When they reached the track, with a daring look she dug her heels into her roan. Graham laughed again, letting her take the lead. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him follow.
They galloped down the long track, Prometheus barely breaking a sweat. Jillian's horse fell behind. As they reached the end, Graham let his mount slow to a trot and she joined him, panting from the vigorous exercise. A fine sheen of perspiration coated her brow beneath her dull gray hat.
"You have a fine seat," he told her. "You just need a better mount for a faster ride."
"But not before the wedding," she replied.
The duke threw back his head and laughed. Jillian flushed from both the exertion of her ride and the daring of her little joke. She glanced around and realized other riders were staring with avid curiosity.
They left the track and Jillian held out a hand.
"Would you help me, Your Grace? I need to resume my seat."
With effortless grace, the duke slid off his stallion. He helped her dismount, his large warm hands curling about her waist. A shiver raced through her. Bending over, he linked his hands together, helping her to mount the sidesaddle. Jillian arranged her skirts and took up the reins.
They rode back to where Jasmine had left them. As they approached the small stand of oak, they saw a defiant figure in a mussed green riding habit standing beside a pony. Graham's momentary enjoyment collapsed as he stared at his niece. Jasmine marched toward them as they dismounted. He noted with alarm her clothing was stained with grass and dirt, her face set in a mask of unhappiness.
"What happened?" Jillian cried.
"I was very polite, as you said, Uncle Graham—until the Honorable Tommy Wallenford arrived. He called me an ugly Arabian mare." Jasmine's lower lip jutted out in defiance. "So I did what you did. I gave him a facer and told him, ‘I'm a filly, you stupid sod! I'm too young to be a mare!' "
Graham couldn't help a chuckle, but then he gave her a serious look. This would not help things. "Young ladies do not punch boys, Jasmine. If you wish to fit in, you will not hit anyone again."
His niece's face fell. She nodded glumly.
Jillian leaned over her mount and said, "But I'll wager that facer was worth it, wasn't it?"
Jasmine's crestfallen expression brightened. She gave a cheeky grin and nodded.
Graham studied his intended, who was clearly good with children. At least Jasmine had taken an instant liking to her.
"Come to the house and meet my brother and sister-in-law," he suggested.
Jillian hesitated. "I'm not sure that would be proper."
His hand snaked out and snagged her reins, then tied them to his saddle. "Now you have no choice. Follow me."
Jillian protested as he trotted to the gate and they were met by her beaming groom. "I cannot—not like this!"
Graham shook his head. "No worries. They don't stand on ceremony."
"But I smell like horses," she complained.
"A delightful perfume. They like horses. They're from Arabia, land of the horse, remember?"
Jillian's exasperated groan mingled with the husky tenor of his laughter.
Chapter Seven
Despite it being his suggestion, Graham felt unusually tense as he introduced Jillian to Kenneth and Badra. He'd stripped Jillian of her damned bodyguard, leaving the groom in the stables.
They now stood in the informal drawing room, Jillian looking self-conscious in her dusty riding habit. Both Kenneth and Badra gave her steady, assessing looks. Graham became intensely aware of Badra's darker skin, her immense rounded belly; Jillian's pale white skin, her very English, albeit shabby, gray riding habit. He noted the differences between his little family and her, and the intense scrutiny Kenneth accorded her. He saw his brother's blue eyes devour Jillian and knew Kenneth's thoughts.
An earl's daughter selling her virginity in a whorehouse. Perhaps this was a mistake.
But Badra gave a friendly smile and held out her hand. "I'm so pleased to meet you, Lady Jillian. I look forward to becoming better acquainted, and I hope we can be friends," she said. Her expression was earnest, her words spoken in perfect, if accented, English. Graham tensed. If Jillian failed to accept his sister-in-law and snubbed her as others did...
Jillian visibly relaxed. "I also look forward to it, Lady Tristan. I've been eager to meet Jasmine's mother. She's quite an intelligent little girl."
A beaming smile broke out over the little girl's elfin face. "And I give an excellent facer."
Badra shot Graham a questioning look. "What is a facer?"
Graham reddened. "Something Jasmine won't do again if she wishes to learn to become a proper young English lady."
