“I see.” She did indeed. “Does his current state of marriage not deter your thinking?”
“Of course not. I foresee you’ll have similar problems with breeding as the previous duchesses, and after you’re gone, his grace will finally see the truth to things, that he cannot deny our love, our divine fate.” She assumed a pitying look. “I’m sorry you’ll have to die, but it’s God’s will. I know this because my mother told me, long ago, I was to be the duchess, that she had been fated to marry the old duke, but he succumbed to the sins of the flesh and was led astray by his harlot wife, so it will be I who fulfills our family’s destiny to marry into this, the most ancient of ducal titles. His grace is a fine, Christian soul, and not prone to sins of the flesh. He will come round, most assuredly.”
Jane walked to the door, now overcome with nausea, no doubt the result of fear, but denied herself the urge to run. Miss Bella was frightening in her insanity and Jane was so ill at ease, she truly felt sick. “Please take your leave, Miss Bella, and do not return.”
The woman swept forward and as she passed, she gave Jane a sly look. “I ken that I’m correct and you are breeding, even as we speak. What a pity you won’t live to see your child, and he’ll die along with you.” Then she was gone.
Jane leaned against the door, feeling decidedly dizzy. Of a sudden, she knew she would be sick and ran into the great hall, but quickly determined she wouldn’t make it to the privy. Spying the flower filled urn resting upon the long table that ran down the middle of the hall, she ran to it, tossed aside the flowers and was violently sick.
Mr. Dashing hurried to her and placed his hands upon her back. “Your Grace, what’s this? You are ill!”
In between her retches into the mouth of the urn, she managed to choke out, “Michael! Please go and . . . Michael.”
The butler forgot himself enough to shout, “I say, Mathilda! Come at once! Her Grace is ill!” He patted her comfortingly. “There, there, fear not. I’ll go for your husband. Ah, here’s Mrs. Dashing.” His hands went away, replaced by his wife’s.
“Poor angel! We must get you upstairs. Oh dear, this is distressing, Your Grace. Can you stand?”
Jane thought her belly might well explode, she was in such pain. “I believe I’ve been poisoned,” she said as she stood erect, then immediately doubled over in pain. She felt a rush of liquid between her legs. Great God, had she wet herself? Could this be more frightening, or humiliating?
“Poisoned? Oh, surely not, Your Grace!”
“Miss Bella . . . crazy as . . . Oh! God, this is horrible!”
“Come along and I’ll get you to your bed.” With Mrs. Dashing’s assistance, she made it up the stairs and into the bedchamber connecting to the one she shared with Blix. When she was laid out, she reached for her skirts and pulled them up.
Mrs. Dashing’s eyes widened. “Oh, Your Grace, you’re bleeding!”
Ah, so she had not wet herself. The rush she’d felt was blood. Jane gasped for breath around the severe cramps in her abdomen. “Send for the physician, and find out if there’s an herbalist in the village. Bring them here, as quickly as possible. Send Rose to look after me. Go, now!”
Mrs. Dashing hurried away and Jane lay still, her knees drawn up, praying fervently that God wouldn’t let her die. She knew the truth of it, that she was pregnant.
Now, it appeared she was losing the babe, even before his father knew of his existence.
She didn’t weep, the pain keeping grief at bay. She thought to sit up, to remove her apron and dress, but the attempt sent jabs of pain through her abdomen and she fell back to the bed.
Out of nowhere it seemed, Miss Bella appeared, an open Bible in her thick hands. She moved close and intoned a solemn prayer that Jane would be saved from the evil clutches of Satan.
“Go . . . away.” She couldn’t bear it.
Miss Bella began to read a Psalm in a loud voice and Jane kicked out at her. “Leave! Now! Horrible murderer! You’ve killed my baby, may you rot in Hell.”
The vicar’s daughter merely moved back a pace and continued as though Jane wasn’t screaming at her.
That’s when Blixford ran into the chamber, eyes wide, face pale. “Jane, what goes on? Dashing says you are . . . oh, dear God!” He came to the bed and saw the blood. “Is it your courses?”
Grimacing when another wave of nausea struck, she managed to roll over and retch from the side of the bed. “Poison . . . Miss Bella in love . . . with you. Mad . . . completely mad.” She retched again. “A babe, Michael. We were to have a . . .” She didn’t finish because she lost consciousness.