A Night of Angels

by Andersen, Maggi

  “There was nothing simple about it,” she conceded. “I didn’t know such pleasure existed… that isn’t true. I knew it existed, but I’d never experienced it for myself. And don’t be all conceited about that!”

  “Heaven forbid.”

  She could hear the grin in his voice. It caused her own lips to quiver as she tried to contain her smile. “It is beautiful out there, isn’t it? It all looks fresh and new, any ugliness hidden under a layer of ice and snow so that everything looks utterly pristine.”

  “What are you thinking really?”

  “That I don’t quite know where things go from here.” It was an honest answer, one that she felt compelled to utter. The future was undecided for them. She’d given herself to him but no promises had been exchanged. Did she even want a promise from him? Yes. Of course, she did. But only if it was offered freely because he wanted to be with her and not because he felt obligated.

  “You’ll marry me,” he answered, the words uttered matter of factly.

  “That did not sound like a request, Branson.”

  “It wasn’t an order,” he said. “But no, it isn’t a request. Merely a statement of what my intentions are. If you require convincing then I will set myself to the task, and I will keep myself at it until I achieve the outcome I desire.”

  “For us to be married…”

  “For you to be mine so unequivocally that no one can ever dare question it. I’ve waited long enough to be happy, Sarah. Haven’t you?”

  “Will we be happy, Branson?”

  He shrugged. “I’m certain we’ll argue. You’re incredibly obstinate.”

  She sputtered with indignation and laughter. “I’m obstinate? What about you?”

  “I’m determined,” he answered, and it was clear then that he was teasing her. “Only women are obstinate. Men are driven and purposeful.”

  “And full of themselves,” she snapped back at him, though it was more for effect and lacked any real heat.

  “So let me try another tactic then… I love you. I’ve loved you since the 14th day of January in 1791.”

  She frowned, the familiar date tugging her at memories. “That was the first day we met, Branson… the ball my parents hosted to announce my engagement to James!”

  “Yes. So it was. We danced… a quadrille and a minuet. And I was so bloody envious of my brother I couldn’t stand to look at him. But I had nothing to offer you. I was little more than a regimental officer then. Why on earth would any woman throw off a viscount for a lowly soldier?”

  “Because that lowly soldier was a far better man,” she said.

  He rested his chin on her shoulder, pressed a kiss to her ear and said softly, “Some things are worth waiting for. And as much as the longing of all those years has been a torment, it has given me a great deal of appreciation for you. I will never take your affections for granted, I will never stray, and I will always know how distinctly different my life would be without you in it. So say you’ll marry me and stop tormenting us both.”

  “You haven’t asked if I love you.”

  “If you do not now, then you will,” he said with certainty.

  That prompted another laugh from her. “You really are full of yourself! But if you must know, I do love you. I can’t tell you the date or time when it occurred. The last two decades have been a waking nightmare and I moved through them like some half-living creature. I’ve only just begun to truly wake from that. And when I did, I became aware of how very attracted to you I was and how much I depend upon you. I trust you, and I respect you and admire you. And I tried to convince myself that all of the things I felt for you were not love… but I failed terribly at it.”

  “Then can I persuade you to elope with me on New Year’s Day?”

  “Elope?”

  He nodded. “I am your brother-in-law. And while the law does not forbid our marrying, the church does frown upon it. Scottish blacksmiths, however, do not. They will marry anyone for the right coin.”

  “We’re a bit long in the tooth to run off to Gretna Green, aren’t we?”

  “There isn’t an age limit on love, Sarah, or acting a fool for it.”

  It was dashing and romantic. Something that in her youth would have thrilled her endlessly. And that girl was still inside her, buried under the weight of decades of sadness, perhaps, but still there. Perhaps, an elopement would help to free her fully. “Very well. I hear Scotland is… well, Scotland, at this time of year. Cold, wet, dreary.”

  “I will keep you warm… all the days of my life,” he vowed.

