by Erica Taylor
Susanna shook her head. “I don’t have one.”
“Then your midwife?”
Susanna shook her head again. “The one I saw last was in London, over two weeks ago.”
“Susanna!” Sarah cried.
“I know, I know,” Susanna moaned, squeezing Sarah’s arms. “I wanted to wait for Ian to arrive. I needed him here with me.”
“Whether or not he arrives in time is of no consequence now,” Sarah replied, unwinding her sister’s fingers from her gown and entwining their hands together. “I will get you up the stairs while someone sends for the midwife in Whitstable.”
Susanna shook her head as Sarah led her from the room and into the hallway. “No, no, no, no, no!”
“Susanna, let us get you up the stairs and out of your gown and stays,” Sarah reassured her, smoothing back her hair away from the sweat that had begun to gleam on her face. “You’ll be much more comfortable then.”
“You have to do it,” Susanna said, pulling on Sarah’s arm to stop her as she set her foot on the step in the front entryway. “You have to be my midwife. You’re here and I bet you’re brilliant. I trust you, Sarah.”
Sarah didn’t want to be responsible for her sister or the babe inside. She’d attended at over fifty births during her training at the hospital and in Exeter, but birth was not an exact science. So much could go wrong, there was so much she couldn’t control.
“Susanna, you need someone who has done this countless times before.”
“Then what the bloody hell have you been doing for the past year when you’ve been away from us?” Susanna snapped. “Eating scones and growing strawberries?”
“Susanna—”
“I’m sorry,” Susanna said, her face contracting in pain again. “Please, Sarah.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m scared. Having you near will make this better. And I don’t know where Ian is—”
“Here!” Ian called as he burst through the front door, racing up the last set of stairs two at a time. “Gads, Susanna I’m sorry!” He took her face in his hands and kissed her soundly on the lips. “I was in the stables and a footman came in with the news. I’m here, I promised I would be.”
“Ian, you could have missed this!” Susanna said, swatting him on the chest, before collapsing against him.
“Sarah, can you help her?” he asked, looking at her. “Nice hair, by the way.”
Sarah exhaled through her nose. “Yes, I can help her. But I cannot promise it will be easy.”
“But you will do your best?”
Sarah nodded. “I will do my best.”
“That is all I ask,” he replied.
“Help me get her to a room,” Sarah said, and Ian nodded. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he steered Susanna up the stairs, pausing with her each time she gasped in pain, her hand gripped tightly around his.
It appeared someone in the household had thought to plan ahead, and a room had already been opened and prepped in advance for Susanna’s delivery, supplied with everything Sarah needed. The scene was familiar, comforting. She knew who she was here. And truth be told, she wouldn’t trust Susanna’s life, and that of her child’s, to anyone else, not completely.
“I’ve got her now,” Sarah told Ian as he eased her onto the bed.
“I won’t leave her,” Ian warned.
“You will,” came William’s voice, and his hand clapped onto Ian’s shoulder. Sarah hadn’t realized he had accompanied them to the room.
“Let Sarah take care of her,” Andrew said from behind William, standing in the doorway.
A look passed between the three men, and Sarah wondered what she had missed while she was away. If anything, the friendship between William and Andrew seemed to have strengthened, and now included Ian as well.
“You both sat with me while Clara labored,” Andrew reminded him. “We will sit with you now.”
Wordlessly, Ian relented, nodding and following Andrew out of the room.
William caught Sarah’s eye and gave her a firm nod. “Good luck.”
Six glasses of brandy passed in as many long hours, most of which were pointed with cries of childbirth echoing through the halls. Halfway through hour six, the sounds subsided and instead of relaxing further, Westcott grew more agitated.
“Pacing a tear through my rug won’t make this any easier,” Bradstone stated, his fingers drumming a tempo along the leather arm of the chair.
“Why is it quiet?” Westcott asked. “I don’t like the quiet.”
“Quiet is a good thing,” Bradstone replied. “Quiet could mean that it is over.”
“Or quiet could mean something horrible has happened,” Westcott retorted with a glance at William. “Does quiet mean something good or bad?”
William shifted in weight in his chair. “It could mean either. I am not an accoucheur. We cannot know for certain.”
“But when Hank was born, it was quiet then, at the end,” Westcott continued, running his hand through his hair. “And your wife died.”
William had since become somewhat inured to any mention of Anna or her death. Her role in his life that had been wrapped in tragedy and manipulation, but she had also given him Hank. He couldn’t be upset at her for that, not any longer.
“Ian, she isn’t going to die,” Bradstone stated.
“What, because you say so?” Westcott snapped.
“No, because Susanna is young and strong and . . .”
“And she is not Anna,” William finished. “Sit, Westcott, have another drink. Or eat something from the tray.”
