A Very Ruby Christmas

by Lavinia Kent

  “Not yet, but she has been called,” Simms replied. “I will go fetch the linens.” He turned and left.

  A husky male voice intruded from the bed. “I am sure it will all be fine. Now put on your dress and I will lace you quickly. You will worry far less once you see your sister. Until then you will do nothing but fret, and there is no reason for delay.”

  She turned to Derek, still lying sprawled on the bed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “I know, but I’ve never been a deep sleeper,” he replied, sitting up.

  Ruby dropped her robe and pulled yesterday’s dress on over her chemise. She turned her back to Derek and let him yank the laces tight. It was not the appropriate dress to wear to a birthing room, but she didn’t care. “Will you be coming?” she asked.

  “I hardly think your sister will want me there.”

  Ruby wanted to ask, What about what I want, but restrained herself. Jasmine was all that mattered right now; she must remember that. “I do hope that nothing goes wrong.”

  Derek stood, stretching, his arms over his head.

  For the briefest of moments, she admired his heavily muscled physique. Another shake of her head. “I will be going.” She headed for the door.

  “Ruby.” His voice stopped her. “I am here for you even if I am not in the room. I will head down to the library and pour a whiskey. Join me there when you have made sure all is in order. I have a feeling it will be a long night.”

  “She may want me to stay with her.”

  “And if she does, then that is what you should do. But if you find yourself standing in a corner and fretting, come down and join me. I’ve survived the births of several of my sister’s children, but it is never easy—even for an uncle.”

  She nodded and left.

  —

  “Frolicking fruitcakes. Frolicking fruitcakes!”

  Ruby could only stare at Jasmine as what were clearly the worst curses the girl knew left her lips.

  “Simms says you waited to call for help. That you were trying to hold the baby back.” She reached out and patted her sister’s brow, wishing there were a way to take the pain away.

  Jasmine let out several more curses and then lay back as the wave of pain passed. “That would be a foolish thing to do. Even I know that a baby comes when it comes.”

  Ruby noticed she did not actually deny the charge. “Yes, it would be. How long has it been since the pain started?”

  “About—”

  Ruby cut her off. “And tell me the truth. It is important we let the midwife know when she comes.”

  Jasmine closed her mouth and then began again. “About twelve hours, but in the beginning it felt more like the ache from eating too many sweets than actual pain, and then my back began to hurt, and then it was more like the experience of dining on bad fish, and then—”

  “I think I understand.”

  “Fruitcake!” Jasmine screamed, another pain taking her.

  That could not be good. Ruby had seen only a few births; most girls left the house long before their time came upon them, but there had been a couple, and then there’d been a kitchen maid who had no place else to go. Ruby did know that the closer the pains came, the sooner the baby arrived, and there had been barely a minute between one of Jasmine’s screams and the next.

  She turned to Cook, who stood by the fire, placing more coal upon it. Surely the older woman had more experience than she did.

  Cook grimaced. “I’ve seen my share of births, I admit, but I’ve helped only once, and”—she lowered her voice—“that one did not end well.”

  Ruby was trying hard not to think about that. Many mothers did not survive the childbed, and she’d heard far too many tales of babies born tiny and blue. And from what Jasmine had said, the birth should not be happening for another month or more.

  Prayer. It was time for prayer. And perhaps whiskey. She should have asked Derek to send her up a drink.

  Jasmine’s fingers dug into Ruby’s arm, but she did not cry out again. Ruby placed a hand over her sister’s tight fingers, wishing she could do more to comfort the girl, wishing there were magic words she could say.

  The pain seemed to go on and on, Jasmine’s eyes almost rolling back in her head. Ruby could see the tight knot of her belly under the sheet.

  “Should we take a look?” she asked Cook.

  Cook seemed as if she didn’t want to answer, but after a moment she came forward and began to peel up the sheet from the foot of the bed. “We will need to change the bedding anyway.”

  As if prompted by the words, Simms entered, his arms laden with linens. “Can you see the baby yet? She looks like she’s near.”

  Cook stopped her movements at his entrance.

  “How can you tell?” Ruby turned to her porter. She would never have expected he would be the font of wisdom in this situation.

  “You just can,” Simms answered. “They get a certain look about them—although sometimes if that happens and the baby does not come…”

  Ruby glanced at Jasmine, worried that Simms’s words had reached her ears, but the pain was still upon her and clearly nothing else mattered.

  A moment later the pain finally passed and Jasmine went limp upon the bed, exhausted.

  Cook began to remake the bed about her, much more comfortable with the housekeeping than with the birth.

  As soon as the linens were settled, Simms stared at Ruby expectantly. It was time to see what was happening, although what she was supposed to do then, she was not sure.

  Moving from the head of the bed down toward the foot, she said a quick prayer. When this was done she would talk to Mrs. Hudson more fully and learn more of these matters. She was always ranting about how society did not do enough to educate women about their own bodies, but she had failed in this regard herself. With some trepidation she began to lift the clean sheet. Glancing up at her sister, she sought some hint of embarrassment, but the poor girl was beyond all such cares.

  Ruby did know that twelve hours was not an exceptionally long labor, but obviously the hard physical aspects of labor were more than Jasmine was accustomed to.