"I'm afraid I'll never be a proper young English lady, Uncle Graham," Jasmine said cheerfully. "But I will try to be more like Lady Jillian."
Jillian's smile wobbled. "Be yourself, Jasmine. There is more to life than aspiring to be like me."
Kenneth gave her a thoughtful look.
Graham didn't like the calculating assessment in his brother's eyes. He glared. His niece tilted her head, looking very confused.
"I wish I were a horse. It seems so much simpler than being a girl."
Jillian gave a choked laugh, but Badra grimaced, putting a hand to her daughter's back. "If you'll excuse me, I'm afraid I must retire." She grimaced again, and Kenneth sprang to her side.
"Are you all right, my love?"
"Just some back pain I've had all night."
Kenneth murmured some excuses and they left. Jasmine's wide-eyed gaze met Jillian's. "My mother's going to have a baby soon. I can't wait to have a brother or sister. It will be better than when I saw my cat having kittens." She turned to Graham with an earnest expression. "Do you think I can watch, Uncle Graham?"
Graham ran a finger along his too-tight collar. "Uh, I don't think that would be wise, Jasmine."
"Why?" she demanded.
"Er, these matters are usually reserved for females."
"I'm a female," she pointed out.
A dull flush covered Graham's cheeks. His helpless gaze sought Jillian's. She offered only a serene smile.
"Older females," he explained.
"But I know how babies are made. So why can't I see how they are born?" The girl turned to Jillian. "Would you like to know how babies are made, Lady Jillian? I saw it with horses. First—"
"Jasmine, young ladies do not discuss such matters," Graham interjected.
Jillian flashed him a wicked smile. To his niece she said, "There is time enough for such discussions when you are much older."
"Maybe when I'm ten?"
"Maybe when you're forty, like your papa would want," Graham put in, and tickled her ribs. Jasmine screeched with laughter.
Suddenly, a harsh female scream ripped the air and Kenneth yelled down the hallway, "Graham, Badra's water just broke! Call the doctor!"
The blood drained from Graham's face. "Lady Jillian, stay here with Jasmine," he ordered.
For a wild moment he wanted to bolt from the house. Instead, he ran for the telephone. With trembling fingers, he picked up the receiver and called the physician. Dread shot through him as the doctor's housekeeper relayed that the man was at his club, but she assured Graham she would send a servant to fetch him immediately.
"Do it. Find him and bring him over, now," Graham barked into the phone, then he hung up.
Another harsh cry stung his ears. Graham raced upstairs, darting into Badra's bedchamber, and ground to a halt She was sitting on the bed, Kenneth sitting beside her, the two equally pale and distressed. Badra's scared, wide-eyed gaze found his.
"The baby's coming. I thought it was just back pain, but my water broke."
Graham felt a jolt of dizzying alarm. "Right this minute? He can't come now—Dr. Andrews is out!"
The housekeeper rushed into the room. Graham turned to her, urgency in his voice. "Mrs. White, can you deliver a baby?"
Her eyes widened. "I've never done it before."
Badra
uttered another moan and Kenneth went even paler, clutching her hand. "Have you ever delivered a baby?" he asked Graham.
"I've delivered a camel," Graham admitted, feeling a cold sweat break out on his back. "It can't be much different, right?"
Badra glared at him. "I'm not a camel!"
"Of course not, my love," Kenneth soothed.
Distress filled her face. "If I can't have Dr. Andrews, then I want to give birth the old way. Look under the bed."
Kenneth shot her a bewildered look, but he dropped to his knees and rooted beneath the massive four-poster. Slowly he stood, two dark mud bricks in his hand. Elaborate hieroglyphs were etched on the sides. Recognizing them, Graham drew in a breath.
"Birthing bricks," he said.
Badra looked at her husband. "Yes, Khepri," she said beseechingly, using his Arabic name. "Squatting on the bricks. Just as I birthed Jasmine."
Kenneth's mouth hung open as he set the bricks down. "Y-you agreed to my request for an English doctor. You told me you wanted to give birth as an English wife did."
