Alyssa continued gazing at Tristan’s face, refusing to look down at the floor again.
“Is it blood?” he finally whispered.
“No . . . no, I don’t think so,” she answered, trying to rack her memory for some information—any information—about birth. “I think the water sack around the baby has broken.”
Tristan took a deep breath. Was this normal? Or was something horribly wrong?
No longer able to stand the suspense, Alyssa cast her frightened eyes downward, crying out in dismay when she saw the rug. “Oh, my God.”
“What? What is it, Alyssa?” Tristan yelled frantically. “Is the baby coming?”
“I’ve ruined the rug,” she whined.
“Goddamn it, Alyssa,” Tristan yelled. “Don’t scare me like that. To hell with the damn rug.”
“There is no need to shout, Tris,” Alyssa responded, breathing in short spurts as she felt another contraction beginning. “I am standing right next to you.”
“Sorry.” He held on to her tightly when the contraction gripped her, and then grinned sheepishly. “We are a rather pathetic pair, aren’t we?”
Alyssa giggled as the pain eased a bit. “We are indeed, Tris.”
“At this rate your child will be born on the staircase,” Tristan advised. Without hesitation he scooped Alyssa up into his arms and exited the room.
“Are you sure you can make that long climb, Tris?” Alyssa asked when they stopped at the bottom of the staircase.
“Are you challenging my masculine abilities?” he teased, shifting her expertly in his arms and easily climbing the winding staircase. “Are you feeling any better?” he asked when they reached the second-floor landing.
“Like I could go dancing,” she said flippantly just before another sharp pain attacked her. Tristan turned the handle on her bedchamber door, kicking it open with his booted foot.
“You have a very pretty room,” Tristan said, trying to distract her from the pain.
“Wait, Tris,” Alyssa said when she realized he was about to place her on the bed. “I want to go into Morgan’s bedchamber. I want our child to be born in his bed.”
“Splendid idea,” Tristan agreed, gladly complying with her wishes.
He sat her gingerly on the edge of the mattress and rang for a servant. Dickinson appeared, his eyes widening in horror when he beheld Alyssa clutching the bedpost, breathing noisily.
“Summon two maids to assist the duchess with her clothes and prepare the room,” Tristan commanded Morgan’s valet.
When the maids arrived, Alyssa was able to give them instructions. Tristan waited outside, restlessly pacing the hallway while the mattress was stripped and clean linens were placed on the bed. With the help of the two maids Alyssa changed into a clean, dry nightgown. One of the maids brushed and braided Alyssa’s hair. Propped up with pillows, Alyssa was sitting nervously in the middle of the huge bed when Tristan returned.
“You look infinitely better,” he remarked, still concerned about her paleness. He fervently wished Morgan would return.
The two maids remained on the fringes of the bedchamber, acting as chaperons. Tristan knew it was highly improper for him to be in the bedroom with Alyssa, yet he was reluctant to depart.
Alyssa could see his indecision. “Don’t leave me, Tris,” she pleaded softly, her eyes wide.
“No,” he assured her. “I will stay until Morgan arrives.”
Time dragged slowly as they waited together, the pains coming at infrequent intervals, some sharp, others not nearly as intense. Tristan rambled on with stories about his childhood and various pranks he and Morgan had pulled as youths. Anything to keep Alyssa’s thoughts distracted from the ordeal she was experiencing. She was grateful for his comforting presence, holding tightly to his firm hands when the contractions intensified.
Morgan literally burst into the entrance hall several hours later, having ridden from Charter Oaks in a record two hours’ time. He was dusty and sweaty and nearly frantic with worry for Alyssa.
“Where is my wife?” he barked at Burke as the butler tried to assist him out of his greatcoat. Morgan slapped away the butler’s hands impatiently and ripped the garment off himself, spewing buttons on the marble floor.
“Where is my wife?” he repeated, his face tensing with worry.
