I held out my hand and he gripped it, hard. Mrs. Rooke had tied my hair back in a severe knot, and the gown I wore was sweat-stained and severely creased, but Richard didn’t concern himself with those matters. He gazed into my eyes and held my hand, murmuring words of love and encouragement.
“She seems past the worst now, my lord. You might wish to leave,” Mrs. Rooke said, more calmly.
He spared her a glance. “I stay.” Such was his tone that nobody asked him again. He turned his attention to me, and I fear I abused him dreadfully before the first baby came. A boy. I heard the lusty cry and rejoiced, but in the middle of renewed agony, I couldn’t hold the child or take any interest in him other than gaining the reassurance that the child was small, but healthy.
I cried out again, despite my determination to bear the pain for Richard’s sake, and he bathed my face in cold water. “Rose, I love you. Don’t let go, keep pushing. I’ll never put you through this again, I swear it!”
At the time I would have responded that I’d make sure of it, but then another pain gripped me, this one with more purpose. It seared deep inside my body, wrenching my muscles into obedience to bear down, hard, and rid myself of this intruder.
“Yes!” The triumphant cry from Simpson told me I’d succeeded in crowning the child. A couple of hard pushes later, and I was done.
Another cry, not so lusty, and then more pain. “What?” Richard demanded, his voice filled with terror. “What is it?”
“Another. Triplets.”
Richard gave a strangled cry before he restrained his reaction and turned to me with a wry smile. I knew he’d forced it, but I appreciated the effort. “Can you manage another, sweetheart?”
This time I found it easier and guessed the reason why. A small, sickly sibling to the two lusty boys currently bawling their hearts out. I was right. The resulting cry was feeble, and my heart went out to the third child neither of us had even suspected existed.
I fell back against the pillows, sweating, and waiting for the verdict. “You’re done,” Simpson pronounced. Mrs. Rooke presented me with three wrapped bundles, but I only had two arms, so I made do with the first two and Richard took the tiny one. I wanted to give him everything if only he’d live. I held my children, gave Richard one of the two eldest and took the tiny one.
“Lancelot,” I said.
“Hm?”
“He’s a valiant knight.”
“Then he shall be whatever you wish,” he said. “My love, thank you. For this, for everything. You will not do this again, I will make sure of it.”
I knew then that he’d made up his mind, and I couldn’t be sorry, although I knew that nothing was certain in this life.
Even my life.
After I’d received the congratulations of my immediate family and Richard had gone to organise another wet-nurse, because one would not do anymore, I slept the sleep of the exhausted, feeling smug and happy, if very sore.
A day later I woke to a world of heat and light and very little else. I knew something was wrong, but I had no idea what that something was. I fought and cried and demanded, or so I’m told, because not much memory remained of that terrible time when I finally awoke, more tired than I can ever remember feeling.
Richard was there. He’d had a truckle bed moved into the room and never left me, day or night. In the hot summer nights he opened all the windows and bathed me to bring down the temperature that could have killed me. Without his care I doubt I’d have survived.
I awoke and spoke his name. He was sitting in his shirtsleeves, his head bowed low, his hands over his face. When I spoke he looked up, tears staining his countenance, but I thought I’d never seen anything so wonderful. “How are the babies?”
“Thriving. Even the little one seems well.”
“I want to see them.”
“In a little while. Do you think you could take some liquid if I raise you up?”
My body felt as if it had been through a clothes-mangle. Several times. But with his help, I struggled up against the pillows and took several sips of the lemon-flavoured barley water that he poured from a pitcher on the bedside table. The drapes of the bed had been swung up and tied out of the way, and much of my room was clear of furniture to make room for the small bed, its sheets rumpled, where Richard had lain. I had vague memories of my calling his name. It had never gone unanswered.
I rested against him, savouring the warm, hard flesh and the comfort of another person. “What day is it?”
“Friday.”
Shocked, I turned my head to meet his gaze. I’d given birth on Thursday. “I’ve been insensible for a day?”
