19 July 1818
Aylesbury Manor
Buckinghamshire
“MILES!”
Miles hovered outside his wife’s door, his face ashen. The midwife had forbidden him entrance to the birthing room, insisting that giving birth was women’s work and that men would only get in the way. But Rebecca’s screams were getting louder and more shrill and he was beginning to fear that his worst nightmare—that of losing her in childbirth—might be coming true. The babe she carried seemed far too large for her small frame.
“Get in here, Miles! Can’t you hear her calling your name?”
The door opened and Miles was unceremoniously pulled into the room by his outspoken sister-in-law.
Miles dashed to Rebecca’s side and clasped her hand. “I’m here, darling.”
Rebecca tried to raise her head, but fell back against the pillows, managing only a weak smile. Her head was drenched in sweat, sodden tendrils of loose hair pasted on her temples and neck. His sense of panic intensified as another spasm had her lifting herself on her elbows and screaming in pain. He felt so helpless.
“What can I do?” he asked Arabella, eyebrows drawn together.
She turned her face heavenward as though asking for patience. “Get your arm behind her and support her so that she can focus her strength on pushing the babe out. She’s been in hard labor for hours already and hasn’t much left.”
She took a quick glance to make sure he was following her instructions, and then joined the midwife to check on the babe’s progress. “It’s coming! Keep pushing, Rebecca, it’ll all be over soon. Goodness, what a big head! Like his giant oaf of a father, no doubt.”
By this time, Miles paid no heed to his sister-in-law’s ill-temper. He had, in fact, come to expect it from her. It was just Arabella’s way. Of course, he greatly preferred Alice, but as she was herself expecting to be confined soon, and Mrs. MacPherson was recuperating from influenza in County Durham, it was Arabella or no one. And Arabella had her agreeable side, he was learning. She genuinely cared for her little sister, in spite of some of her sardonic comments, and she had formed a rather astonishing bond with the dowager duchess, as her own mother-in-law was also afflicted with the wasting disease.
Miles felt Rebecca’s body tense up and give a final effort before collapsing against him.
Arabella and the midwife shrieked. “It’s a girl!”
Miles felt a giant relief as his daughter gave a boisterous cry. His daughter! He looked down at Rebecca, who was looking tired but joyful against the pillow and they smiled at each other.
Arabella brought over the little girl wrapped in a blanket—Ella Marie Charlotte Framingham, after both of her grandmothers and the late Princess Charlotte who had tragically perished with her son the previous autumn—and handed her to Miles, who placed her in her mother’s arms.
“She’s beautiful—just like her mother,” Miles said, exchanging a tender look with his wife as they gazed at their daughter.
“How absurd!” broken in Arabella. “They’re both tired and cranky and in need of a good scrubbing. Why don’t we leave the rest to the experts—” indicating the midwife and two hovering maids “—and celebrate in the library with a bottle of port.”
She put her hands on her hips. “I assume you do have decent port, do you not? Being a duke and all?”
Miles stared at her. You just never knew what Arabella was going to do or say.
He turned to Rebecca, who answered his unspoken question. “Go, Miles I’ll be fine. In a little while after I’ve had a rest, we can sit together with our daughter and carry on about her beautiful perfections.”
Miles squeezed her hand and gave her a peck on the forehead before offering his arm to Arabella.
“Shall we?
“Undoubtedly,” said Arabella, as she slipped her arm in his. “I suppose your butler knows the proper way to open a bottle of port? Because if it isn’t properly done with heated tongs and ice water, the sediment will be disturbed and the bottle will be rendered useless for weeks and weeks. It takes a very steady hand as well, you know. I wonder if your own butler isn’t too old manage it. Perhaps with the help of the footman…?”
Miles turned and winked at Rebecca, who disguised a giggle with her hand over her mouth.
He felt at ease with the world. Arabella wasn’t so bad once you became accustomed to her jarring frankness. But it was the third MacPherson sister who had given his life purpose and meaning and who made every day a new adventure. And now, with a beautiful daughter, he counted himself the luckiest bloke in the world.
Author Bio
Susana has always had stories in her head waiting to come out, especially when she learned to read and her imagination began to soar. Voracious reading led to a passion for writing, and her fascination with romance and people of the past landed her firmly in the field of historical romance.
A teacher in her former life, Susana lives in Toledo, Ohio in the summer and central Florida in the winter. She is a member of the Central Florida Romance Writers and the Beau Monde chapters of RWA and Maumee Valley Romance Inc.
Check out her website for her other books.
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