  Sarah leaned back against his chest, felt his arms tighten more fully about her and knew that he spoke the truth. Branson had always been a man of his word.

  Chapter Eight

  It was just after noon when they reached Midford Abbey. Branson had climbed out and extended his hand to help Sarah down when the doors burst open and one of the older servants rushed out. The woman was clearly distraught, wringing her hands and on the verge of tears. “Mr. Middlethorp, sir, her ladyship’s time has come and we cannot reach the midwife or the doctor.”

  Sarah gasped. “Who is with her now?”

  “Lady Wolverton is with her, ma’am, but she’s got no experience with the like herself.”

  Branson watched Sarah’s reaction. Her face went pale and while her hands trembled, her shoulders were straight and her chin notched upward. She would do what needed to be done.

  “When did her pains begin?” Sarah asked.

  “Just this morning, my lady. We sent a team to fetch the midwife, but there are so many downed trees they won’t be able to get to her in time.”

  Branson lifted her down. She was limping, but only slightly, as she climbed the steps.

  “Take me to her at once,” Sarah insisted.

  Branson stood there watching her leave and felt what all men felt in such times. Superfluous. There was naught for him to do other than pour enough brandy into his nephew to keep him calm without sending him into his cups. To that end, he asked the butler, “Where are Lord Vale and Lord Wolverton now?”

  “They’re in the library, Mr. Middlethorp, sir. It’s been all we can do to keep him from her ladyship’s chamber. It’s no place for a man at a time like this,” the butler said, utterly scandalized.

  “I’ve never quite understood that. A man has to be there for the conception, so why is he banished for the birth?”

  The butler gaped at him, his mouth opening and closing like a gasping fish. Finally, he muttered, “It’s undignified.”

  “Yes, I imagine it is. And likely terrifying. If he wants to be with his wife then be with her he ought,” Branson said and stormed past the scandalized servant. When he reached the library, he saw Benedict pacing a hole in the carpets while Wolverton stared out the window looking completely discomfited. At his entrance, Benedict stopped and looked up at him.

  “When did you arrive?”

  “Just now. I’ve brought your mother. She’s gone upstairs to Elizabeth,” Branson explained even as he crossed the room and retrieved a bottle from the desktop. He filled two of the waiting glasses with a healthy measure of the amber liquid and pressed one into Benedict’s trembling hand. “Drink that. You look like a stiff wind would knock you down.”

  “They won’t let me see her. Every time I’ve tried, my own servants have intercepted me like Wellington on the battlefield!”

  “What good could come of it?” Wolverton asked. “A birthing room is no place for men. Even if we could be of any use there, I am not certain your wife would wish you to see her in such a state.”

  “What if she needs me? What if something goes wrong?” Benedict demanded. “I can’t just stand here and do nothing.”

  “Drink that, calm yourself, and then I’ll go and inquire if your presence would be desired,” Branson stated firmly. “But if it is, you’ll need to be in a better state than you are presently.”

  “What man wouldn’t be in a state in my current position?” Benedict demanded. />
  “He’s right,” Wolverton insisted. “If your presence is requested or permitted, what happens to poor Elizabeth when you pass out in a dead faint and they have to stop attending her in order to revive you?”

  “I wouldn’t faint.”

  “Have you ever witnessed a birth?” Branson asked.

  “Of course not!” Benedict snapped.

  “You’d faint,” Branson replied matter of factly. “Dead away. It’s not a sight for the faint of heart even when you are not so emotionally invested in the participants and the outcome.”

  “You’ve seen so many of them then?” Benedict’s rejoinder was more snappish than heated as he sipped at his brandy.

  “Enough.” He took a sip of his own brandy and then placed it back on the table. Branson looked back at Wolverton who was staring steadfastly out the window, obviously wishing he was anywhere else. It had not been so long ago that he and Benedict had all but come to blows over Wolverton’s proposal to Benedict’s adopted sister, Mary. Things were obviously not completely settled between them just yet. “I served many years in the army and there were many women who followed the camp… prostitutes and laundresses alike. We all helped when and where we were needed.”

