by Quinn, Paula
Jenny tried to think how long she had been in the stables. “I don’t know. An hour, maybe a little less.”
Emily nodded thoughtfully, placed her fingers on Jenny’s ankle. “Just checking your heart,” she said, then fell silent.
“Is she all right?” Simon asked, and Jenny saw him crouch down right behind the midwife.
Emily made a wry face that he couldn’t see, then called out loudly, “Whoever is managing the expectant father needs to get him out of this stall, or I shall do it myself.”
She said it ever so pleasantly, but as Simon realized the implication—he was being kicked out—his face reddened.
“I want to—” Simon began.
“It’s not about what you want, Lord Lindsey,” the midwife interrupted him. “It’s about your wife right now.” She stood and looked past him. “Good, here comes my water pots. And who are you?”
“Cambrey,” Jenny heard her brother-in-law answer.
“Well, Cambrey, please take your friend over there,” she said, gesturing, “and keep him over there.” Her voice remained calm and even kind, but her stance, hands on hips, blocking both the men’s view and Simon’s path, would brook no dispute.
“I love you, Jenny,” she heard her husband say.
“I love you, too,” she called after him. Lucky man! To her, anyone who could simply walk easily and swiftly was lucky. Even luckier to be the parent who could have a glass of brandy and wait for his children to be handed to him.
As Emily washed her hands in the larger bowl and put a couple towels in the soapy water, Jenny recalled what they had done before, and she started counting between the painful moments when it felt as if her body were in a vice.
While the midwife placed a glass vial of some clear, greenish oil into the smaller pot to warm, Jenny reminded herself that this, too, would end. She could get through any discomfort, knowing it would eventually stop. She could even tamp down the panic brought on by the extreme pain if she focused on the moment when her babies would arrive.
And then Emily’s head disappeared under Jenny’s shift, removing her drawers and examining her.
“Excuse me getting personal with you,” she muttered. When she reappeared, she was smiling. “You are doing excellently, my lady. How do you feel?”
“Tired.”
Emily laughed. “Oh my, tired already? That won’t do. Where’s the tea I ordered?”
Chapter Five
Simon liked Emily, but, at that moment, he would cheerfully toss the midwife over his shoulder and remove her from the stall so he could hold Jenny through her labor. Yet, he knew that was a selfish thought. Jenny needed her experienced help, and thus, he moved quietly away. He sat where John told him to sit, and he took the brandy his friend gave him.
What’s more, when Eleanor passed by with tea a few minutes later, he didn’t even try to wrestle it from her so he could take it himself to his moaning wife. He let everyone do their appointed task. Apparently, his was merely to sit and worry. To be useless!
When Jenny groaned loudly, he began to jiggle his legs and tap the now-empty brandy glass with his fingers. When one of her groans became a short but piercing cry, he shot to his feet and began to pace instead. Pacing was better.
“For God’s sake,” he said into the solemn silence, “tell me something to distract me, Cam. How was your journey? What day did you start out? When did you encounter the deepest snow? What inn has present custody of your carriage?”
Simon only half-listened to his friend’s attempt to tell an engaging story, but the other half of his brain—perhaps more than half—was as focused as a cat ready to pounce on a mouse. He could hear every rustle of straw, every sound from his wife, and every soothing murmur from Emily or the Blackwood ladies.
And eventually, after a few hours, he heard the lusty cries of a baby. By then, he was standing in the doorway, staring up at the starry-filled heavens. The snow clouds had all moved away to reveal a velvety black sky with a pearl of a moon and the twinkling gemstones of stars. And in the east, the light of the rising sun was already brightening the horizon.
What a sight, and then…what a sound!
Whirling around, he ran past John and Binkley, both of whom had remained with him, and straight to the stall. The midwife’s back was to him, holding the baby, maybe wrapping it. He couldn’t tell, but he could see Jenny, eyes closed, red-faced, hair plastered to her head, her loved ones around her.