"If I can't have the doctor, then I want this. Please," she whispered. "I'm so scared. I need the familiar." Tears shimmered in her eyes and she grimaced, holding her stomach. Another contraction? Graham slowly counted, feeling rising panic as he realized how close the pains were.
Kenneth gave the housekeeper a desperate look. She backed off, arms waving in the air. "No, my lord. I can't. I don't know heathen ways of birthing. I've only attended one birth, and that was a proper English delivery, the mother lying on a bed. And no men were present. It's indecent, what she wants."
A low growl rumbled from Graham's chest. "Mrs. White, other cultures have different customs. That does not make them indecent. On the contrary, the method of birthing she describes has been used for thousands of years. If this is what Badra wants, then she'll have it. I'll deliver the baby."
Three astonished heads swung toward him. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and added, "I saw such a birth." Badra looked hopeful. Kenneth looked doubtful. Mrs. White looked scandalized.
"A duke acting as a midwife!" the housekeeper sputtered.
Graham racked his brain, remembering. "We'll need two people, one on either side, Badra, to support you as you push."
Kenneth kissed his wife's cheek "I'll take your right side, my love. I won't leave you." Then they all glanced at the stricken housekeeper, who shook her head.
"It's shocking and improper. This is women's business!"
Graham gave the woman a hard stare. "A man helped create the child, so that makes it a man's business as well. Now stop squawking and assist." His voice, low and quiet, carried the lash of command. With great satisfaction, he saw her recoil.
"I'm s-sorry, Your Grace," she stammered. "What do you want me to do?"
Graham took a deep breath, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart. "I'll deliver the baby the way the viscountess desires. In between pains, she'll lie on the bed and you must tend to her. I want her to rest as much as possible to save her strength for the delivery. I'll need your help to coach me through. Oh—and cleanliness, Mrs. White. Do not touch the viscountess without washing your hands."
He jammed a hand through his hair, doubtful he could entirely count on Mrs. White. However, he wanted her there should anything go wrong. Women died in childbirth. If anything happened to Badra...
He couldn't worry about that. He closed his eyes, recreating a scene he'd eavesdropped upon years ago in the al-Hajid camp. "We'll need fresh straw and linens. We'll deliver the baby in my bedchamber—it's more comfortable and private."
"Only the heirs to the duchy are born there. It's tradition," Kenneth protested.
Graham gave his brother an even look. "I'm well aware of that."
The chubby-faced housekeeper gaped. "Straw, Your Grace? The viscountess is giving birth. She's not an animal!"
He leveled a hard look at her. "Ring for the footmen and order fresh straw delivered to my bedchamber." She swallowed a protest and went to the bell pull.
Kenneth very gently lifted his wife into his arms, following Graham to the ducal bedchamber. Inside the room, Graham set the bricks on the antique Persian carpeting rather than the polished wood floor to keep them from sliding. Badra grimaced as Kenneth settled her onto the bed.
Looking at Mrs. White, Graham decided they needed another woman to support Badra as she delivered, one who could keep her wits about her and refrain from being severe and condemning. Jillian? Could he ask her to do something this personal? She was his future wife. Best they both learn if she could rise to a crisis. He looked at Kenneth, who was remarkably pale but calm.
"Talk her through the pain. Take deep breaths," he advised.
The viscount sucked in air.
"Not you! Your wife," he hissed. "She'll need to get undressed. Totally."
Kenneth gave him a blank look. "You want my wife to give birth naked?"
No, in a ball gown. Graham rolled his eyes. "Help her undress. I'll be back."
He sped down to the formal drawing room. He ground to a halt in the doorway, seeing Jillian sitting on the settee, Jasmine clutching her hand and looking scared. Seeing the way she talked soothingly to the child gave him fresh hope.
"I need your help, Lady Jillian," he said roughly. "Badra is in labor and we're going to deliver her baby. The physician is unavailable."
Jasmine bounced up and down on the seat. "Mama's having my sister or brother," she sang.
But panic flared in Jillian's large green eyes. "Me, Your Grace? I've no experience birthing babies!"
"All you need do is stay at Badra's side, support her weight and encourage her. She needs another woman."
"Surely the housekeeper..."