“Upstairs, Your Grace,” the butler began, but Morgan did not stay to listen to any additional information. He took the stairs two at a time and had gained the landing before Burke stooped down to pick up the duke’s recklessly discarded greatcoat.
Morgan flung open the door to Alyssa’s bedchamber, his heart skipping a beat when he saw the empty bed. He bellowed loudly for Burke and then Dickinson as he rushed into the hallway, muttering profanities as he strode.
“Morgan,” Tristan called out. “We’re in here.”
Morgan stopped in the middle of the hallway, turning toward his bedchamber door in total bewilderment.
“Tris?”
“In here, Morgan.”
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Morgan shouted, yanking open the door. “And would you please tell me where my wife is?”
“I am right here, Morgan,” Alyssa responded from her position in the bed.
He took one look at her pale, tense face and let out the breath he was holding. He strode quickly across the room and drew her into his arms.
“How are you, love?” he whispered, lightly stroking her silky hair. “I came as quickly as I could.”
“The baby is coming, Morgan,” she blurted, feeling the sobs choke her throat. As he held her tightly in his arms, the control she had been exerting on herself slipped, and she succumbed to her fears. “It is too soon, Morgan,” she whispered.
Morgan held her against his broad chest, looking over the top of her head at his brother. “Where is Baron Welles?” Morgan asked, his expression grim.
“Burke sent a footman to summon the good doctor several hours ago. I am sure he will arrive shortly.”
Just then Mavis entered the room, clucking and fussing, with Mrs. Keenly on her heels. “Well, my girl, seems as though we have an impatient babe waiting to be born,” Mavis said, crossing over to the bed. Alyssa moved back, disengaging herself from Morgan’s tight embrace so she could see her old nurse. He allowed it, but his hands still rested comfortingly on Alyssa’s shoulders.
“Mavis.” Alyssa sighed with relief. “Thank goodness you are here.” The older woman smiled reassuringly at her, reaching a gnarled hand to brush away the few loose tendrils of hair on Alyssa’s forehead.
“Why is this room so crowded?” Mavis announced in a brisk tone. Burke and Dickinson hovered in the doorway while the maids exchanged glances with Mrs. Keenly, and Tristan’s color heightened. The distinct sound of shuffling feet could be heard. “Are you staying?” Mavis addressed her question directly to Morgan.
“Yes,” he answered quickly. “I’ll clear everyone else out.” The room emptied before Morgan had a chance to voice his command. Only Tristan remained.
“Good luck,” Tristan said to Alyssa, squeezing her hand in farewell.
“Thank you, Tris,” she replied with a small grin. “I am so grateful you were with me today. I could not have managed without your help.”
“Send Baron Welles up as soon as he arrives, Tris,” Morgan told his brother. With a final smile of encouragement, Tristan left the room.
Alyssa leaned back against the pillows, sighing heavily. Mavis filled a basin with cool water and wet a clean cloth. She walked around to the opposite side of the bed, since Morgan refused to relinquish his position, and wiped Alyssa’s face.
“Is the pain very bad?” Mavis asked.
Alyssa chewed her lower lip, her eyes darting to Morgan’s tense face. “No,” she responded evasively.
“Try to get some rest,” Mavis advised. “You’ll need your strength later.”
Alyssa looked up at the two beloved faces and sighed. How can I possibly rest when I feel like my body is being twisted in a vise grip? she wondered.
“Can’t we give her something for the pain?” Morgan questioned Mavis, his eyes alert to the way Alyssa gritted her teeth when the next contraction began.
“No,” Mavis answered. “Usually nothing is given to ease the pain of childbirth. Perhaps the doctor will have something, but don’t count on it.”
“I’ll be fine, Morgan,” Alyssa contended as the pain faded. “Are you sure you want to stay? I’ve heard birthing can be a messy sight.”
“I want to stay,” Morgan insisted in a voice that clearly illustrated his determination.
“I shall be glad of your comforting presence, Morgan,” Alyssa whispered gratefully.
