The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever

Chapter 20

The doctor managed to staunch the bleeding, but he was shaking his head as he washed his hands. "She's lost a lot of blood," he said grimly. "She's going to be weak."

"But she'll pull through?" Turner asked anxiously.

Dr. Winters raised his shoulders in a melancholy shrug. "We can only hope."

Not liking that answer, Turner pushed past the doctor and sat down in a chair by his wife's bed. He picked up her limp hand and held it in his. "She'll pull through," he said hoarsely. "She has to."

Lady Rudland cleared her throat. "Dr. Winters, do you have any idea what caused all of the bleeding?"

"It could be a tear in the uterus. Probably from when the afterbirth pulled away."

"Is this a common occurrence?"

The doctor nodded. "I'm afraid I must go. There is another woman in the area who is expecting, and I need to get some sleep if I'm to attend to her properly."

"But Miranda…" Lady Rudland's words trailed off as she looked at her daughter-in-law with dismay and fear.

"There is nothing more I can do for her. We must only hope and pray that her body heals the tear, and she does not bleed again."

"And if she does?" Turner asked flatly.

"If she does, press clean bandages up against her as I did. And send for me."

"And if we did, is there any chance in hell that you could get here in time?" Turner asked caustically, grief and terror ripping away all politeness.

The doctor chose not to reply. He nodded his head. "Lady Rudland. Lord Turner."

As the door closed, Lady Rudland crossed the room to her son's side. "Turner," she said soothingly. "You should get some rest. You've been up all night."

"So have you."

"Yes, but I…" Her words trailed off. If her husband were dying, she'd want to be with him. She dropped a kiss on the top of Turner's head. "I'll leave you alone with her."

He spun around, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Damn it all, Mother! I am not here to say my final good-byes. There is no need to talk like she is dying."

"Of course not." But her eyes, filled with pity and grief, told a different story. She quietly left the room.

Turner stared down at Miranda's pale face, a muscle working spasmodically in his throat. "I should have told you that I love you," he said hoarsely. "I should have told you. It's all you wanted to hear, wasn't it? And I was too stupid to realize it. I think I've loved you all along, sweetheart. All along. Every since that day in the carriage when you finally told me that you loved me. I was- "

He stopped, thinking he'd seen movement in her face. But it was just his own shadow, moving along her skin as he rocked back and forth.

"I was just so surprised," he said, once he found his voice again. "So surprised that someone could love me and not want any sort of power over me. So surprised that you could love me and not want to change me. And I…I didn't think I could love anymore. But I was wrong!" His hands flexed jerkily, and he had to resist the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake. "I was wrong, damn it, and it wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault, puss. It was mine. Or maybe Leticia's, but definitely not yours."

He picked up her hand again and brought it to his lips. "It was never your fault, puss," he said entreatingly. "So come back to me. Please. I swear, you're scaring me. You don't want to scare me, do you? I assure you, it's not a pretty sight."

There was no response. He wished she'd cough, or restlessly shift position, or anything. But she just lay there, so still, so unmoving that a moment of sheer terror descended on him and he frantically turned her hand over to feel for her pulse on the inside of her wrist. Turner sighed in relief. It was there. It was soft, but it was there.

He let out a weary yawn. He was exhausted, and his eyelids were drooping, but he could not let himself sleep. He needed to be with her. He needed to see her, to hear her breathe, to simply watch the way the light played across her skin.

"It's too dark," he muttered, getting to his feet. "It's like a goddamned morgue in here. He searched the room, shuffling through drawers and closets until he found some more candles. He quickly lit them all and shoved them into holders. It was still too dark. He strode to the door, flung it open, and yelled out, "Brearley! Mother! Olivia!"

Eight people immediately answered his summons, all fearing the worst.

"I need more candles," Turner said, his voice belying his terror and exhaustion. A few maids immediately scurried off.

"But it's already so bright in here," Olivia said, poking her head into the room. Her breath caught when she saw Miranda, her best friend since infancy, lying so still. "Is she going to be all right?" she whispered.

"She's going to be just fine," Turner snapped. "Provided that we can get some light in here."

Olivia cleared her throat. "I should like to go in and say something to her."

"She isn't going to die!" Turner exploded. "Do you hear me? She isn't going to die. There is no need to talk that way. You don't have to say good-bye."

"But if she did," Olivia persisted, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I should feel- "

Turner's control snapped, and he shoved his sister up against the wall. "She isn't going to die," he said in a low, deadly voice. "I would appreciate it if you would stop acting otherwise."