Lady Anne Blackwood, who sat behind her eldest daughter, supporting her shoulders, looked up and smiled at him. Eleanor, on Jenny’s left, holding her sister’s hand, was too fixated on the goings-on to look up. Maggie, however, on the other side, holding Jenny’s right hand, said, “Simon, you have a daughter.”
His heart lurched, and at her words, Jenny’s eyes flew open to stare directly into his. His wife managed to smile at him for a flash, and then her forehead furrowed as her labor continued. It wasn’t over for her yet, and he must let her finish what she was doing so magnificently.
Emily turned to him then, and he feared being scolded for distracting Jenny. Instead, the midwife raised the swaddled bundle to him, “Take her, my lord. She’s yours, breathing well, too.”
Feeling as if he were in a dream, he reached out and took his newborn daughter, looking into a face as red and perfect as his wife’s. He nudged the wrapping off her head a moment to see her downy dark hair, and then he quickly covered her against the winter cold.
“She’s so tiny,” he said, “smaller than Lionel.”
“She seems very healthy, my lord,” Emily insisted.
He could hold her, but he couldn’t feed her. What if she was already hungry? Though with her little eyelids scrunched tightly closed and her mouth the same, she didn’t seem to want anything.
“What should I do?” he whispered to Emily, not wanting to awaken his sweet little girl.
“Just walk with her, keep her warm, my lord.”
Jenny moaned again, and the midwife turned back to her duty. Witnessing the pain on his wife’s face, Simon felt helpless again. All he could do was look after the babe she’d already delivered.
Turning away, he walked up the aisle to show John his blessed daughter. Now, they each had a girl. And incredibly, another child was still on the way.
John and Binkley were standing, both with matching expressions of wonder. This miracle of birth would never grow mundane.
“What a beauty,” John said as Simon drew close and angled her to show his friend.
Then he showed the butler, who was more family than servant. “Another fine young Devere,” Binkley said.
Jenny cried out again, and all three men looked at each other. Simon could see their tense faces and clenched jaws and knew his expression mirrored theirs.
“We’re nearly done,” he heard Emily say. Then more loudly, “Jenny! Come back to us. We can’t do this without you.”
Simon’s heart started to race. What in the—?
The women were scrambling around in the straw now. “In my bag,” Emily said. “No, the other bottle.”
Simon moved smoothly so as not to jiggle the baby as he headed back to the stall at a good pace. When he peered in, Jenny appeared to be asleep.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“She’s just taking a wee nap,” the midwife said, “but we’re going to have to awaken her.” With that, she held a bottle in front of his wife’s nose, and in seconds, she coughed and opened her eyes. Again, she gave him a smile.
What a warrior! How he admired this remarkable woman, and he would tell her that every day for the rest of their lives.
“There we go,” Emily said. “Right as rain. You can’t go taking a nap now, my lady. You’re the only one who can do this job.”
Jenny nodded, looking beyond exhausted. He knew she hadn’t actually fallen asleep but had passed out, either from pain or exhaustion, or both. He could not imagine how she continued to labor for so many hours. If only she could have remained asleep while the next
baby came.
Then, to his amazement, the midwife began to push and prod his wife’s distended stomach. It looked uncomfortable and unnecessary.
“What are you doing?” he couldn’t help asking.
“Second one is breech, feet first, though, not bum down. We’ll try to get the babe to turn, or it may have to come out feet first into this world. Not the worst thing,” Emily added as Jenny’s face paled. “It’ll mean a strong, capable child for sure, taking the hard way into life.”
Simon thought he might need to sit down again. Next thing he knew, John was at his elbow.
“Let’s take your daughter back over to the bench. She’ll see her sibling again soon enough.”
Grateful for his friend, Simon went meekly with him. He didn’t think he could handle seeing Jenny suffer any further—or worse, have something terrible happen to his other child while he stood there unable to do anything. Nevertheless, he couldn’t close off the sounds.