  Enough procrastination. Ruby pulled back the sheet—and another pain hit Jasmine. Her legs tensed and her hips rose slightly from the bed; her belly was one hard ball that seemed to be trying to collapse in upon itself. And—and—was that hair? Dark hair nestled within Jasmine’s blond?

  It was.

  Before Ruby could think more, the door burst open. Mrs. Hudson, in all her brisk efficiency, had arrived.

  “Move away, girl,” she ordered Ruby as if she were a child. “Let me see what needs to be done. Ah, that’s a good sign. I am always afraid I’ll see a foot. Nothing worse than a foot.”

  “Frolicking fruitcakes!” Jasmine’s scream rocked the room.

  “I think you want to push.” She turned to Ruby. “What’s her name? It always works best to use names at these moments.”

  “Jasmine.”

  “Jasmine. It’s time for you to push. I know you want to, but I also know that you’re feeling too tired.”

  Jasmine nodded but did not answer, her teeth biting deeply into an already marked lip.

  Mrs. Hudson nodded back. “Your body knows what to do, but you have to help it. If you work on that push, then it will all be over soon. I know that you want that. And you”—she turned to Simms—“bring me some warm water and good soap. I’ll want to be ready to clean the babe.”

  Jasmine nodded more vigorously, and then Ruby could see her try to bear down.

  Mrs. Hudson placed a hand on the girl’s belly and seemed to be helping.

  More hair appeared.

  And then more.

  And then—Ruby could never quite recall how it happened, beyond a few more loud screams—it was over.

  The small baby lay almost quiet between Jasmine’s legs.

  More prayers formed in Ruby’s mind.

  Mrs. Hudson grabbed the baby, not gently, and swung it upside down, giving it
a good slap on the back.

  Ruby was about to protest such treatment, but a loud wail filled the room.

  A magic wail, because Jasmine, who had looked on the brink of falling asleep, suddenly perked up, her eyes opening.

  “Let me see…” she began to demand.

  “…her. You have a daughter,” Mrs. Hudson filled in.

  Ruby watched as Mrs. Hudson moved toward Jasmine, holding the baby up.

  “Now give me one moment to clean her up and get her wrapped warmly, and then you can hold her all you want. I believe the more a mother holds her baby in these first hours, the greater the chance the child will thrive.”

  Thrive. Ruby concentrated on that word. Her sister’s child might be early, but Jasmine had been well fed and never suffered deprivation as so many young mothers did. Surely that would help lead to a strong baby.

  “Bring me a swaddling cloth and a blanket,” Mrs. Hudson ordered Cook.

  And, without question, Cook did.

  And then the baby was wrapped and brought to Jasmine. Jasmine lifted shaking but eager arms, all thoughts of tiredness forgotten as she stared, enrapt, at her daughter.

  Mrs. Hudson handed the baby over, and Jasmine cuddled her close.

  The child made a slight sound of protest and her little lips began to pucker.

  “She wants your breast,” Mrs. Hudson said.

  Jasmine blinked, her brow furrowing slightly.

  Mrs. Hudson glanced back to Ruby.

  Ruby walked to her sister. “Have you ever seen a baby feed, watched a baby nurse?”

  The furrow grew tighter. “I don’t think so. No. My friend Elisa Mills had a baby, but the nurse kept it most of the time. I think I saw it chew on a hard biscuit once, but it must have been older then.”

  Mrs. Hudson let out a small sigh. “You will need to bare your breast and let the baby suckle. There is a good chance that it will know what to do and you will not need to worry. If not, I can help some, and I have a friend, a former wet nurse, who can visit on the morning to assist if necessary.”

  Tentatively, Jasmine pulled her chemise down, moved the baby toward her breast—and, as if by magic, the baby opened her mouth and grabbed on. And “grabbed” was the only possible word. Ruby had never thought of such a thing as forceful.

  Jasmine evidently agreed. “Oh, that is strange.”

  Mrs. Hudson smiled. “You are a lucky one. It’s always hard when the baby doesn’t take to it naturally. And if you think it’s strange now, wait until your milk arrives.”

  That thought was clearly beyond Jasmine’s comprehension, but she stared down at her nursing daughter with what could only be described as awe.

  Jasmine’s situation might be far from desirable, but clearly none of that mattered to her in this moment.

  Yes, everything might be wrong in Jasmine’s world, but Ruby could already see that her sister would do everything to make sure that all was right in her daughter’s world.

  Right.

  Right.

  Right.

  The word echoed in Ruby’s mind. Madame Noir had said she would know when it was right, and suddenly Ruby did. The answer had been right in front of her and she had been too blind to see.

  It would mean some substantial rearrangement of her thoughts and plans, but Madame Noir was correct; it was perfectly right.

  “Have you thought of a name?” she asked, moving close to Jasmine to stare down at the baby. She was precious. Ruby had never been drawn to babies, but this one seemed beautiful beyond compare.

  Jasmine looked up. “I had half a dozen names I was considering, but none seem right.” She turned and looked out the window at the dark night sky. “Do you realize it’s Christmas?”