Olivia nodded jerkily.

Turner suddenly let her go and then stared at his hands as if they were foreign objects. "My God," he said raggedly. "What is happening to me?"

"It's all right, Turner," Olivia said soothingly, cautiously touching his shoulder. "You have every right to be over-wrought."

"No I don't. Not when she needs me to be strong for her." He strode back into the room and sat back down next to his wife. "I don't matter right now," he muttered, swallowing convulsively. "Nothing matters but Miranda."

A bleary-eyed housemaid entered the room with some candles.

"Light them all," Turner ordered. "I want it bright as day in here. Do you hear me? Bright as day." He turned back to Miranda and smoothed his hand over her brow. "She always did love sunny days." He caught himself in horror and looked frantically at his sister. "I mean- she loves sunny days."

Olivia, unable to watch her brother in such a grief-stricken state, nodded and quietly departed.

A few hours later, Lady Rudland entered the room carrying a small bundle wrapped in a soft pink blanket. "I brought your daughter," she said softly.

Turner looked up, shocked to realize that he had completely forgotten about the existence of this tiny person. He stared at her in disbelief. "She's so small."

His mother smiled. "Babies usually come that way."

"I know but…look at her." He reached out his index finger to her hand. Tiny fingers grasped it with surprising firmness. Turner looked up at his mother, amazement at this new life clearly written on his bleak face. "Can I hold her?"

"Of course." Lady Rudland settled the bundle in his arms. "She's yours, you know."

"She is, isn't she?" He looked down at the pink face and touched her nose. "How do you do? Welcome to the world, puss."

"Puss?" Lady Rudland said in an amused tone. "What a funny nickname."

Turner shook his head. "No, it's not funny. It's absolutely perfect." He looked back up at his mother. "How long will she be this small?"

"Oh, I don't know. For a little while, at least." She crossed over to the window and pulled the drapes halfway back. "The sun is starting to come up. Olivia told me that you wanted some light in the room."

He nodded, unable to take his eyes off his daughter.

She finished fussing at the window and turned back to him. "Oh, Turner…she has brown eyes."

"She does?" He looked back down at the baby. Her eyes were closed in sleep. "I knew she would."

"Well, she wouldn't want to disappoint her papa on her first day out, would she?"

"Or her mother." Turner looked over at Miranda, still deathly pale, then hugged this new bundle of life closer to him.

Lady Rudland glanced at her son's blue eyes, so like her own, and said, "I daresay Miranda was hoping for blue eyes."

Turner swallowed uncomfortably. Miranda had loved him so long and so well, and he had spurned her. Now he might lose her, and she'd never know that he realized what a stupid ass he'd been. She'd never know that he loved her. "I daresay she would," he said in a choked voice. "She'll just have to wait until the next one."

Lady Rudland caught her lip between her teeth. "Of course, dear," she said consolingly. "Have you given any thought as to names?"

He looked up in surprise, as if the idea of a name had never occurred to him. "I…No. I forgot," he admitted.

"Olivia and I thought of some pretty names. What do you think of Julianna? Or Claire. I suggested Fiona, but Olivia didn't like it."

"Miranda would never allow her daughter to be named Fiona," he said dully. "She always hated Fiona Bennet."

"That little girl who lives near Haverbreaks? I never knew."

"It's a moot point, Mother. I'm not naming her without consulting Miranda."

Lady Rudland swallowed again. "Of course, dear. I'll just…I'll just leave you now. Give you some time alone with your family."

Turner looked at his wife and then at his daughter. "That's your mama," he whispered. "She's very tired. It took a lot of her strength to get you out. I can't imagine why. You're not very big." To demonstrate his point, he touched one of her tiny fingers. "I don't think she's even seen you yet. I know she would want to. She would hold you and hug you and kiss you. Do you know why?" He awkwardly brushed away a tear. "Because she loves you, that's why. I'd wager she loves you even more than she loves me. And I think she must love me quite a bit because I haven't always behaved as I should."

He stole a glance at Miranda to make sure she hadn't woken up before he added, "Men can be asses. We're silly and we're stupid and we rarely open our eyes wide enough to see the blessings that are right in front of our faces. But I see you," he added, smiling down at his daughter. "And I see your mother, and I hope her heart is big enough to forgive me this last time. I think it is, though. Your mama has a very big heart."

The baby gurgled, causing Turner to smile with delight. "I can see that you agree with me. You're very clever for being just a day old. But then again, I don't see why I should be surprised. Your mama is very clever, too."

