filled A’laya, and she pivoted. Her legs were heavy as she rushed back to her chambers, falling to her knees before the chamber pot behind the privacy screen just in time to empty her stomach of the toast she’d eaten for breakfast.

  It could not be. Pierce loved her. She cared naught if he had no funds. Not now, and certainly not before they’d wed.

  The wood floor bit into her knees even through her dress. The pain it caused was welcome…because it distracted her from the turn of her stomach and the ache in her chest.

  Had she made a grave mistake leaving her mama and wedding Pierce?

  Of course, she had.

  The better question was how long had A’laya been mindful of her mistake?

  A’laya’s head swiveled back and forth at the thought. She would not believe it. Could not believe it. Pierce loved her as she loved him. He must. They would have their first babe by Christmastide if the midwife were to be trusted, and Pierce would remain with her at Shrewbury Gardens as they raised their son or daughter.

  It was what she’d always dreamed for her future.

  It was her fate.

  A’laya clutched the letter from the Oderton steward in one hand and her extended belly with the other as cramps convulsed her entire body. It could not be. She would never, ever believe it until she saw it with her own eyes. Until she journeyed to Nottinghamshire as she’d promised her mama she would and discovered for herself that Chloe Banesworth, the Dowager Baroness Oderton, was no more.

  A moan escaped her as she sank to the floor, her legs giving way beneath her as her chest seized, stealing the air from her lungs. In that moment, A’laya cared naught if she ever drew breath again.

  Her mama was gone. Forever. She shook her head. It could not be. She would know, surely she would have felt it.

  A’laya’s throat constricted, and her heart shattered. She hadn’t been there for Mama. Instead, she’d demeaned herself, seeking the approval of a woman who reviled her very existence.

  Over a year had passed, and A’laya hadn’t fulfilled her promise to visit her mother. She’d continued to write her mama faithfully, though. So why hadn’t her mama spoken of her illness? A’laya would have journeyed home if she’d known. Wouldn’t she? Of course, she would have!

  But she’d thought there was more time. When Pierce had been away the previous holiday season with his father, she’d promised they would make the journey come spring. When spring had come and gone, and she’d been wracked with sickness from the babe, she’d vowed to visit after the birth.

  And now it was too late.

  Mama was gone, and Pierce hadn’t been to Shrewbury Gardens since he learned of A’laya’s pregnancy.

  Spring had morphed to summer. And just as swiftly, summer had turned to winter.

  Agony burned down A’laya’s back and into her legs as her large belly tensed.

  She was to have her babe—a girl, she knew the sex as surely as she knew her love for the coming child—any day. At least the midwife had said so. A’laya had been sequestered in her chambers for nearly three weeks. She wasn’t allowed to walk the gardens nor attend meals in the formal dining hall. A servant delivered her repasts twice daily. A’laya had recently given up her ritual of standing at her window and watching the long drive for Pierce to return to her.

  He hadn’t come home.

  And she feared, with a resounding dread that burrowed deep into her very soul, he never would.

  Perhaps it was her heart’s unspoken wish he never return.

  Pain ripped through A’laya, but not because of the thought of Pierce never returning to her and their child. No, her stomach tensed again and, suddenly, her skirts beneath her were saturated with moisture.

  She’d been t
old this was to come. Her mama had written to her of it, and the midwife had explained it to her only a few short weeks before.

  Her baby was coming. Soon.

  A’laya tensed so violently, her body appeared to spasm. She clenched her jaw to stop herself from biting her tongue as terror raced through her.

  A scream ripped from her throat when she attempted to push herself to her feet. It was no use. Her distended belly and swollen legs would not allow her to rise from the floor unassisted. The midwife had sounded almost pleased in her retelling of births gone horribly wrong—women dying, babies growing up without a mother if they were even lucky enough to survive the ordeal, midwives doing all in their power but it not being sufficient.

  “Mama,” A’laya gulped in a deep breath, “Help me.”

  She pulled herself across the floor to her bed and used what little strength was left within her to hoist herself to her knees and then up to her feet.

  This babe would have no one but her.

  A’laya would rather them both perish than leave her innocent child in the hands of the Duchess of Shrewbury and her rakehell of a son.

  A’laya could finally admit as much. Pierce didn’t love her. If he did, he’d have returned. He never would have left her to endure all of this on her own.

  Especially not with his dragon of a mother.

  Biting her lip until blood ran down her chin, A’laya made her way to the door as she fought against the pain that threatened to pull her back to the ground at the same time anger flared within her. Pierce should be here to care for her. He was her husband, her provider, her caretaker. Dread gripped A’laya, and she knew it had naught to do with the news of Mama’s death. Along with the pain, she felt almost poisoned. Her vision clouded, and her head began to throb.

  Something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

  If she and her babe were to have any chance of survival, A’laya needed to find help.

  It was several hours until a maid would come to deliver her afternoon repast.