Chapter Twenty
Alyssa labored all through the long night. Morgan remained at her side throughout, offering his support and what little comfort he could. He had never felt so helpless in his entire life as he watched her struggling desperately to give birth to their child.
Toward morning Alyssa slept fitfully, and Baron Welles was finally able to convince Morgan to leave her side for a few moments to eat something. Morgan reluctantly agreed, but he refused to leave the room. He sat broodingly at a small table in the corner of the bedchamber eating methodically, not tasting the food, his bleak eyes riveted on the bed where his young wife dozed.
Alyssa’s color was gone, her hair damp with perspiration. She had grown progressively weaker, the strong contractions sapping her strength. Baron Welles anxiously touched her brow, alarmed at the warmth he felt. His skilled hands traveled down to Alyssa’s abdomen, gently examining her. He gave a deep sigh and closed his eyes.
Mavis stood across from the physician, her lips moving in silent prayer. She was frightened. Alyssa had been laboring for so long with very little progress.
“You have to do something,” Mavis whispered to the baron. “She cannot continue like this for much longer.”
“I know,” the baron reluctantly agreed. “I’ll talk to the duke.”
Morgan became alert as the physician approached him. “What is wrong?” Morgan demanded before the baron had a chance to speak.
“The child is not in the proper position for birthing,” Baron Welles explained. “Often, when this occurs, the baby turns on its own. I was hoping that would happen in this case. It has not.”
“What can you do?”
Baron Welles cleared his throat. “Not very much, I am afraid, Morgan. I can try to save one of them.” The baron sighed heavily. “You would have to decide which one.”
“My wife or my child?” Morgan responded with anger, the pain crushing his heart. “You expect me to choose one over the other?”
“There is another alternative,” Mavis insisted, moving closer to the two men. “Tell him.”
“I could try turning the baby myself,” Baron Welles admitted. “If I can move the infant into the correct position, the duchess might be able to deliver the child.”
“Have you ever done this before?” Morgan inquired, grasping the slim hope the doctor offered.
“No,” Baron Welles confessed. “I must tell you, Morgan, the risks are great. I could do more harm than good.”
Morgan turned his head away, staring blindly into the roaring fire. “Mavis?” he questioned hoarsely.
“It’s their only chance, Your Grace,” Mavis readily answered. “You see how weak she has become. If we wait much longer, she will not be able to help at all. You must let the doctor try.”
“All right,” Morgan agreed, his calm voice masking his inner turmoil.
“You will have to hold her down, Morgan,” Baron Welles instructed. The doctor washed his hands in clear, warm water, and nervously pulled back the sheet covering Alyssa’s body. At the doctors’ nod, Morgan leaned over his sleeping wife and grabbed her wrists. He raised them over her head, anchoring her arms securely. Then he whispered softly to her.
“Alyssa. Sweetheart, can you hear me?”
Alyssa’s eyelids fluttered open, her head turning toward the familiar voice. “Morgan,” she croaked, licking her dry, parched lips. “Is it over yet? Is our baby here?”
He winced at the weakness in her voice, but would not allow his concern to show on his face. “Almost here, Alyssa,” he said in a soothing tone. “The babe needs a bit of help. Try to stay calm, sweetheart. Baron Welles is going to do what he can.”
“All right,” she answered in a trusting voice. And then the room filled with Alyssa’s piercing screams as the baron attempted to move the child.
“Morgan,” she screamed, her body writhing in agony, the stabbing pains shooting through her body. “What is he doing to me? Stop him, I beg of you. Please, you must make him stop!”
Baron Welles worked as quickly as he could, trying to ignore Alyssa’s agonizing cries. Morgan felt the stinging tears in his eyes as Alyssa continued pleading with him to end her torment. Her beautiful eyes were glazed with pain as she bucked and writhed against the unbearable torture.
Morgan was preparing to yell at the doctor to stop when Baron Welles cried out in triumph. “I think I’ve done it,” he exclaimed. Wiping the beads of perspiration off his brow with his sleeve, he lifted his head.
