“We’ve not been formally introduced, Your Grace, but as you’ve overheard, I am Mrs. Bean.” She waved a hand at the young girl. “This is Louisa. And you’ll forgive me for being cautious but most of the girls who roam these streets come to me for aid at such times. Though, much sooner.” She pointedly looked at the mound of Marianne’s stomach, lips drawing back at the blood soaking her rug. “And they use the entrance to my establishment.”
“I am not a trollop.”
“Don’t suppose you are. But I don’t know this Lord Damon or any Duchess of Roxboro,” she said. “But I will take those fancy diamonds,” she flicked at the diamond hanging from Marianne’s left ear. “And the gown, if I can get the blood out. Possibly your slippers.”
“You can have all of it.” Mrs. Bean could strip Marianne naked for all she cared, as long as the woman helped her.
“A new rug as well, Your Grace.”
“I can have one sent from Axminster. The same that graces the home of the Prince Regent,” Marianne sputtered. Axminster made the finest rugs in all of England and any one of them was likely worth more than this woman’s house.
Mrs. Bean nodded. “I suppose that will suffice.” Snapping her fingers, she said, “Wilkes.”
A massive form appeared from shadows, looming over Marianne and the two other women. “Yes, Mrs. Bean?”
“I need you to lift the duchess,” Mrs. Bean ordered, with some mockery, clearly not truly believing Marianne. “Gently. Place her in the spare room, the one my sister uses when she visits. Louisa,” she said to the girl, who hadn’t stopped staring at Marianne. “I need linens. Clean ones. Hot water. Soap.”
“Yes, Mrs. Bean.”
“And send Matty to find—this Lord Damon.” She leaned over Marianne. “I do hope you aren’t making this up or things will go poorly for you,duchess.”
“Lord Damon Viceroy.” Marianne managed to get out. “If he is not at home, his servants will know where to find him.” More black spots crowded her vision. Mrs. Bean, grimace still on her lips, grew blurry.
I’m dying.
Marianne grew more certain of that by the moment. But with her last breath, she would save her child. Even now, he was moving about inside her, begging to be free. The heir she and Charles had so dearly wanted. Prayed for. Finally. And he wasn’t here to see it.
A sob left her as strong arms lifted her, carefully cupping her head.
“Wait a moment,” Mrs. Bean said, placing her palm over Marianne’s massive stomach. “How far along are you?” Concern flashed in her pale eyes, there and gone in an instant.
“Nearly seven months,” Marianne whispered.
Mrs. Bean clucked her tongue. “Too soon and…either the babe is quite large or…” she shook her head. “Hurry, Louisa. Now.”
The girl jumped and rushed off to do her bidding.
“The babe,” Mariane struggled to say as she was carried away. “Save it. No matter what.”
The older woman gazed down at Marianne with something that resembled pity before it was gone.
“You believe me.”
Mrs. Bean didn’t answer. “I’ll do what I can. I promise.”
*
Three.Three damnedbabies.
Delores Bean, proprietor of a small brothel which catered togentlemen with unusual tastes, looked at the poor dead woman lying on the bed before her. She’d done all she could, but Delores knew, since she’d once been a midwife before coming to London, that there had been too much blood for the mother’s survival. Even had she lived, the duchess, as Delores was now fairly certain the woman happened to be, would likely have died of fever.
Not hardy in the least. Few fine ladies were.
Childbirth, Delores mused, was a great equalizer. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of the woman’s story that she and the duke had been set upon by unknown assailants, but Delores supposed it was none of her business. Bad things happen when you stick your nose into things that you shouldn’t. She’d lived in The Devil’s Acre a long time.
And in that time, Delores had helped to birth dozens of children or prevented them from coming into the world at all.
But never, in all her sixty years, had she witnessed the birth of more than one child save a pair of twins two decades ago.
