by Andrea Kane
"No. You do."
"Very amusing," Julian muttered.
"I wasn't trying to be amusing. But this is one adventure in which Rory is faring far better than you." Mr. Scollard patted Julian's arm. "She's tired. And, as usual, impatient. But she's strong, she's healthy, and she's very, very determined. She and your babe will do fine."
A flurry of footsteps sounded from overhead, and a minute later Gin burst down the stairs, sweating profusely and mopping at his forehead. "Spirits," he muttered, brushing past Julian to stalk into the sitting room.
"Spirits—yes, good idea." Relieved to be of some help, Julian gestured toward the side table. "Instruct Emma to give Mrs. Merlin whatever she needs to ease the pain."
"Mrs. Merlin?" Gin snatched a bottle of his namesake, staring at Julian as if he'd lost his mind. "This ain't for yer wife. This stuff's fer me. My nerves are frayed." Without preliminaries, he lifted the bottle to his lips, tossing back five or six deep swallows. "All this waitin'—it's drivin' me crazy." Another swallow, followed by a frown as he studied the rapidly dwindling supply of gin. "I'd better stop guzzlin'. I promised Daniels I'd save 'im some. Don't know what good it'll do 'im, though. 'E can't stand still long enough to drink it. 'E's been wringin' 'is 'ands and whimperin' like a babe 'imself ever since Mrs. Merlin announced the babe was on its way. 'E didn't even 'ear the midwife when she arrived—she was knockin' on the door for ten minutes before 'e let 'er in. Not that I care. That ornery of witch should've been left on the doorstep instead of…"
"Gin!" Julian thundered. "You're supposed to be stationed outside Aurora's room in case she needs anything! Who the hell is watching over my wife?"
The valet blinked. "She ain't alone, Merlin. Emma and that wretched midwife Mrs. Peters are both there. Where the 'ell 'd ye find that shrew, anyway? She practically threw me out on my ear when I poked my 'ead in to see 'ow yer duchess was doin'—said somethin' about men only bein' good at makin' babes, not bringin' 'em into the world. She 'erself is guardin' that bloody door."
"She's just trying to keep all the well wishers out."
"No, she's tryin' to keep ye out. She said she's gonna take a strap to ye if ye burst in there like ye did earlier, raving like a lunatic. I don't think she likes ye much."
"What a coincidence," Slayde inserted wryly. "She made similar threats to me when Tyler was making his appearance into the world."
"Yeah, she bellowed somethin' about not likin' ye much, either," Gin confirmed. "But she said ye were a lamb compared to Merlin. She said 'e'd make a wounded bear look good, that never in all 'er years of doin' this 'as any man been as loud and domineering and downright unbalanced as Merlin…"
"That's it," Julian exploded, jerking about and storming toward the stairs. "I'm going up there and throwing the old crone out."
"Julian—don't." Courtney rushed forward, grabbing his arm and staying his progress. "I know Mrs. Peters is somewhat overbearing and more than a bit cheeky. But, trust me, she's extraordinarily competent despite her rather forward manner." Pleading tone or not, Courtney looked suspiciously as if she were biting back laughter. "She did a splendid job of helping me birth Tyler. Why, there's not a better midwife in all of England. So please, don't do something you'll regret."
Julian forced himself to comply, knowing full well that Courtney was right. Nothing mattered now but the well-being of his wife and child.
"I tell you what," Courtney went on in that soothing way she had. "I'll go up and check on Aurora. She'll want to know Mr. Scollard is here, anyway. Then I'll stay by her side until the babe is born. Would that make you feel better?"
"I'd feel better if I were with her."
"No you wouldn't," Slayde refuted. "Because not only would you swoon from the experience, but Mrs. Peters would then have to divert her attentions from Aurora and the babe to cheerfully toss your body out the bedchamber window. No, Julian, I'd say you were better off staying right here."
"Doing what?" Julian demanded as Courtney squeezed Slayde's arm and hurried off. "What the hell am I supposed to do while my wife is suffering?"