Alyssa slumped in Morgan’s arms, her body limp and lifeless. “Alyssa!” Morgan shouted with fear. Mavis reached out her hand to steady the duke.
“She has only fainted, Your Grace,” Mavis declared. “Let her rest a few moments before we revive her.”
Alyssa regained consciousness on her own, a strong contraction gripping her exhausted body. “You must try to bear down,” Baron Welles instructed. “The babe is in the correct position and should be able to pass through the birth canal.”
Alyssa did as she was told, her hands crushing Morgan’s as she panted and pushed. Suddenly everything happened very quickly, and with a final strong push the child slipped from Alyssa’s body. The room echoed with the indignant cries of a howling infant.
As he listened to the hearty bellows of the tiny babe Morgan knew he had never heard a more beautiful sound in his entire life.
“It’s a girl,” Baron Welles cried with excitement, carefully severing the cord. He handed the baby into Mavis’s waiting arms.
“A girl,” Morgan repeated, dumbfounded. He lifted Alyssa into his arms, holding her close against his heart. It was finally over. The baby had been safely delivered. And Alyssa had survived. Morgan offered a silent prayer of thanks for the lives of his wife and daughter.
“I don’t believe it,” Alyssa murmured weakly. “Is she all right?”
Morgan looked down at his wife, his face splitting in an ear-to-ear grin. “Her voice certainly works very well,” he said.
“She is perfect,” Mavis pronounced, placing the freshly washed baby in Alyssa’s arms.
“Oh my,” Alyssa whispered, her voice choking with emotion as she viewed her daughter for the first time. Morgan gathered them both closely in the circle of his arms, his happiness overflowing.
“She is so very tiny,” Morgan remarked, carefully touching the infant’s brow.
“You’re not disappointed, are you, Morgan?” Alyssa asked worriedly.
Morgan looked down at his wife, shocked. “Disappointed?”
“That she isn’t a boy?”
“Good God, no,” he replied honestly.
Mavis took the baby out of Alyssa’s arms and thrust the infant toward Morgan. “Here,” Mavis said, handing the duke his daughter. “You look after her for a moment while I take care of Lady Alyssa.”
Morgan gingerly accepted the baby, rigidly cradling her in his arms. “Is this right?” Morgan questioned Baron Welles, his uncertainty clearly visible on his face.
“Fine,” the doctor replied with a smile. “Hold her a bit closer to your body, Morgan. And be sure to support her neck and head.”
Ever so gently Morgan inched the baby close to his chest. He watched with total amazement as she snuggled contentedly against him and yawned daintily. A loud knocking at the door distracted him, and when he saw both Mavis and Baron Welles were busy attending Alyssa, he barked out loudly, “Come in.”
The baby visibly jumped at the sudden, booming noise, but did not cry. Instead she slowly opened her eyes and gazed up inquisitively into her father’s handsome face. At that moment, Morgan fell in love with his tiny daughter.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” the dowager duchess began hesitantly, entering the room. “We have been so worried, and I thought I heard . . . oh, Morgan!” The dowager duchess stared in wonder at her grandson as he proudly held his child.
“Grandmother, come in,” Morgan called. “You too, Tris, Caroline. There is someone I want you all to meet.”
Morgan swaggered up to the trio to display the baby.
“So precious,” the dowager duchess cooed. She reached out and softly stroked the infant’s head.
“Well, what is it, Morgan?” Tristan asked. “A boy or a girl?”
“A girl, of course. Can’t you tell, Tris?” Morgan responded with a superior air.
Caroline and Tristan exchanged a secretive smile. “Congratulations, Morgan,” Caroline said softly. “How is Alyssa?”
“Resting comfortably.” An exhilarated Baron Welles joined the group. “She is exhausted from the ordeal, but not in any danger. There is no longer any sign of fever, thank God, but I shall keep a close watch on her for the next few days.”
“Let me hold the baby, Morgan,” the dowager duchess commanded. Reluctantly Morgan handed over the infant, and he was very pleased to note she fussed when leaving her father’s arms.
