A Baron for Becky

PART THREE: Chapter twenty-three

Lancashire, three years later

If Becky had been asked to pick her favourite times, she would have been hard pressed to choose, but this would be on the list: lying in her husband's arms after their passion was spent, not sleeping, not talking, just being.

She smiled against Hugh's chest. Their neighbours would be shocked that they came straight up to their bedchamber after breaking their fast, that 'going for a sleep after Church' rarely involved sleep, even if the children believed the comfortable lie.

Given that a Sunday afternoon in bed had been the Overtons' habit for close to three years, the neighbours undoubtedly did know. For what the servants knew, would sooner or later be known through the village.

"Becky, I've been thinking," Hugh said.

"Are you sure you have sufficient energy for that, my love?" she teased.

He dug his fingers into her ribs, making her wriggle and squeal. "You stole it from me, you witch, and shortly, I shall take it back, see if I don't." The thigh she brushed against his groin confirmed his energy was returning fast, and they had the whole afternoon ahead of them. Becky smiled again.

But Hugh's mind wasn't on lovemaking, whatever his body thought. "I want you to come down to London with me, once the roads are passable. We'll take the girls with us, too."

London? She propped herself up on her elbows to reach the scar that snaked through his hair and ended a bare inch above one eyebrow. "I thought we agreed you would not attend Parliament this year. You are still recovering!"

In one easy movement he reversed their positions, tipping her and rolling with her so she was caged by his body, his thighs enclosing hers and his forearms holding his weight so she wasn't crushed. "My wife tells me I'm much improved," and he captured her mouth in a passionate kiss that had her lifting her hips to meet him.

But he rolled again, bringing her back against his side.

"My accident is why we must go, Becky."

Again, she pushed back to have his whole face clearly in view. "The headaches? Are you feeling worse? Yes, we must consult a doctor! Hugh, you should have said."

"Nothing like that, my love. The headaches are nearly gone, thanks to all the powers of Heaven. And I'm fit again. But I nearly died, Becky. When the bridge went down, when I was swept away..."

Becky shuddered and pressed herself closer. She would burrow inside if she could. Thank God his foot had become caught in the stirrup. A thousand thanks that the horse had pulled him from the river. When they'd found him at first light, more than three miles downstream from the collapsed bridge, he was still hanging, attached to the wet and shivering horse by one booted foot.

Whether it was trying to protect its master, as Hugh claimed, or just unwilling to drag dead weight didn't matter. He was still alive. And she managed to keep him that way through both the head injury and the fever contracted that long, cold night.

Oddly enough, that interminable time of managing his affairs while watching by his bedside had given her confidence she had always lacked. With him unconscious, she was without his careful protection, his constant reassurance. She conferred with his land agent, even fought with his factory manager and prevailed. She needed to be strong for Hugh, for their daughters, for the household and the barony—and she found she was strong, the last of the old nightmares laid to rest at last.

"I nearly died, Becky, and it frightens me."

She frowned, then. Frightened? He was a grown man, and had been a soldier. But he was still talking. "I am frightened for you and the girls, if something happens to me before they are grown."

She worried, too. The land would go to the Crown, along with the title. Hugh's will left her the cotton mill in Liverpool. The income was down, as the long war against Napoleon drew to an end, but it would be enough for her and the girls to live on, especially since her settlement from Aldridge was untouched.

It would not be enough to establish all four girls in the life that Hugh intended for them, though. As daughters of a baron, they could expect to make marriages in the gentry. But a baron's relict with an obscure past and no landed relatives, making her income from trade, would be a far less attractive parent-in-law, in a class that married for family advantage. Only a very large marriage portion would overcome such murky roots.

"Then live, Hugh," she told him, fiercely. "You must live to see them grown and established."

He pulled her head back against his chest and kissed the top of her head. "I know, my love. I know. But we must have a plan."

"If only I had given you a son!" she mourned.

"I love our Belle, beloved," he protested. "You know that. I wouldn't change a hair of her head, let alone make a boy of her."

She shook her head, not comforted.

"So," Hugh took up the thread again, "that's why I want to talk to Aldridge."

Becky felt the blood drain from her head, and for a moment the world receded, as if sounds, sights, smells, touch, were filtered through a long, long tunnel.

"Aldridge?" Her voice came out in a squeak, and Hugh tipped her head back to see her face.

"Becky? Are you feeling ill? Becky, you look as white as a sheet. Here, my love, lie back against the pillows. What is it? Does something hurt?"

Her heart. Her heart hurt.

"What..." Her voice caught and she had to make another attempt. "Why do you want to speak to Aldridge?"

Hugh's anxious look cleared. "Not, foolish wife, what you obviously suspect! Becky, Becky, how could you think I would let that randy hell-spawn have at you?"

"You need a son, Hugh." But she could breathe again, and the vice around her chest loosened.

"Not so much I'd ask my wife to whore herself." He put a finger to her lip as she opened it to speak, obviously guessing what she was about to say. "No pasts, Becky, remember? One man for you, and one woman for me, as long as we both shall live. Here. Let me remind you."

She gave herself to him with a certain desperation, forgetting everything in the moment, but afterwards, he returned to the topic. "I thought Aldridge might be willing to stand as guardian and sponsor to the girls. If anything happens to me."

"He's a bachelor, Hugh," and one with a reputation that would not benefit their daughters.

"With Haverford's health as it is, Aldridge will be duke by the time they're ready to be presented," Hugh insisted. "He'll have to take a wife then. And his mother will support them, I'm sure. I thought I could sound out Aldridge, and you could talk to the duchess. She likes you."

Becky thought about it. Hugh made good sense. Yes. They would go to London.