After a few minutes of Jenny grunting and groaning, Emily declared with all the extra room inside, the second baby had turned.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he watched John give Binkley a slap on the shoulder since his friend couldn’t touch Simon while he held the baby.
“Don’t you worry, my lady,” Emily said. “This one’s a strong one.”
True to her words, in another few minutes, they heard the sound of the second baby, which, by the loudness of its cry, had obviously taken a big, healthy breath. Simon’s heart seemed to swell again, and tears came to his eyes. He honestly didn’t care if he bawled in front of the entire population of Sheffield.
“Are you sure there aren’t any more?” Jenny’s words sounded clear and strong, despite all the hours of labor.
Emily laughed. “Yes, my lady. Let’s get this little man dried off and you can hold him.”
Little man! They had another son. Standing, he couldn’t bear to be parted from his family any longer.
“You hold on, my lord,” the midwife called to him as if she could read his mind. “Let me deliver the afterbirth and get your wife cleaned up. She’s cuddling your son just as you are your daughter.”
He paced again, this time, joyful happy steps.
Looking down at his daughter, he said, “Who’s a lovely girl? You are. That’s who.”
He heard Jenny laugh, a delightful sound.
“Did you pick out names?” called out his mother-in-law.
“I hope you’re not giving them anything matching or even starting with the same letter,” Maggie said.
Eleanor, who’d remained silent in the stall, laughed. “Mags, what if they have already decided on Victor and Victoria?”
“They wouldn’t!” Maggie declared.
“No,” Jenny said. “We wouldn’t.” After a pause, she asked, “Simon, are you there?”
“Of course I’m here.”
“Would you be terribly upset if we do not choose their names until later?”
He sent a questioning look to John before shrugging.
“Wife, you may ask for any boon, and I shall grant it. If you want to call them Baby One and Baby Two for the rest of their lives, I will not stop you.”
Her delighted laughter enveloped him. And then the midwife appeared, holding pots and towels.
“You may see her now.”
He scrambled for the stall entrance, nearly bumping into Maggie and Eleanor as they vacated. He stood back, allowing Lady Blackwood to ease herself out from behind her eldest daughter.
“Gracious! I believe my legs will never unfold properly.” But she tottered forward, giving his arm a gentle squeeze and looking at her new granddaughter as she passed by. “Is there still some brandy?” she asked.
While the rest of the family celebrated, Simon snuggled down into the straw beside his wife.
Her family and the midwife had done wonders to tidy everything up, he noted, as if he couldn’t handle a little gore. Her gown was resting over her, protecting her modesty, and her hair was now in one thick braid across her shoulder.
“How do you feel?” he asked, then grimaced. “Sorry, that was the question of an absolute idiot.”
“No. I’m glad you asked. I know later I’ll feel sore, but right now, I’m ecstatic and rather proud of myself.”
He chuckled and kissed her forehead. “You cannot be as proud of you as I am.”
She glowed, looking up at him. “All right, let’s compare them,” she said.
Knowing what she meant, they rested the babies side-by-side, one on his lap, one on hers.
“Like two peas!” she said.
“Do not call my children tiny vegetables,” he joked. But they did look very similar.
“They certainly didn’t feel so tiny coming out,” Jenny remarked. “Would you pass me that cup?”
He handed her the water, and she gulped it down.
“Do you think we could go back to the main house now, wife? Or are you determined to spend all Christmas Day in the stables, as well?”
“Christmas Day?”
He nodded. “We’ve been here all night. As soon as Emily says you may move, I’ll carry you and both—”
“No,” Jenny said firmly. “My sisters can carry the babies. You may struggle with my girth, if you like. Or you may hitch up the wagon or—”
He silenced her with a kiss. “Thank you,” he whispered.
She smiled from ear-to-ear. “Merry Christmas, Lord Lindsey.”
He sighed. “Merry Christmas, Lady Lindsey.”
Chapter Six
“What if they decide on Mary and Christopher?” Eleanor asked.
Jenny overheard her youngest sister as Simon carried her into the great room where everyone had gathered around her beloved evergreen.