“I can’t,” Westcott replied. “I might throw it up. How you two survived this I cannot fathom.” He sat down and accepted the plate of sandwiches Bradstone was offering but he didn’t eat any, just looked at them in confusion.
The door opened suddenly, and Sarah was there, filling the doorway.
Westcott jumped to his feet, still holding the plate of sandwiches.
“Sarah! What is happening?” Westcott demanded. “How is Susanna?”
“Susanna did splendidly,” Sarah announced, her face breaking into a broad grin. “She is resting, and you have a beautiful daughter.”
“She is . . . well?”
“Ten fingers and ten toes,” Sarah replied. “Both she and Susanna are perfect.”
“Oh, thank God,” Westcott gasped, launching himself onto Sarah. Bradstone snatched the plate from his hands just as it was about to fall to the floor, Westcott having completely forgotten about the sandwiches as he wrapped his arms around his sister-in-law, hugging her tightly.
“Ian, I cannot breathe.” Sarah sputtered with a laugh, her arms pinned to her sides.
“Yes, right!” Westcott cried, pushing her away, his arms on her shoulders. “A daughter! That’s just . . . well that’s brilliant!” He plated a kiss on each of her cheeks, his body shaking in excitement. “May I see her? Them? I have a daughter!” Westcott laughed, running his hands through his hair. “I have a wife and a daughter!”
Had William not been through nearly this exact thing himself nearly a year ago, and with Bradstone seven months ago, he might have thought Westcott had momentarily lost his mind. Perhaps he had.
“Congratulations,” William stated, clapping him on the shoulder.
“I have a daughter!” Westcott said, turning towards him.
“You should go up and see to your wife,” Sarah suggested. “She is eager to see you.”
“Yes. Yes!” Westcott exclaimed. “I should go see her. I’ll do that now.”
Westcott was gone from the room without further comment.
“Well,” Sarah said with a laugh. “He seems in shock.”
“He hasn’t sat still the entire time,” Bradstone replied, handing her the plate of sandwiches. “Excuse me. I have an undeniable urge to see my own wife. And Sarah?” He bent to kiss her cheek. “Good job.”
Bradstone was gone from the room, leaving Sarah holding the plate i
n the middle of the room. They were quite effectively alone.
William watched her, not sure what to say. For the past couple hours while her brother-in-law had paced and worried over the state of his wife and child, William had worried over the state of Sarah’s happiness and whether or not she could be happy with him. Was it even fair of him to ask something of her?
Without prompting, the plate of sandwiches was forgotten again, and Sarah was in his arms, her arms tightly around him as she buried her face against his neck. He wrapped his arms around her, not sure what this meant, but not wanting to let her go.
“Oh Will, this is exactly why I truly love this!” she said pulling away from him, her face bright and eyes lit with joy. “It is such a rush of emotion, from fear to happiness to joy for the new family. A little person came into the world tonight! A new little soul to change the world to her liking. It’s incredible. I feel comfortable in this, finally, have never felt more myself, more at ease in my own mind.” She beamed at him and he returned her smiles, pushing the hair from her face.
A cold chill rushed through him, his heart plummeting to his stomach, and he nodded. He could see her exuberance, her love for this newfound calling. She was truly happy with her new life, how could he take this away from her?
“And just think!” she continued. “We only have to live in London part of the year, really only when Parliament is in session is your presence required. The rest of the time we can be practically nobodies. Well, as much as a duke can be a nobody. But people embraced me as a midwife and a marchioness, so I don’t think people particularly care of your rank as long as you can provide the medical care they need. You can still see patients, and I can attend births, and we can make it work. We can be a family.”
He was intrigued at her continual use of the word “we.”
She looked up at him admiringly, and he was terrified to say the words. If he asked the question burning in his heart then with one simple word, she could grant all his wishes. He was too afraid to believe it possible and too hopeful to remain calm.
“You’ve thought it all through,” he said. “Made quite a plan for yourself.”
“It’s been on my mind a bit these past few months,” she admitted. “And it took me a while to believe that it was possible. Who is to say I cannot be your duchess and be a midwife?”
“Who is to say you will be a duchess?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.
“You did,” she replied. “You’re not rescinding your offer on me, Foxton.” She swatted him playfully on the chest. “You’ve made me wait long enough.”
“Aye, but you made me wait almost a year, woman,” he lamented. “Who is to say I haven’t changed my mind?”
She leaned up onto her toes and pressed her lips against his. The contact was heavenly, sensations of warmth rushing through him, pooling in his loins, and he circled his arms around her, pulling her closer to him, to home. She sighed and opened her mouth to his, and he didn’t want to ever stop kissing her.
She pulled back and looked at him closely with a lopsided smile. “No, you haven’t changed your mind.”
“Not on your life,” he replied, hugging her to him, breathing in her scent.