"Help Slayde watch Tyler," Courtney called over her shoulder. "My son will be delighted to introduce you to the joys of fatherhood."
Julian didn't smile. He averted his head, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. Never in all his life had he felt so helpless, so terrified. Oh, somewhere in the dim recesses of his mind he'd realized there would be pain involved with bringing a new life into the world. But never had he expected Aurora—his Rory, who'd shot a privateer dead, been held at gunpoint atop the black cliffs, persevered through the long and dangerous discovery of the black diamond as well as its triumphant return to the Crown—to agonize like this, her slight body bathed in perspiration, racked with spasms of pain. Dammit. He should be able to help her. He needed to be able to help her. She'd given him so much: his heart, his inner peace, the spirit that lighted his days, and the passion that consumed his nights.
Marriage to her had been—continued to be—the most exquisite of adventures.
Immediately following Tyler's birth, they'd sailed off on their wedding trip, visiting every place Geoffrey's journal had cited as one of the Fox and the Falcon's destinations. First they'd journeyed to China and Singapore, next to Bengal and Ceylon. From there they'd traveled down to the southern coast of Africa, then west to Barbados and Trinidad, north to Canada and Newfoundland, and finally back to Gibraltar, Malta, and the Continent before returning home to England.
Each stop had been an awakening not only for Aurora, but for Julian, his wife's exuberance and sense of discovery more valuable than all the world's treasures combined.
The only puzzling part had been the inordinate number of purchases Aurora had made at each village they visited—mementos, she'd claimed, that would rekindle pivotal memories in the years to come. More baffling still had been her insistence that the purchases be shipped ahead not to Cornwall, but to Morland Manor.
It wasn't until their arrival in England, their brief stop in Devonshire, that Julian had discovered why.
When Aurora had said she had plans for Geoffrey's estate, she'd meant it. During their absence Morland had been converted into a magnificent testimonial to their great-grandfathers, each room dedicated to a different mission of the Fox and the Falcon, redecorated in the traditional style of whatever village, town, or city that expedition had taken them to. And in the manor's entranceway, a glass casing stretched the entire length of the marble hallway—a casing that displayed the very heart of the Fox and the Falcon: Geoffrey's journal and his sketch of Morland Manor, James's falcon text, and both men's daggers, strongboxes, and keys. Atop the casing, hanging proudly on the wall, was a letter from the Prince Regent himself, dated just after the black diamond's restoration, acknowledging James and Geoffrey for who they were, commending them for their loyalty and courage, and declaring them heroes.
The mausoleum that had haunted Julian's memories was no more. In its stead was a remarkable tribute to a pair of remarkable men.
Only two rooms at Morland remained unchanged.
The library, where Aurora had first told Julian she loved him, and one bedchamber: Hugh's. That room especially, Aurora had made certain remained as it was—untouched and undisturbed—a private haven for Julian to visit and to savor his personal memories.
Thus, Morland was at peace and Merlin Manor was home.
Julian had been totally overcome by what his wife had done. But his sentiments had paled in comparison to the ones he'd experienced when he learned she was pregnant.
Weak-kneed relief over her well-being had transformed to shock, finally evolving into a bone-melting combination of awe and joy.
Aurora was carrying his child.
The months that followed had been a miracle for him; watching his wife's body change, ripen, and swell with his babe. He'd immersed himself in every glorious detail, loving Aurora to the very depths of his soul—and wanting her with an intensity that seemed to heighten with each passing day.
Still, when her pregnancy reached the stage that precluded lovemaking, he'd learned to endure celibacy—something he'd never imagined doing with Aurora in his bed. Hell, he'd even gone so far as to acquire a measure of patience, forcing himself to await the babe's arrival with a modicum of control.
Somehow it had all been bearable.
Until now.
Because now, Aurora was in pain—and there wasn't a bloody thing he could do to stop it.