  Ruby had not. With everything else going on, she hadn’t stopped to consider the matter. She shook her head.

  “My daughter was born on Christmas.”

  “Such a blessing,” Mrs. Hudson said.

  “Yes, she is.” There was no room for doubt in Jasmine’s voice.

  “And now I must be home,” said the midwife. “My own children will be up early and hoping for Christmas treats. I do not want to disappoint.”

  Ruby nodded and walked to the door. “Do let me know what you need for your service. I can only be grateful for you coming at such an hour.”

  “I will talk to your man about payment; do not worry about it now. It was a pleasure to attend such an easy birth.”

  Ruby did not consider it easy. She could only remember how worn Jasmine had looked before Mrs. Hudson’s arrival. “Just tell Simms what you need. He will take care of it.”

  “He always does,” she answered, leaving the room. Cook followed, carrying an armful of dirty linens.

  And then they were alone and Ruby walked back to her sister. “She is beautiful,” she said.

  “Yes.” Jasmine did not shift her focus from the suckling baby. “She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

  “Yes, she is. You are very lucky.”

  Jasmine glanced up. “I didn’t realize it before, but you are right, I am.”

  Ruby reached down and traced a finger over the baby’s fluffy hair. It was incredibly soft.

  “And you know,” Jasmine said, “I do know her name. It’s Hope. She is my hope.”

  Ruby stroked the baby’s head again. Yes, her decision was right, completely right.

  —

  Was she really going to do this? Ruby stared about Madame Rouge’s main parlor. It was almost empty; evidently, Christmas afternoon was still a day for family, not for carousing. Not even any of the young lordlings who liked to appear in late afternoon were present.

  This was her world. This was her safety.

  This place meant she never needed to be dependent on a man. It gave her a freedom that few women ever experienced.

  And she was going to leave it.

  A week ago, even a day ago, the thought had filled her with unease.

  She loved Derek.

  She trusted Derek.

  She knew he would never treat her cruelly, knew he would never desert her, knew…

  She knew him.

  But to take that a step further and depend on him was something she had not been fully prepared for. Her mind had always been on all the ways that she would retain her independence, on all the things she could do to assure that she was never again helpless and in need.

  And the main part of that had been money. If she sold Madame Rouge’s, there would be more than enough to set some aside secretly, to put some in a place where, no matter what happened, she could retrieve it—because things did happen. It would be foolish to pretend otherwise.

  Only now she was ready to give that thought up.

  She was ready to give it all up.

  And it was right. It was simply right.

  Complete conviction filled her.

  And the most amazing part was that she knew Derek would be thrilled. She was about to do something that many would regard as slightly unbalanced, perhaps more than slightly, and she knew that Derek would understand completely—and would also understand what it was she offered him.

  One last look around the parlor.

  It was time to put her plan into action.

  Tonight Derek.

  Tomorrow Jasmine.

  The next day Swanston and the lords.

  Chapter 12

  Derek stood in the hall, staring at the door to the Arabian room. One of his favorite evenings of all time had taken place there, and yet he was not eager for a repeat. He’d enjoyed the multitude of fantasies that Ruby created and played out, but right now he wanted her—not one of the many personalities she could adopt.

  Ruby. Emma. It mattered not. He wondered if she would ever fully realize that. They were the same to him. He knew she saw them as two completely different parts of herself, but he did not agree. They were both her and that was all that mattered.

  And that was who he wanted in his bed, in his life. He could only hope that someday, som
eday soon, she would come to appreciate that.

  He tapped on the door and, without waiting for an answer, entered.

  Whatever Ruby had planned, he knew he would be content and more than content. He almost laughed aloud at the idea—no man in the world would be less than content with Ruby waiting for him. In fact, he imagined that “content” was far, far down the list of words that would be used to describe any man lucky enough to spend a night with Ruby.

  The room was dark. That was his first thought. It was not as dark as the duke’s room had been that first night of his return, but it was far darker than he had expected.

  He walked in. A blue crystal oil lamp stood on a central table, the wick trimmed short, allowing only a faint glow.

  Where was she?

  The room’s many pillows were piled on the floor and…

  …then he saw the foot, and the calf, and the long bare thigh, and…

  His eyes traveled up her body. His own body responded as expected. Would she ever fail to have this effect on him? She made him feel like a lad of nineteen, not a man of over thirty.

  He paused at her breasts. He loved all of her, but he had to admit that he loved some parts of her more than others. The nipples were already red and peaked, begging for him. Had she been playing with them, getting ready for him?

  His cock throbbed at the thought. He loved watching her play with herself. His eyes dropped back to the nest of pale curls. Was she wet? What exactly had she been doing while she waited for him?

  He forced his gaze up, allowed himself to linger briefly on her breasts again—and then moved on.

  She wore a small red velvet bow tied about her neck. That was unusual.

  He moved up to her face. What was that expression? What was her game?

  Her eyes glinted in the lamplight; her lips were slightly pursed, her look knowing.

  He did not recognize this game. His eyes dropped back to the bow. She was not the harem girl he would have expected in this room. And definitely not the pirate queen. The pirate queen would never be seen so vulnerable. “A French courtesan?” he asked.