“Oh Will, don’t smell me!” she protested, pushing him away. “I’ve been in a delivery for hours, I smell horrid.”
“You smell wonderful,” he said, pulling her to him again. He kissed her once more before setting her away and looking her squarely in the eyes.
“Ask me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes dancing with happiness.
“Will you marry me, Sarah?” he asked softly.
“I will,” she replied, leaning into him. “My Will.”
“Finally,” he laughed, capturing her lips. “Admit it, this is why you came for Christmas.”
“How was I to know you would be here?” she challenged.
“You couldn’t know for certain, aye, I’ll give you that,” he admitted. “But,” he dropped a kiss to her lips. “You hoped I would.”
“Yes, I had hoped I would see you here,” she confessed. “Thank you for not chasing after me as others in your place might have done.”
“I respected you enough to give you your space,” William acknowledged. “I hoped you would come home when you were ready.”
“I needed to discover who I was, on my own, before I could hope to be happy,” she admitted. “What I found I rather liked, and I made a career for myself that I am quite proud of. But what I need and want are two different things. So while I need my work, and I need the occasional escape from society, I want to be with you. I want to share a life with you. I’ve never stopped loving you, Will.”
“I love you, Sarah,” William replied, his love reflected in the depths of her eyes. “I don’t even know if I’ve ever said the words. Although I know you knew how I felt, I am saying it now to make this official. I love you. Since the moment you declared me your husband in that inn before I even knew your name, I have been helpless in my love for you. It has not wavered, and I had stopped trying to deny its existence.”
“Good,” she said, leaning into him again, pressing her lips to his. “Are you using Gordon as your surname? Or Hastings?”
William grinned. “I decided to make it complicated and hyphenate. William Gordon-Hastings. You should hyphenate also and be Sarah Macalister-Hartford-Gordon-Hastings and make things extremely complicated.”
“Gordon-Hastings will do fine,” she laughed.
“There is also a dashing lordly little fellow who was taken with you earlier,” William said, his grin unfaltering. “He’s usually shy around strangers. Perhaps he knew you from your first meeting. You were the first to hold him, after all.”
Sarah’s gaze grew wide in shock, tears brimming.
“That’s not a problem is it?” he said quickly, both arms on her shoulders. She shook her head and the tears fell, her whole chest heaving with the effort of keeping her emotions in check.
“I had not forgotten about Hank,” she said softly, tears spilling from her eyes, as William made to wipe them away with the pads of his thumbs.
“Then what?”
“I just hadn’t actually thought about it, about being his . . .”
“About being his mother?”
“Step-mother,” she amended. “But yes.”
He pulled her to his chest, holding her safely within his arms. “Sarah, you’ll be his mother, just as you were meant to be my wife. It doesn’t matter how it happened—it only matters that we got there in the end.”
“But what if I am a horrible mother?” she whispered, and William laughed.
“Not even in the realm of possibility,” he replied. “Look at the splendid job you’ve done with your siblings. Two married, not a scandal in sight.”
“Currently,” she laughed, wiping her eyes. “You’ve spent a great deal of time with my family, haven’t you?”
He nodded. “They were a little part of you,” he said softly, and she looked up to meet his gaze, her eyes welling with tears again. “And if it was the only part I could have, I greedily accepted it.”
“I’m sorry I left,” she whispered.
“It doesn’t matter, Sarah,” he replied, brushing her hair from her face, cupping her face in his hands. “I’m just happy you came back.”
She laughed, wiping the wetness from her cheeks and he kissed her gently, delicately, as if he was afraid she would break.
“I do love you, you know,” she said softly.
“Aye,” he replied, grinning. “I love you too, Sarah. Shall we go?”
“Go where?”
“To find you something to eat,” he answered. “You’re shaking. I assume you didn’t eat before you arrived, and you’ve been in the delivery for hours. Now that the excitement has worn off, your body needs sustenance. Doctor’s orders.”
Sarah laughed. “Always with the doctoring. But, yes, I should eat. And then, Will?” She tu
rned her face towards his again. “After Christmas, take me home.”
A broad, happy grin spread across William’s face. “With pleasure.”
Erica Taylor is a mother of two and military wife married to her high school sweetheart. Raised in the mountains of Colorado, she holds a BA in History from the University of Colorado. Erica has been writing stories since she can remember, picked up her first romance novel while on a beach vacation as a teenager, and fell in love with falling in love, with sexy heroes and the feisty women who challenge their lives.
A self-confessed geek, Erica loves anything Harry Potter, Doctor Who, or Star Wars, can spend hours in Target with a Starbucks, and truly believes a cat makes a home. Erica can often be found writing during soccer practice or piano lessons and is not afraid to let dinner burn if it means getting the story out of her head.