The baby cooed.

"You flatter me, puss. But for the time being, I'll let you think I'm clever, too." He looked over at Miranda and whispered, "Only the two of us need to know just how stupid I've been."

The baby made another baby noise, leading Turner to believe that his daughter must be the most intelligent child in the British Isles. "Do you want to meet your mother, puss? Here, why don't we introduce the two of you." His movements were awkward, for he had never held a baby before, but somehow he managed to settle his daughter in the crook of Miranda's arm. "There you go. Mmmm, it's warm there, isn't it? I'd like to trade places with you. Your mama has very soft skin." He reached out and touched the baby's cheek. "Not as soft as yours, however. You, little one, are quite astonishingly perfect."

The baby began to fidget and after a few moments let out a lusty wail. "Oh, dear," Turner muttered, completely at a loss. He picked her up and cradled her against his shoulder, taking great care to support her head as he had seen his mother do. "There, there, now. Shhh. Be quiet now. That's right."

His entreaties obviously weren't working because she bellowed in his ear.

A knock sounded on the door, and Lady Rudland looked inside. "Do you want me to take her, Turner?"

He shook his head, loath to part with his daughter.

"I think she's hungry, Turner. The wet nurse is in the next room."

"Oh. Of course." He looked vaguely embarrassed as he handed the baby to his mother. "Here you are."

He was alone again with Miranda. She hadn't moved at all during his vigil, save for the shallow rise and fall of her chest. "It's morning, Miranda," he said, taking her hand in his again and trying to cajole her into consciousness. "Time to wake up. Will you? If not for yourself, then for me. I'm frightfully tired, but you know I can't go to sleep until you wake up."

But she did not move. She did not turn in her sleep, and she did not snore, and she was terrifying him. "Miranda," he said, hearing the panic in his voice, "this is enough. Do you hear me? It's enough. You need to- "

He broke off, unable to go on any longer. He gave her hand a squeeze and looked away. Tears blurred his vision. How was he going to go on without her? How would he raise their daughter all on his own? How would he even know what to name her? And worst of all, how could he live with himself if she died without ever hearing him say that he loved her?

With fresh determination, he wiped away his tears and turned back to her. "I love you, Miranda," he said loudly, hoping that he could penetrate her haze, even if she never woke up. His voice grew urgent. "I love you. You. Not what you do for me or the way you make me feel. Just you."

A slight sound escaped her lips, so soft that Turner initially thought he had imagined it. "Did you say something?" His eyes searched her face frantically, looking for any sign of movement. Her lips quivered again, and his heart leaped with joy. "What was that, Miranda? Please, just say it once again. I didn't hear you the first time." He put his ear down to her lips.

Her voice was weak, but the word came through loud and clear: "Good."

Turner began to laugh. He couldn't help it. How like Miranda to have a smart mouth while on her supposed deathbed. "You're going to be all right, aren't you?"

Her chin moved only a fraction of an inch, but it was definitely a nod.

Wild with happiness and relief, he ran to the door and yelled out the good news for the rest of the house to hear. Not surprisingly, his mother, Olivia, and much of the household staff came running into the hall.

"She's all right," he gasped, not even caring that his face was wet with tears. "She's all right."

"Turner." The word came like a croak from the bed.

"What is it, my love?" He rushed to her side.

"Caroline," she said softly, using all her strength to curve her lips into a smile. "Call her Caroline."

He lifted her hand to his in a courtly kiss. "Caroline it is. You gave me a perfect little girl."

"You always get what you want," she whispered.

He gazed down at her lovingly, suddenly realizing the extent of the miracle that had brought her back from the dead. "Yes," he said hoarsely. "It seems that I do."

A few days later, Miranda was feeling much improved. At her request, she had been moved to the bedroom she and Turner had shared during the first months of their marriage. The surroundings comforted her, and she wanted to show her husband that she wanted a real marriage. They belonged together. It was that simple.

She was still confined to her bed, but she'd regained much of her strength, and her cheeks were tinged with a healthy pink glow. Although that might just have been love. Miranda had never felt so much of it before. Turner couldn't seem to say two sentences without blurting it out, and Caroline brought out such love in both of them, it was indescribable.

Olivia and Lady Rudland fussed over her, too, but Turner tried to keep their interference at a minimum, wanting his wife wholly to himself. He was sitting by her side one day as she woke up from a nap.

"Good afternoon," he murmured.

"Afternoon? Is it really?" She let out a giant yawn.

"Past noon, at least."

"Goodness. I've never felt this lazy before."