“A week.” He held me close, then loosened his hold so I could take a few more sips of the drink. “Now you must eat and grow strong again.”
“The babies?”
“I’ll have them brought to you after you’ve slept.”
No, I wanted them now. I fretted, so he had no choice but to send for them. I met the new wet-nurse, one Mackintosh, as well as Campbell, the unfortunate maidservant we’d originally hired to help me feed my babies. She’d had her infant a month before and was now full of milk. I feared I would not have the felicity of feeding the babies from my own breasts. I’d been a week away, fighting this illness that could have killed me, time enough for my own milk ducts to begin to dry up. But I held the boys and loved them. They gurgled, cried and I insisted that I saw them at least once a day. I made Richard and the nurses promise before I dropped into sleep.
Richard didn’t leave me. At one point he swore he’d never leave me again, which made me laugh for the first time since I’d had the fever.
Mr. Simpson said I’d had childbed fever, and for two days they’d despaired of me, but Richard had stayed by my side, threatening, cajoling and pleading with me, and I’d survived. I remembered very little except for his voice, the discomfort, and disjointed, nonsensical thoughts.
Sometimes I’d wake up to find him watching me, a pensive expression on his face. Every time I woke, he seemed to wake, and I knew without anyone saying anything how much he cared, and how I’d come close to death. Many women died of puerperal fever. I’d been very lucky. I didn’t need anyone to tell me.
My family came as soon as Richard allowed me to have visitors. Even Lady Southwood made an appearance and gave me grudging congratulations. I had, after all, provided the heir, the spare and an extra in one birthing.
After an additional four days in bed I made Nichols dress me so I could sit by the window on a large chaise they’d had brought up from the parlour. I felt like a prisoner, cut off from the world, but at least I could watch now. After initial annoyance, Richard understood, and I pointed out to him that he couldn’t keep me wrapped up in bed forever.
“I can try,” he said. He sat next to me and held my hand. “In fact, I want to talk to you about that. How would you feel about a trip abroad?”
“With the children?”
He laughed. “My mother will protest, but yes, with the children. You’ve been very good, having Helen in here every day. Don’t imagine I don’t know how tired you are sometimes.”
“It annoys me. I can’t get as much done. I’ve spent some time with my gardening books, though.” I paused. “That reminds me. How is Steven? I was afraid he’d fall by the wayside after the trial.”
“He’s still in the country with Mr. Cartwright. They’re trying to redress the little that Julia left.”
“I never thought she’d end on the gallows.”
He sighed and glanced out of the window. Looking at life, the people walking down the street, the chairmen grumbling at the people getting in the way, a carriage or two passing by. All sights that Julia would never see again. “I did, but only towards the end, when you showed me her true nature. I’ve never met anyone so self-centred that they seemed unable to see anyone else as a person. That was it, I think. To Julia, we were all things. She couldn’t link us with them. She even enjoyed her own hanging, right up to the last part.�
�
“You went?”
He swallowed and nodded. “I dressed down. Nobody recognised me, but I thought I owed her something.”
“You gave her justice.”
“She did that to herself. I couldn’t let her continue, couldn’t let her kill indiscriminately.”
“And John?”
“Hopefully the Navy will help him come to terms with what he is, rather than what he wants to be. He’ll come back to a different name.”
A notion struck me, one I hadn’t considered before. “What if he wants to come back as John Kneller?”
“To create more trouble?” He gave me a wry smile and squeezed my hand. “He’s legally dead, and there’s nothing left of the money that his mentor left him. And that’s another reason I want to take you away. Gervase can deal with any unpleasantness. He wants Susan to stay with him, you know.” He grinned. “Our mother was furious when he claimed her. Did you know that?”
I shook my head. “I thought she’d welcome it.”
“No. Luckily Susan had one keeper for most of her disreputable career, but she can face any accusers down. Gervase plans to introduce her, to find her a husband, if she wants one. He’s turning into an anxious mama before my eyes.”
I laughed. “And Ian. When he came to see me, he talked about Susan. She’s enchanted both of them, I think.”
