The Brigadier's Runaway Bride (Dukes of War Book 5) (10 page)

“Your wedding was about
you
, not me or us.” Oliver reached forward and grasped Edmund’s hand. “It’s so good to have you back. To see you
alive
. I had thought… We had all feared…”

Edmund did not pull his hand from Oliver’s grasp. “Most of the fallen did not live to rise again.”

Oliver’s eyes glistened. “Oh, Edmund, I am
so
sorry. So wretchedly, inexcusably sorry—”

Edmund wrapped his arms about the earl. “If you had let my brother die, I would have killed you.”

Oliver gave a choking laugh and hugged Edmund back. “I’m so glad you’re home. Please say you’ll stay for supper. Now that you’re back, I’m not quite ready to let you out of my sight.”

Edmund stepped back and nodded. He might as well stay for a meal. He hadn’t eaten all day, and he had no idea where to go next. And despite his conflicted feelings about being left on the battlefield to die… it was good to see Oliver, too. Had Edmund been forced to choose between saving his brother and saving the earl, there would be no earldom.
 

Sometimes, there were no
right
choices. Just… choices.

Oliver puffed out his chest and gestured at the two ladies on either side. “It is my deep honor to present you to my wife Grace, and her mother, Mrs. Halton.”

Edmund tried to hide his surprise. The women looked more like sisters than mother and daughter. Mrs. Halton was clearly the elder of the two, but old enough to have birthed a countess? He stepped forward to bow, and kiss both sets of fingers. “It is my pleasure.”

Lady Carlisle’s eyes shone. “No, the pleasure is mine. I’m so glad to actually meet you!”

Edmund jerked his startled gaze toward Oliver, who laughed as though he’d been waiting for this joke the entire time.

“Yes, I’m afraid she’s American.” Oliver slid a possessive arm about his wife’s waist and kissed her temple. “But I love her anyway.”

Lady Carlisle slapped him in the chest, but blushed becomingly.

Her mother flashed Edmund a rueful smile. “For better or worse, I’m from right here in London. Although you can perhaps tell by my accent that my heritage is not as lofty as you’re used to.”

Edmund was suddenly grateful for the table. He was going to need to sit down after all. Oliver’s story must be as astonishing as Edmund’s own.

He waited until the ladies had retaken their seats before claiming his own. “What have I missed? Tell me everything.”

A footman hurried forward to fill Edmund’s plate with food.

“My father passed,” Oliver began, “leaving me the title and more bills than the estate was worth.”

“He needed an heiress,” Lady Carlisle explained with a smile.

“Ah.” Edmund nodded.

Lady Carlisle’s smile widened. “I was not one.”

Edmund’s fork paused.

Mrs. Halton tilted her head toward her daughter. “I was in Pennsylvania at the time.”

“Dying of consumption,” Lady Carlisle clarified. “She needed emergency care if she was to survive, but we had no money.”

“But my parents did.” Mrs. Halton’s cheeks flushed. “So I sent Grace to London in the hopes they’d offer her a dowry.”

Lady Carlisle kissed her husband’s cheek. “Before we were even married, Oliver sent a pirate to fetch my mother.”

Edmund’s fork clattered onto his plate. “Sent a what?”

“Blackheart,” Mrs. Halton said dreamily.

Lady Carlisle’s head spun around. “
Mama.
”

“Er, he was dreadful. Horrid.” Mrs. Halton waved a slender hand in disdain. “Too much muscle and swagger for my tastes. A brute, really. So arrogant and strong…”

Lady Carlisle dropped her face into her hands, then glared at her husband. “This is your fault, you know. If Mama runs off with a pirate…”

“I would never run anywhere,” Mrs. Halton protested.

“You ran to
America
when you were seventeen years old!”

“Well, it would have to be quite a pirate to tempt me away from all this. I have a family again.” Mrs. Halton touched her daughter’s cheek. “I have
you
again, Grace. I have no urge to go anywhere.”

Oliver leaned forward to pin his gaze on Edmund. “What about you? It’s good to see you, but… shouldn’t you be with Sarah? I can’t imagine you would leave her side if she were feeling unwell.”

Edmund’s chest tightened. “I would never leave her. Sarah left me.”

Chapter 9

Tears sprang to Sarah’s eyes as her nightrail-covered knee rammed into yet another block of antique furniture.
Blast
.

The problem wasn’t disorientation from having slept in someone else’s townhouse for a few nights. A low fire crackled behind the grate and bathed Sarah’s bedchamber with a soft, warm glow.
 

The problem was Sarah’s complete inability to walk in a straight line.

Somewhere around month six or seven, her ability to stroll had devolved into an unbecoming waddle. By month eight, she frequently found herself veering off into unexpected angles. Over the past week—
ouch!
Deuce it, why was there so much bloody furniture?—she had become so huge and ungainly that every time she took a step, she crashed into something.

The snow falling outside was beautiful and relaxing, or at least it would be if Sarah were capable of sleep. The baby kicked her at all hours of the day and night, and at least half of those well-placed kicks resulted in the immediate need to use a chamber pot. She had even begun dreaming about stomach pain, but the last several times she’d woken, her bladder had been empty.

Sarah washed her hands in the expensive porcelain basin on her bedside table without managing to upend either item, and decided to slip down to the kitchen in search of a bite to eat. Heaven help her, she was always hungry.

’Twas perhaps three or four in the morning. She didn’t feel comfortable waking any servants just because she wanted something sweet, but dash it, she could not seem to go a single hour without yet another food craving.

