Page 70 of A Naughty Proposal for His Winter Countess
Standing, Martha fixed her robe, “It's late, and I have an early morning tomorrow.”
“Martha—”
“Good night, Harriet,” Martha said as she left the room.
Unable to understand why her sister had grown so defensive, Harriet finished her cup of tea and covered the tray with a towel. Going to her room, she prepared herself to sleep, but found she couldn't.
Instead she trimmed her lamp and took out a book, but she soon lost interest in reading and stared at the page with unseeing eyes. Martha was acting too evasive for Harriet's comfort, and moreover, she felt that Martha was keeping something very important from her. It was far too late to speak to her, so Harriet decided to put that conversation off till tomorrow.
Reaching for her housecoat, Harriet decided to get a glass of milk from the kitchens. Expecting all to be quiet, she neared her sister's room to hear the heated tones of another argument.
“Are you drunk?” Martha hissed. “And are you just coming in? Antony, answer me!”
“My affairs are none of yours,” Antony hissed venomously. “Be quiet.”
“I will not be quiet,” Martha snapped. “You know how you are when you're drunk. It takes days to wear off. What will I say to our guests tomorrow when you're foxed!”
“I have a solution, cancel the damned luncheon!” Antony barked. “It's not as if I like those hypocrites!”
“Antony!” Martha sounded horrified.
“Oh, please,” the Baron scoffed. “Don't tell me you like fawning to those stuff shirts anyway. And you, is it too hard for you to do your wifely duties for once?”
Martha gasped, “I always do my wifely duties!”
“Then where is my child!?” Antony roared. “You can't even conceive! What am I to do with a barren wife?”
Realization slammed into Harriet's heart like a thunderclap. She staggered back with her hand on her heart. Her sister couldn’t bear children!
“You know I cannot control that—”
“Bollocks!” Antony yelled. “Don't give me that tripe! You just don't have the mind to. You're hell bent on sabotaging me!”
Martha sounded as if she was crying, “That is not—”A splintering crash had Harriet running in the room, dreading that she would find her sister on the ground and hurt. Martha, with a bloodless face, was huddling on a wall, while on the opposite wall, the remains of a vase lay on the floors.
“My Lord!” Harriet called in shock. “Martha!”
Antony grabbed a jacket and brushed past Harriet. She reached out to grab him, but Martha yelled, “No! Let him go.”
Jerking away from him as if she had been burned, Harriet dashed to her sister's side. The strength disappeared from Martha's body and as Harriet held her, she nearly collapsed to the ground. Afraid for Martha, Harriet helped her up to a nearby chair, gingerly skirting the shattered remains of the vase.
Martha was pale and shivering; when she reached to tighten the lapels of her robe, her fingers were shaking so hard she could hardly grasp the edges.
Sitting beside her, Harriet grasped Martha's hand. “Should I call for the physician?”
“N…no,” Martha shook her head, “I just need the c…calming tea.”
Unwilling to leave Martha alone, Harriet rang for a maid, then went back to Martha's side.
Grasping her sister's cold hand, Harriet asked, “Is it always this bad with him?”
Tightening her grip, Martha shook her head, “Only when he drinks—” a shuddery breath left Martha, and her eyes were down on her lap. “I don't suppose that you heard all of the argument?”
“I don't think so, but I heard why he's angry. Why didn't you say anything, Martha? You know none of us would look at you any differently,” Harriet replied. “We love you all the same, child or no child.”
“I wish I could say the same for Antony,” Martha dipped her eyes. “I don't think he cares for me at all.”
A maid knocked and came in. Harriet asked her to brew the special tea that Martha needed as quickly as possible. The maid hurried off, while Harriet hugged Martha close.