“As if!” she murmured to her husband before taking in the beauty of the setting. The tree was lit with a hundred candles and the tin ornaments sparkled like diamonds. It seemed impossible that a mere twenty-four hours earlier she’d stood looking outside, afraid for her family, and filled with worries that had proven to be utterly senseless.
She and Simon had slept most of Christmas, as had the Cambreys and even her mother and Eleanor. Only young cousins Lionel and Rosie had been awake for breakfast, looked after by the nanny, to whom Simon said he intended to give a massive bonus for her devotion. Plus, the woman was about to end up with two more charges, Baby One and Baby Two.
“Here they are!” John exclaimed, holding his little Rosie on his lap since his wife was currently cradling their infant niece.
It was after eight o’clock and almost time for the evening feast. They were gathered around the great tree precisely as Jenny had envisioned, all the adults drinking mulled wine. Her babies were in her sisters’ arms, sleeping. They hadn’t wanted to feed yet, though she’d tried to get each of the twins to latch on more than once during the day. She knew patience was in order at this stage. Emily would be back on the morrow to see how they were all doing.
Meanwhile, she would—
“Dear God,” Jenny interrupted her own thoughts. “Do I smell clove buns?”
As soon as Simon had her settled on the chaise longue brought in from the conservatory, her mother rose from the sofa and brought over the basket of sweet, baked treats.
“Your midwife sent them over earlier and said you were most fond.”
Tears sprang to Jenny’s eyes. “The baker fired up his ovens for us on Christmas. I cannot believe it!” She couldn’t fathom such kindness. Nonetheless, she could barely get the words out before she was stuffing an iced bun into her mouth, closing her eyes with bliss as she chewed.
“Careful, love, you’ll choke,” Simon warned as Lionel, seated on the floor, dropped his new toy train to rush over and raise his arms for his father to pick him up.
Jenny couldn’t help herself as she reached for another bun. “Mm, these are the reward for giving birth.”
Everyone burst out laughing.
“I’m sure your children will be delighted to know wher
e they stand,” Maggie told her. “Speaking of whom, out with their names. We’ve waited long enough.”
“First, where is Jasper?” Jenny asked.
“He’s enjoying yet another meal, I believe,” John said. “That boy will eat you out of house and home if you’re not careful. What are you going to do with him?”
She and Simon had discussed that already.
“Whatever Jasper wants,” Jenny said. “He can stay with us forever if he likes, or we will apprentice him to someone in Sheffield and pay his way if there is something he wishes to learn. But would someone mind bringing him in? I have a question for him, and I would dearly love to see his face again.”
In a very few minutes, young Jasper Shaw stood before her. Though he glanced nervously at the gathering of strangers, all observing him, to Jenny, he appeared markedly improved from the last time she’d laid eyes upon him. At least, the dark hollows under his eyes were gone.
“You look well-rested,” she said.
“Yes, Lady Jenny, and well fed, too. I thank you.”
“No, Master Shaw, I thank you for doing your duty and bringing me the help I needed.”
Jasper’s cheeks turned a pale pink.
She could tell he’d also had a bath, whether by his own design or by someone forcing him to it. His hair, which had been an indiscernible color the night before, now had a bright golden sheen, and his eyes were as blue as the sky on a September day. He wore clean clothing, probably from one of the stable boys. The overly long pantlegs were rolled up as were the sleeves. He was, in a word, adorable.
“Tell me Master Shaw, did you love your mother?”
He blinked in astonishment. “Yes, Lady Jenny. She was a loving mam.”
“And your father?”
He shook his fair head. “He was gone before ever I…well, I didn’t know him.”
She reached out a hand, and Jasper took it. “And your mother’s name?”
“Mrs. Shaw, my lady.”
He had a literal way about him, and Jenny couldn’t help grinning. “Her given name, I mean,” she clarified.
“Pamela,” Jasper said, eyeing the basket of buns still on Jenny’s lap.