  They all went back to drinking their brandy and staring silently into their respective corners. He had no wisdom to offer Benedict and Benedict would refuse wisdom from Wolverton simply based on the source.

  Elizabeth didn’t scream in agony. Instead, she went terrifyingly silent as her fingers twisted in the bed clothes and the contraction contorted her body. Beside the bed, Mary, Lady Wolverton, was ashen-faced and obviously terrified.

  “Elizabeth, I’m going to take a look and see if the baby has crowned,” Sarah said.

  The pain had passed for the moment and the younger woman nodded, but dropped her head back against the pillows. It had been going for hours with little or no progress and it was obvious that she was too exhausted to go much longer. “When did the pains start? Truly, Elizabeth!”

  “They began last night before supper,” she admitted. Her voice was weak, breathless, and it was apparent to everyone in the room that she could not go much longer. “They started mildly. I thought it was nothing. Through the night they worsened but were still so far apart… and then in the wee hours of the morning—” She broke off abruptly as another one struck.

  Sarah felt her heart sink. Lifting the blanket draped over her daughter-in-law, she examined the woman briefly. There was no sign of the baby emerging, and for the pains to be so close together, there certainly should have been. Moving to the side of the bed, Sarah drew back the bedding and placed her hands on Elizabeth’s distended stomach. She could feel the muscles quivering there but, beyond that, she could feel the child. The head was down, but not quite where it should be. Something was preventing it from emerging. Moving her hands up, sliding them gently over the rounded bump, she realized that the child was partially breeched. Its knees were drawn up too far and it was essentially stuck. It was the very same thing that had happened to her when Benedict had been born. But no one had told her what was happening then, no one had done anything. They’d simply let her lay there pushing with all her might to bring her son into the world. She’d lost so much blood it was a miracle either of them had survived. It had only been at her mother’s insistence, after nearly two full days of hard labor, that the doctor had used forceps to bring Benedict into the world. But they had no doctor and they had no forceps. She knew that the child could be manipulated into the proper position but she wasn’t certain she had the strength, not without injuring them both further.

  “I think the baby has gotten itself twisted up a bit here… it’s stuck, but all hope is not lost, Elizabeth. I think there may be something we can do.”

  “What is it? I’ll do anything!”

  “We’ll need one of the men, someone stronger to help press on it. It will hurt, I’m afraid.”

  “It already hurts… and this can’t continue indefinitely,” she said. “I’m growing weaker and I know my child is, too. We must do everything possible.”

  Sarah looked to Mary, “Go and get Branson… discreetly. He’ll be able to help. I think it would be too much for Benedict. Unless you want him here.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “He’s so worried already… that was one of the reasons I didn’t tell him when the pains started.”

  Mary frowned at her. “How on earth shall I fetch him discreetly when they’re all in the library together?”

  “Tell him I require his assistance with my ankle… I twisted it last night falling on the ice,” Sarah replied.

  When Mary had gone, Sarah sat down on the bed beside Elizabeth. “I know you’re frightened. This is the very bed where Benedict was born, you know? And this is precisely what happened with him! The doctor finally intervened but only because my mother became utterly unbearable and they couldn’t stand to listen to her shrieking at them anymore.”

  The anecdote had the desired effect and brought a slight smile to the younger woman’s face. “How long was the birth?”

  “Too long… that’s why I couldn’t have any other children after Benedict. It was very difficult and they waited too late to intervene. But we have not! If Branson can get the babe turned just slightly, I truly believe that all will be well.”

  Elizabeth nodded, but said nothing further. Another pain had wracked her body and Sarah stared on helplessly as the young woman struggled. They were so in love, Elizabeth and Benedict, and so young. She would not allow him to lose her, not if there was anything she could do about it.

  Branson was sipping his brandy and ignoring the younger men who were steadfastly ignoring one another. The library door opened and Mary entered, breezing past him to go to her husband. Benedict had snapped to attention.