"Soon, Julian," Mr. Scollard comforted, invariably reading his mind. "Very soon. In fact—" The lighthouse keeper pressed his lips together, glancing overhead as if he could see through the ceiling to the second floor. "I'll give Courtney another quarter hour. Then I'd best go up. Shortly after that, Rory will be asking for you."
"The pain will become more severe?" Julian felt a knife twist in his gut.
"No. The pain will be rewarded with one of life's greatest blessings."
"I doubt I'll last."
"You will." Mr. Scollard smiled. "You and Rory have a long and wonderful life ahead. Filled with happiness, children, and—of course—adventure."
Julian groaned. "Don't even say that word. After this experience, I want nothing but a lifetime of complacency. Hell, even a London Season would look good about now."
"Which reminds me," Slayde interceded, "I learned something interesting while I was in Devonshire. Evidently the Prince Regent intends to give a ball in honor of Geoffrey and James—and you and Aurora for fulfilling their final and most vital mission. The ball will be held at Carlton House in June—giving Aurora more than ample time to recover from childbirth and feel strong enough to travel to London. I received a letter to that effect when I stopped at Pembourne. Siebert advised me that the Prince Regent's letter and invitation to you are on their way. I probably sped past his messenger on the road. In any case, it seems the ball will be the culmination of the Season, with hundreds in attendance to acknowledge our great-grandfathers and you and Aurora. The entire ton is already buzzing with the news." Slayde assessed Julian's glazed expression, and his lips twitched. "You look distinctly unimpressed by the prospect of this ball. I can assure you after twenty years of living with her, that Aurora will not share your lack of enthusiasm. She's spent more than a decade dreaming of taking part in a glittering London Season. And this will give her the opportunity not only to attend the grandest of balls, but to be at its very core. At last my sister is getting her wish—the ton is opening its arms in welcome, heralding you both, in fact, as heroes. As is all of England and much of the world."
"The privateers are none too happy with us," Julian amended, rubbing his bristled jaw. "We've deprived them of one of their most coveted prizes. With the black diamond safely ensconced in the temple from which it was stolen, they'll have to set their sights on a new, equally fascinating treasure." His gaze softened, shifted toward the stairs. "As for me, if Aurora will only endure this ordeal, I'll take her to every bloody ball in England—hell, we can even give one of our own, invite the entire fashionable world."
"Does that mean I'll 'ave to serve?" Gin asked, looking even paler than he'd been a moment ago.
"No. For that, I'll send for Thayer. He has little to do at Morland Manor these days, anyway—other than showing interested spectators around. He and the rest of the staff will leap at the opportunity to assume more traditional roles."
"Thank 'eavens." Gin sagged with relief. "It'll be bad enough 'avin' all those blue-bloods millin' around the louse without 'avin' to wait on 'em." He scowled at the bottle in his hand as if arriving at some momentous self-sacrificing decision. "If it'll make Mrs. Merlin 'appy, I'll clean up a little and put on a uniform," he blurted out before he could reconsider and change his mind. "But I'm tellin' ye now, I'm not learnin' 'ow to bow or dance. And I sure as 'ell won't share my gin. Those blue-bloods can drink yer sherry and some of that pitiful punch that's got more fruit in it than spirits." With that, Gin snatched up a second bottle for himself and marched off to give the partially empty one to Daniels.
"I'm overwhelmed," Slayde chuckled. "For Gin to be willing to don a uniform? Aurora must have worked miracles."
"She has—with all of us." Julian resumed pacing, his brow furrowed with worry. "I wish Courtney would come down and tell us how Aurora is faring so I'd know…" He halted, having caught sight of Mr. Scollard heading for the stairs. "You're going to Aurora?"
"Yes." The lighthouse keeper never paused, his words trailing behind him as he ascended the staircase. "I'll be only five minutes. After that, I'll rejoin you. We'll have time for one brandy each. By that time, Courtney will be sending for you."
"Oh, God." Julian turned away, feeling as if someone had punched him in the gut.
"On second thought," Scollard called down from the landing, "you and Slayde begin without me. You'll toss off your first brandy in a few necessary gulps. I'll join you for your second."