“Gervase has lent us his yacht,” said Richard. “If we want to use it. We planned a honeymoon on our yacht, do you remember?”
“It was never ours, always yours. It exploded before we could use it.” Julia again, causing trouble, trying to destroy what she couldn’t have.
“This one won’t. It’s larger than mine, a seagoing vessel, but since Gervase won his seat in Parliament, he’s not used it.” He smiled, and I was glad to see it. He hadn’t smiled much recently. “How would you like to winter in Lisbon?”
“And visit Lizzie? Oh, Richard!” I threw myself into his arms and covered his face with kisses, making him laugh while he disentangled himself. “When do we leave?”
“When you’re better. We might think about leaving in late September. Then we’ll winter at their estate and in Lisbon, and come back in the spring.”
It sounded wonderful. Lisbon didn’t have the hard winters that we had in England. I’d visit my sister, who I missed very much, and keep Richard happy by resting in the sun. And we’d have our children with us. All four of them.
Lisbon sounded good to me.
About the Author
LYNNE CONNOLLY HAS the best job in the world. She writes historical, paranormal and contemporary romance and she doesn’t seem to be able to stop. She has won a number of awards, including two EPPIES, and she lives in damp, rainy England with her family and her mews.
Once a year she crosses the ocean to visit friends, attend conventions and other shindigs, and promote her books, so watch her blog if you want to meet her. She loves travelling and meeting people who she will then use in her books, but then, authors are like that.
Her website is at http://lynneconnolly.com
You can email her at [email protected]
She tweets @lynneconnolly
Her Facebook is at https://www.facebook.com/lynneconnollyuk
And her blog is here: http://lynneconnolly.blogspot.co.uk/
One day she’ll grow up and get a proper job, but not just yet!
Look for these titles
Triple Countess:
Last Chance, My Love
A Chance to Dream
Met by Chance
A Betting Chance
Secrets Trilogy:
Seductive Secrets
Alluring Secrets
Tantalizing Secrets
Richard and Rose:
Yorkshire
Devonshire
Venice
Harley Street
Eyton
Hareton Hall
Maiden Lane
Lisbon
The Emperors of London
Rogue in Red Velvet
Temptation Has Green Eyes
Danger Wears White
Dilemma in Yellow Silk
Reckless In Pink
Veiled In Blue
Wild Lavender
The Shaws
Fearless
Sinless
Dauntless
Boundless
Even Gods Fall In Love
Lightning Unbound
Mad For Love
Arrows of Desire
Forged By Love
War Chest
Her Quicksilver Lover
Single Titles
It Started at Waterloo
Dreaming of Waterloo
Uncovering Vanessa
Counterfeit Countess
Maybe Tomorrow
Loving Lucy
Seducing Laura
Don’t miss out!
Click the button below and you can sign up to receive emails whenever Lynne Connolly publishes a new book. There’s no charge and no obligation.
https://books2read.com/r/B-A-RUE-ZQSR
Connecting independent readers to independent writers.
Did you love Maiden Lane? Then you should read Lisbon by Lynne Connolly!
They can escape winter’s cold, but their nemesis has a long, icy reach.Richard and Rose, Book 8On a ship bound for Portugal with her children and the man she loves, Rose should be blissfully happy. Except Richard treats her like she’s made of porcelain. She’s recovered from the childbed fever that nearly killed her, yet he won’t share her bed and it’s driving her mad.To win him back body and soul, she resolves to use every wicked, seductive trick he’s taught her. Until a possible attempted murder on board puts them both on alert for the trouble that seems to dog their every move.Richard is almost relieved to have something to investigate. He loves Rose too much to risk losing her—which is exactly what could happen if he gets her pregnant again. When it becomes clear a series of accidents is no such thing, they realize an old enemy has caught up with them.It’s imperative for Richard and Rose to work together to defeat this foe, but their new distance could prove their undoing. Especially when Mother Nature conspires to make them endure one last, desperate test of their love…
Read more at Lynne Connolly’s site.
Maiden Lane Page 25