"Mrs. White is needed to assist me in delivering the baby."
Jillian's fingers gripped her seat cushion. "You don't know me. What if I'm the type to fall to pieces? Or swoon?"
His gaze was steady and unwavering. "You're not. I can see it in you. I need you. Badra needs you."
A scream ripped through the house. Jasmine stopped bouncing and looked scared. Worry scrunched her elfin face.
"Mama? Is my mama going to be all right?" she whispered.
Jillian put an arm about the child. "It's all right, Jasmine. It's perfectly normal and natural, and there's nothing to fear." She smiled, patted the girl's hand and drew herself up. "Tell me what I must do."
Relief flooded Graham. "Come with me."
And they left, Jasmine insisting on accompanying them.
For all her life, Jillian had longed to be needed, an active participant in life instead of a silent, gray observer. She had never anticipated being needed to help birth a baby.
Sweat dampened her clammy palms as she scurried down the hall behind the duke, whose long stride never slowed. At a room at the end of the corridor, he twisted the brass doorknob and went inside. Jasmine scampered after him. Jillian hesitated.
Courage. She sucked in a breath and joined them.
The dark-haired, beautifully exotic Lady Tristan lay on an enormous bed, its majestic headboard carved with the ducal crest. Her husband sat beside her, gripping her hand. She wore only a man's large shirt, knotted below her breasts. From the waist down she was naked, her legs spread. A dark thatch of curly hair showed below her immense belly.
A fierce blush heated Jillian's cheeks. She had never seen another naked woman, nor participated in anything so private. And so scandalous; two men with her who were not physicians!
Then she noticed the worried look of the viscount, and the grim set of Graham's jaw and the lady's own fear. What did propriety matter in such a crisis?
Badra suddenly moaned like an animal in pain. Her face contorted.
"Deep breaths, Badra," Graham advised. "Talk her through the pain, Kenneth."
As the viscount slipped an arm about his wife, crooning, the stern-faced housekeeper bent between Badra's legs. She put her hand into—goodness!
"He's coming, Your Grace.
Better hurry," Mrs. White said.
The duke removed his pin-striped coat and swiftly unbuttoned and stripped off his gray waistcoat, tossing both onto a nearby chair. He rolled up the sleeves of his immaculate white shirt. A handful of worried footmen scurried into the room, carrying armfuls of straw. They dumped it between the bricks as the duke instructed, stole a quick glance at the woman on the bed and hurriedly left.
Jasmine went to the bed. Her lower lip wobbled precariously. "Mama? Are you all right?"
The duke gently pushed her away. "She'll be fine, little one. Now, can you do something for me to help your mama?"
Her large, solemn gaze held his. "What, Uncle Graham?"
"I want you to go downstairs and wait for the doctor. As soon as the butler lets him in, I need you to send him upstairs. I need someone I can rely on. Can you do it?"
Jasmine glanced doubtfully at her mother. Graham squeezed her shoulder. "It's all right. Your father and I will make sure nothing happens to her. I promise."
The little girl frowned. "When my cat had kittens, we put her in a nice box with a blanket. Shouldn't you get mama a box?"
Jillian almost laughed. But the duke smiled gently at his young niece and said, "It's different than your cat."
"You mean, she isn't going to lick my new brother or sister like Cleo did?"
"She'll be fine, Jasmine. Now, say good-bye to your mother and go downstairs. We really need your help."
The child kissed her mother, then cast a dubious look over her shoulder and trotted off. Graham vanished into the water closet to scrub his hands.
Feeling out of place in her riding habit, Jillian removed her faded gray outer jacket and hat, carefully placing them on the dresser. But Lady Tristan looked relieved to see her.
When another low moan rippled out, the housekeeper announced the baby was coming. The duke returned from washing up, and they moved Badra to the bricks.
As Graham instructed, Jillian stood beside the laboring mother, who squatted on the bricks. Bending, she slipped an arm around Badra's waist, holding her upright.
The duke crouched before his sister-in-law, his hands positioned beneath the lady's bottom as he made encouraging noises. "You're doing splendidly, Badra. Keep pushing, gently."
The Panther & the Pyramid (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) Page 10