"You deserve it," he assured her, his blue eyes glowing warm with love. "Every minute of it."

"How is the baby?"

Turner smiled. She managed to ask that question within the first minute of any conversation. "Very well. She's got quite a set of lungs, I must say."

"She's very sweet, isn't she?"

He nodded. "Just like her mother."

"Oh, I'm not so sweet."

He dropped a kiss on her nose. "Under that temper of yours, you're very sweet. Trust me. I've tasted you."

She blushed. "You're incorrigible."

"I'm happy," he corrected. "Really, truly, happy."

"Turner?"

He looked down at her intently, hearing the hesitation in her voice. "What, my love?"

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

She opened her mouth and then closed it, obviously trying to find the right words. "Why did you…suddenly realize…"

"That I loved you?"

She nodded mutely.

"I don't know. I think it was inside of me all along. I was just too blind to see it."

She swallowed nervously. "Was it when I almost died?" She didn't know why, but the idea that he couldn't realize his love until she was snatched away from him didn't sit well with her.

He shook his head. "It was when you gave me Caroline. I heard her cry out, and the sound was so…so…I can't describe it, but I loved her instantly. Oh, Miranda, father-hood is an awesome thing. When I hold her in my arms…I wish you knew what it was like."

"Rather like motherhood, I imagine," she said smartly.

He touched her lips with his forefinger. "Such a mouth on you. Let me finish my story. I have friends who have had children, and they have told me how remarkable it is to have a new life that is a piece of your own flesh and blood. But I- " He cleared his throat. "I realized that I didn't love her because she was a piece of me, I loved her because she was a piece of you."

Miranda's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Turner."

"No, let me finish. I don't know what I did or said to deserve you, Miranda, but now that I have you, I'm not letting go. I love you so much." He swallowed, choking on his words. "So much."

"Oh, Turner, I love you, too. You know that, don't you?"

He nodded. "I thank you for that. It's the most precious gift I have ever received."

"We're going to be really happy, aren't we?" She gave him a wobbly smile.

"Beyond words, love, beyond words."

"And we'll have more children?"

His expression turned stern. "Provided that you don't give me another scare like this one. Besides, the best way to avoid children is abstinence, and I don't think I'm going to be able to accomplish that."

She blushed, but she also said, "Good."

He leaned down and gave her as passionate a kiss as he dared. "I should let you get some rest," he said, reluctantly tearing himself away from her.

"No, no. Please don't go. I'm not tired."

"Are you sure?"

What bliss it was to have someone care for her so deeply. "Yes, I'm sure. But I want you to get me something. Would you mind?"

"Of course not. What is it?"

She pointed out her finger. "There is a silk-covered box on my desk in the sitting room. Inside it is a key."

Turner raised his brows questioningly but followed her summons. "The green box?" he called out.

"Yes."

"Here you are." He walked back into the bedroom, holding up the key.

"Good. Now if you go back to my desk, you'll find a large wooden box in the bottom drawer."

He walked back into the sitting room. "Here we are. Lord, it's heavy. What do you have in here? Rocks?"

"Books."

"Books? What kind of books are so precious they need to be locked up?"

"They're my journals."

He reappeared, carrying the wooden box in both arms. "You keep a journal? I never knew."

"It was at your suggestion."

He turned. "It was not."

"It was. The day we first met. I told you about Fiona Bennet and how horrid she was, and you told me to keep a journal."

"I did?"

"Mmm-hmm. And I remember exactly what you said to me. I asked you why I should keep a journal and you said, 'Because someday you're going to grow into yourself, and you will be as beautiful as you already are smart. And then you can look back into your diary and realize just how silly little girls like Fiona Bennet are. And you'll laugh when you remember that your mother said your legs started at your shoulders. And maybe you'll save a little smile for me when you remember the nice chat we had today.'"

He stared at her in awe, wisps of the memory starting to come back to him. "And you said you'd save a big smile for me."

She nodded. "I memorized what you said word for word. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me."

"My God, Miranda," he breathed reverently. "You really love me, don't you?"

She nodded. "Since that day. Here, bring me the box."

He set the box on the bed and handed her the key. She opened it and pulled out several books. Some were leather-bound, and some were covered with girlish floral fabric, but she reached for the simplest one, a small notebook reminiscent of the sort he'd used while a student. "This was the first," she said, turning the cover with reverent fingers. "I really have loved you all along. See?"

He looked down at the first entry.

2 March 1810

Today I fell in love.

A tear welled up in his eye. "Me too, my love. Me too."