"Come on," Slayde urged Julian, sitting Tyler atop his shoulders and gesturing toward the sitting room. "We've just been instructed to have a drink."
Julian followed, watching Tyler squeal with delight and cling to his father's neck, hearing Slayde's quiet chuckle as he knelt before the sofa and tumbled Tyler over his head and onto the soft velvet cushions.
A never-before-experienced lump formed in Julian's throat. "I remember how ornery and irrational you were during those long hours before Tyler was born," he commented, pouring two goblets of brandy and handing one to Slayde—after which, as Mr. Scollard had predicted, he downed his own drink in a few purposeful swallows. "Never having gone through what you did, I hadn't a clue as to the emotions you were feeling, the level of pain Courtney was enduring."
"The last was the hardest part," Slayde admitted, giving Tyler a plaything to amuse him. "Knowing how much Courtney was suffering nearly did me in. But afterward—seeing Tyler in her arms, knowing we'd created him together—" He broke off. "You'll see what I mean soon enough."
Julian nodded. "I hope so. I just keep telling myself that Scollard would know if anything were wrong." He shot Slayde a look of utter amazement. "Listen to me. Who would have ever thought I'd believe in a visionary, much less put all my faith in one?"
A grin tugged at Slayde's lips. "Face it, my friend. Your fundamental approach to life became a thing of the past the day you met Aurora. Trust me, I know. I'm married to her best friend, a woman who within a matter of weeks managed to convince me that the impossible is possible—and has kept me believing it ever since."
"We're very lucky men."
"Indeed we are."
"I concur wholeheartedly," Mr. Scollard declared, entering the sitting room. "In fact, I believe we should toast to that."
Julian jumped so high his glass nearly flew from his hand. "Is she all right?"
A proud smile touched Mr. Scollard's lips. "She's tired. But she's Rory—excited, courageous, and impatient. Therefore, weary or not, she's relieved that her impatience is about to come to an end."
"Dammit." A muscle worked in Julian's jaw. "I want to help her."
"Let nature be Rory's guide." Scollard took Julian's goblet, refilling it after he'd poured himself a drink. "Your wife is an extraordinary woman."
"I know." Julian seized his glass with a nod of thanks.
"Shall we have that toast?" The lighthouse keeper pursed his lips. "Quickly, I think. 'Twould be best if you downed that entire goblet before confronting Mrs. Peters. She's not entirely pleased with you." Abruptly Mr. Scollard halted, shaking his head as if to refute his own words. "No, I'll have to amend my timing. As things stand, 'twould be best if I lingered over my verbal tribute. Partly because I have much to extol and partly because Emma will use these extra minutes to wash everyone up and then to usher both herself and Mrs. Peters from the room. That way you'll have but one other person to encounter when you reach Aurora's bedchamber besides your wife herself—and I have a strong suspicion you wouldn't miss meeting that new occupant for all the world." So saying, Mr. Scollard raised his glass, waiting unti
l the other two men had followed suit. "To two splendid men, Slayde and Julian, and to their exceptional wives, Courtney and Aurora. To Tyler—" He bowed solemnly at the tot, who stared at him with enthralled green eyes. "—whose welcome birth perpetuated the Huntley name in the most wondrous of fashions. To all the Huntleys and Bencrofts, reunited after sixty years, yet united wholly for the first time this day. And to the incomparable outcome of that ultimate union, an essential treasure conceived in love on a storm-tossed sea." Scollard's peaceful gaze swept from Slayde to Julian to Tyler, then rose to the ceiling overhead, clearly including the occupants of the second floor in his tribute. "Welcome," he said softly, a faint mist veiling his eyes. An instant later the mist was gone and he smiled, concluding his toast. "Here's to all of you. The joys will now abound, illuminating your lives and eclipsing the hardships of the past—now and forever."
Tyler made a cooing sound and clapped his hands.
Slayde and Scollard chuckled affectionately, then drank.