“She is a perfect angel,” the dowager duchess announced. “I do believe she has your chin, Morgan. And my nose. Yes, definitely my nose.”
“She is splendid, Morgan,” Tristan piped in. “You must go downstairs and announce the good news to the staff, Morgan. Burke and Mrs. Keenly have been frantic with worry all night.”
Morgan nodded in agreement and went over to the bed to see Alyssa. He bent down and kissed her gently on the brow. “Try to get some rest, love,” he whispered. “I’ll come back to see you later.”
The dowager duchess seated herself in a comfortable chair near the fire, declining the invitation to accompany the others. She preferred the company of her great-granddaughter. She gazed at the babe with true adoration, refusing to place the infant in her cradle until she had been properly rocked to sleep. Only then did she quit the room.
“Have you thought about a name for our little girl yet?” Morgan asked Alyssa. He removed the heavy tray with the remains of her evening meal from the bed and sat on the coverlet.
“I was thinking we could call her Katherine,” Alyssa responded, glancing toward the cradle where the infant lay sleeping peacefully.
“Katherine,” Morgan said with a grin. “You know of course that is Grandmother’s given name.”
“Yes. Do you think she will be pleased?”
“She will be insufferable,” Morgan exclaimed. “You see how she already dotes on the infant. I can’t imagine how much more she will spoil the child if she is her namesake.”
“Good. I like the notion of someone spoiling my daughter,” Alyssa stated firmly. “We shall name her Katherine. And her second name will be Eleanor, for my mother.”
And thus on a bright chilly morning in December, three weeks after her birth, Katherine Eleanor Ashton was christened in the private chapel at Ramsgate Castle. Tristan and Caroline proudly stood as godparents for the infant. The dowager duchess insisted on holding her namesake for the majority of the brief ceremony. Alyssa was forced to laugh at Morgan when he grumbled about it later that evening.
“You hover over Katherine so protectively, Morgan.” Alyssa laughed softly as she nursed her daughter. “How ever will you manage when she is a grown woman, with suitors coming to call?”
“Good God;” Morgan swore, blanching visibly at the notion. “Eager young bucks calling on our daughter. Do you want to give me premature gray hair?”
Alyssa laughed louder, enjoying Morgan’s obvious distress. “Gives you a different perspective on women now, doesn’t it, Your Grace?”
“Yes, I suppose it does,” he agreed with a spectacular smile. Morgan watched his wife as she suckled the baby, his controlled expression revealing none of the emotional turmoil within.
The love he felt for Alyssa had grown over the weeks; at times the emotion nearly overpowered him. But he was frustrated. He had finally given his heart boldly away, yet poised on the verge of revealing his love, he felt simultaneously afraid and exultant. Morgan knew Alyssa believed he married her for the sake of their child. Since he obviously doted on his new daughter, he feared Alyssa would misintepret his declaration of love. Morgan wanted no misunderstanding of the depth and intensity of the love he felt for his wife. And so he waited, fearful and apprehensive, for the appropriate moment to tell her.
“Have you been making any progress with the Christmas celebrations?” Morgan asked, expertly taking the half-sleeping baby from Alyssa’s arms. He propped his daughter up on his shoulder and paced quietly as she digested her meal.
Alyssa observed them with amazement. Her tall, arrogant, powerfully built, impeccably groomed duke was gently stroking the infant’s back. Katherine let out a very loud belch, and her parents smiled indulgently. Morgan transferred the baby to the elegant cradle, tucking the blankets carefully around her tiny form. Then he turned to his wife.
Alyssa had not yet fastened her gown, and he clearly saw the creamy round globes of her lovely breasts. He felt himself harden almost immediately, and clasped his hands together tightly in front of him, trying to get his randy behavior under control.
Morgan cleared his throat and asked again about the Christmas festivities.
“Your grandmother has been explaining some of the various traditions of the castle to me, and she is assisting with all the arrangements,” Alyssa replied.