Free The Wild One by Danelle Harmon

done,
milady. Said 'e didn't think mother and daughter'd want to be
separated. Also said it was too short notice to find a wet nurse in
the village, so the babe would 'ave to stay in 'ere with 'er mother
instead of up in the nursery. The little mite's a-sleepin' now, but
I 'spect she'll need a feedin' soon."
    "My goodness! I am amazed that Andrew knows
anything about such matters," Lady Nerissa mused, raising her
brows.
    Juliet lifted her head. "Thank you for your
help, Martha." She turned to Charles's sister. "And you, too, Lady
Nerissa. You have all been so kind to us."
    Martha beamed. "Think nothink of it, mum. We
ain't 'ad a babe in this 'ouse for far too long, if'n ye ask
me."
    "Indeed," Nerissa said wryly. "Off with you
now, Martha. I am sure Miss Paige wishes to rest. We can both see
Charlotte at breakfast."
    "Yes, milady. Lookin' forward to it, I
am!"
    Martha bobbed in a curtsy and ambled off
down the hall.
    Nerissa watched her go. "I sense that you're
an independent sort, but if you need Molly's assistance, there's a
bellpull behind the bed." She put her hands on Juliet's arms,
looking at her for a long moment before pulling her forward in a
quick embrace. "I'm so glad you've come here. Good night, now, and
I shall see you in the morning."
    Juliet returned the other woman's smile.
"Good night, Lady Nerissa."
    Charles's sister moved off down the hall,
her footfalls fading. Juliet stood watching her, hating to see her
go. But she had to face the inevitable. Taking a deep breath, she
slowly pushed open the door ... and entered the room that had
belonged to Charles.
    All was still. Dark. A sleepy fire crackled
in the hearth, and before it, in silhouette, stood a brass bath and
a towel stand and the cradle that held Charlotte. Juliet took a
step forward, softly closing the door behind her. A great curtained
bed filled the shadows. Dim shapes marked out furniture. On a chest
of drawers, a lone candle flickered in the drafts, a tiny finger of
light against the darkness. Arms at her sides, barely able to
breathe, Juliet stood very still in the silence, letting it engulf
her.
    Charles.
    She had thought to feel him here, but the
room was empty. There was only the little candle, herself, and her
sleeping daughter. Nothing else. No overwhelming sense of his
presence, no lingering hint of his scent, no rush of memories,
nothing. It was just a room, and nothing more.
    She moved slowly around the huge, chilly
chamber, her skirts whispering over the floor he had once walked,
her fingers trailing atop the furniture that had once held his
clothes. He was not here. He was as far away from her here, as he
had been all these past lonely months in Boston.
    Oh, Charles… I have never felt so alone in
all my life.
    The fire snapped. A little shower of embers
trickled through the grate, a mournful sound in the darkness. She
leaned against the bedpost and gazed dismally at their red glow,
feeling somehow betrayed by his absence, feeling sad and confused
and lonely and lost.
    "Charles...."
    But there was no answer.
    The baby awoke, whimpering. Juliet went to
the cradle, picked her up, and hugged her to her breast, rocking
back and forth in quiet, dry-eyed agony. Charlie-girl , Lord
Gareth had called the baby. What an endearment. Grief welled up in
the back of her throat.
    He's dead, Juliet. Dead and gone. Doesn't
this empty, lifeless room prove it?
    She held Charlotte close for a long time,
gathering what comfort she could from her baby and trying, in vain,
to cling to something she'd once had but would never have again.
The wild and breathless euphoria of first love. A heart that had
leaped with joy at just the thought of her handsome British
officer. How young and naive she had been, assuming that with
Charles she had found her "forever," that death would never touch
someone as youthful, as virile, as he had been. And how far away
those memories, that giddy, soaring, girlish excitement, now
felt.
    And yet something inside her had