Of Fate And Prejudice

Chapter Seventeen

The crashing sound of thunder awakened Roman. He rolled to his side, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. They were in Dedham, Essex, he solemnly reminded himself, his gaze traveling the sparsely furnished room. He'd been a fool to move his family from London to this lifeless piece of land, to a house that proved incapable of sheltering them from the storm. He turned to the window as a gush of wet wind bathed him. The tattered curtains were powerless against the wind and rain that blasted through the broken shutters into the room. He knew if the problem persisted, the bed would become too wet to sleep in.

He rose to his feet and stumbled through the darkness to the window, letting out a foul word when a pool of cold, muddy water swallowed his feet. Jumping back, he reached down to gather the wet hem of his nightshirt in his hands, before stepping forward into the pool once more to examine the window. There was nothing he could do to stop the rain from getting in, he realized with a frown, knowing it was but a matter of time before the room became too cold to sleep in. What was worse was the thought that Frances' room might be in the same state as his. He'd noticed nearly all the windows in the building were missing more than a few shutters, and with Frances being pregnant, she was more than susceptible to several illnesses. He knew he couldn't stand for her to fall ill, or worse, simply because he was too poor to provide her with a suitable home. He couldn't bear the guilt of losing a wife a second time.

Shaking the dreadful thought away, he carried a candle down the stairs in search of wood. If he couldn't keep the rains out of the rooms, perhaps he might preserve some heat by lighting the fireplace. A few minutes passed before he found some wood in the servants' quarters. The quantity he'd found displeased him, but he was grateful it would be enough to light a fire for Frances. He could manage through the night without a fire and didn't doubt Sara could do the same. Hopefully, by morning, when the storm ceased, he would go in search of more wood.

He gathered the small pile of wood in his arms and carried them to Frances' room. He made a fist to knock on the door, but decided against it, for he was unwilling to disturb her rest. He would sneak in, light the fireplace and leave unnoticed.

Gently, he squeezed the knob, and the door creaked open. As he made his way inside quietly, he found Frances asleep on the bed, the sound of her soft snores filling the room. She wore a white nightdress, and her knees were drawn, causing the fabric of her dress to pull tightly against her bulging stomach.

She was beautiful, the image so serene, he wanted to be a part of it. For a brief moment, he considered climbing into bed with her. But it was only for a moment. The breeze that bathed him from the window dragged him back to the present. He hurried to the fireplace and was in the process of stacking the wood, when Frances' words reached him.

"Mr. Brown?"

He turned to find her seated upright on the bed, staring down at him.

Lifting the candle holder from the floor, he raised it up to his face to reassure her. "Yes, it's me."

"What are you doing?"

"I came to light the fireplace," he said, turning briefly to place the final wood in the hearth before starting the fire. The flames roared to life, expelling the darkness. "I thought you might be cold." He took the candle and climbed to his feet, seeing then the fatigue that marred her features. "My plan was to dash in and out unnoticed, without disturbing your rest. It's a shame I couldn't. Please, forgive me."

She shook her head. "You didn't awaken me; it was the breeze."

"You must forgive me for that as well. The house is in a terrible state, but I'm hopeful the fire will keep you warm for at least half the night. It is unfortunate that there is not enough wood to last the entire night."