  “Is there any news yet?” he asked.

  “Not yet, brother dear! These things take time. Oh, Mr. Middlethorp, sir, Lady Vale, that is the dowager viscountess, requires your assistance.”

  “Why the devil would she require his assistance?” Benedict snapped.

  “She said it was about her ankle which she twisted last night, Benedict,” Mary replied, her tone calm and soothing. “You must stop worrying. The dowager viscountess will be on her feet for some time helping Elizabeth. Likely, she simply needs to have it wrapped! You know I’m useless at such things.”

  It was a fairydiddle if ever he’d heard one. But Branson could see the fear in Mary’s eyes even if Benedict was blinded to it by his own fear. Something was wrong. “I’ll go up and see to her… though, she’ll likely need you to remain with Elizabeth while I see to the sprain.”

  “Of course,” Mary agreed. To Benedict, she said, “We’ll send word as soon as there is word to send. Now, please, will the two of you try to get on like reasonable gentlemen?”

  She didn’t wait for them to reply, but breezed out of the room with Branson right behind her. Once they were clear of the library, he demanded, “What’s really going on?”

  “Lady Vale thinks the babe is turned wrong. She says you’ll have to help her adjust it, I suppose. Though to be honest, I haven’t the faintest idea what she’s talking about.”

  Branson knew. He’d only seen it done once. Many years ago in France—a camp follower when he’d still been in the army. Neither she nor the child had survived. His heart in his throat, Branson climbed the stairs toward the birthing room, terrified of what lay beyond. If she died, if the child died, he wouldn’t forgive himself, and neither would Benedict or Sarah. Of course, the outcome would be the same if he refused to do anything at all. He was literally damned if he did and damned if he did not.

  Mary preceded him, knocking softly before entering and then beckoning him to follow, likely at Sarah’s behest. His first sight of Elizabeth made him want to run. She was as pale as the sheets she lay upon, her hair plastered to her skin with sweat and deep hollows of exhaustion had formed under her eyes.

  “What do you need me to do?” he asked. Any no
tion that they had time to debate the matter had fled upon seeing her.

  “Come here and place your hands exactly where mine are,” Sarah instructed.

  Branson did so. He could feel her muscles tightening, her body contorting with the agony of her birthing pains.

  “When you feel that again,” Sarah whispered against his ear, “push upward with your left hand. The baby’s knees are drawn up and caught. If we can maneuver it enough, we should be able to save them both.”

  He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. Dry-mouthed and terrified, Branson nodded.

  They stood there like that for what seemed an eternity. Sarah had taken her position at the foot of the bed. Mary bathed Elizabeth’s forehead with a cloth. All the while, he waited. It was strange how time seemed to alternately race by and stand still.

  When Elizabeth emitted another muffled groan and he felt the tight bands of muscle contract under his hand, he looked to Sarah who nodded. Pressing down, Branson wanted to stop the moment he heard Elizabeth scream.

  “Push harder, Branson. It’s the only way,” Sarah insisted.

  He did, though it very nearly made him ill to do so. Never in all of his life had he intentionally caused a woman pain. Even if it was necessary to save her, it tore at him as nothing else ever had. Beneath his hand, he felt a shift, and then the tightness abated somewhat. Within seconds, Elizabeth was crying out again and, this time, Sarah laughed.

  “I can see the top of the child’s head, Elizabeth! You’ve done it. Push, my sweet girl!”

  There was no chance for Branson to retreat. It all moved so quickly from that point on. Within minutes, the babe came screaming into the world. Red-faced, angry, tiny fists flailing to the sky. He stood there utterly transfixed, watching as Sarah wiped away the blood and cleaned the babe before placing it gently in Elizabeth’s arms. Exhausted beyond words, she still looked beatific. There was something ethereal and beautiful in that moment as she beheld her child for the first time.

  “A boy,” Sarah said. “A very healthy baby boy.”