The trick would be not tumbling down the staircase mid-route.

She shrugged a robe over her nightrail and lit a candle in the fireplace to light her way before she slowly eased open her chamber door.

When her foot landed on a squeaky floorboard, she covered her mouth to hide a giggle. The situation reminded her too much of sneaking into kitchens with Anthony in search of biscuits, when they were young children.
 

Sarah had just reached the staircase when a sudden cramp gripped her belly—and was just as quickly gone. She frowned and ran her hands over her stomach. It had almost felt like her womanly cramps, except of course she hadn’t had one of those in eight months.
 

She counted slowly to one hundred, but the feeling didn’t return. Instead, her stomach growled its impatience. The baby delivered a double kick, just to make certain Sarah was paying attention.
 

“Yes, fine, biscuits,” she muttered at her belly and turned back toward the stairs.

This time, the sudden cramp was severe enough to make her cry out and stumble against the banister to catch her breath.

Katherine’s door flung open and she ran out into the corridor, wild-eyed. “What is it? What’s happening?”

“I’m fine,” Sarah gasped, clutching the banister for dear life. “I’m just…”

A stream of warm liquid splashed down her bare legs and onto Katherine’s expensive wood floor.

Sarah’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment. If only the banister would swallow her whole. She had
tried
to use the chamber pot. She would never live down the mortification of—

“
Ohh
,” she moaned as another cramp seized her from the inside.

Another door flew open. Katherine’s Great-Aunt Havens rushed into the corridor—and stepped right into the fresh warm puddle.

Sarah closed her eyes. This was beyond humiliation. This was—

“The baby,” Mrs. Havens breathed. “It’s coming
now
.”

“Nooo,” Katherine moaned and sagged against the wainscoting. “You
promised
you wouldn’t do this until you’d gone back home. You gave me your solemn word.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah gasped, clutching her belly. “I should have another fortnight…”

“You should get back into bed,” Mrs. Havens said briskly, braving the wet puddle to wrap a bracing arm about Sarah’s back. “Come. Let’s get you settled. Kate, have the staff fetch hot water and clean cloths. You’ll need them to—”

“Me?” Katherine blanched in horror. “I shall not be anywhere near a childbirthing. I’ll be down at the closest pub, spending every coin I have on gin.”

“Very well, then. Just wait in the corridor and summon the items I demand, as I ask for them. I will handle everything.”

“You? But you haven’t been a midwife in twenty years, Aunt. You can’t possibly—”

“Kate. Who do you suppose will deliver this baby? Father Christmas? There isn’t time to do anything else.”

“Hot water,” Katherine repeated as she raced toward the stairs. “Clean cloths. Back in a moment.”

Sarah lay back in the bed and tried not to succumb to complete and utter panic.
 

Midwife
. She didn’t have a midwife. She didn’t have
anything
. The baby clothes she had embroidered were at home at her parents’. Her tiny nest egg was at the Bank of England and could not be withdrawn without her presence. Her husband didn’t even know she was
here
. She moaned. This was a disaster.

Katherine skidded back into the room with an armful of pristine white towels. Two footmen followed close behind, each carrying pails of steaming water. Katherine immediately sent them off for more.

“Here are the cloths, Aunt.” Katherine’s face was pale, her eyes glassy. “What else do you need?”

“Pillows,” Mrs. Havens said calmly. “We need to ensure your friend’s comfort.”

“Pillows,” Katherine repeated, and dashed from the room.

Sarah clutched her stomach as another contraction rocked her. She was drenched in sweat and so terrified the birth was going to go wrong that she wouldn’t have noticed if she were laying on pillows or rocks. But she, too, had seen the terror in Katherine’s face. If having a purpose would have a calming effect, then Sarah was all for it.

Only one of them could panic, and that person was Sarah.

“Pillows!” Katherine announced as a flock of maids burst into the room, laden with every cushion in the entire townhouse.
 

“Prop her up,” Mrs. Havens ordered, dragging a stool to the foot of the bed. “Knees, too. Won’t be long now.”

Katherine blanched and began to sway alarmingly.

Mrs. Havens pinned her with a sharp glance. “Your friend is overwarm, Kate. This can be an uncomfortable process. She might like to suck on some ice.”

Katherine blinked, then pulled herself together. “Ice. Yes. I can bring ice.”

Sarah closed her eyes and groaned as another contraction ripped through her. It was different now, much stronger than her monthly cramps. The pain was sharp, the pressure visceral. It felt like her body was tightening, rather than opening. Like the world’s worst constipation. Good Lord, she hoped she didn’t make that kind of mess in Katherine’s antique bed. Right in front of her.

Sarah’s legs ached. Her back ached. Her hips ached. Each new wave was a fresh knife from the top of her stomach through her womb.

By the time Katherine returned with the ice chips, the cramps were coming much faster. Sarah’s nightrail was sticky with sweat and she could no longer speak from the fear and the pain.

“What do you need?” Katherine begged. “What can I bring you?”

“Needle and thread in case of tearing,” Mrs. Havens said. “Scissors to sever the cord.”

“
Edmund
,” Sarah managed to pant between another wave of cramps. Panic flooded her. Needles?
Tearing?

Katherine raced out the door.

“Shh,” Mrs. Havens cooed softly, applying gentle pressure on Sarah’s knees to widen her thighs. “I’ll tell you when to push. So will your body.”

Sarah groaned and nodded, no longer embarrassed about her nudity or her fluids. There was too much pain for that. Too much concentration. She just wanted the baby
out
.