Catch of the Season (The Marvelous Munroes Book 2)

by Regina Scott

  “Ho, there,” Allison called, pulling Blackie up short beside the equipage. “What’s going on here?”

  The groom jumped, pulling back and whirling to face her. His narrow face was ashen, and she had never seen anyone’s eyes so wide. “Miss Munroe, oh, Miss Munroe, what shall we do?” he gasped, wringing his hands. “I’ve never birthed a baby!”

  “Baby!” Allison cried, staring at the carriage in horror.

  “Allison?” Her sister’s voice drifted tremulously out of the dark interior. “Is that you?”

  “Yes, Gen,” Allison called, motioning frantically to the groom to help her from the side saddle. It took several seconds for the man to understand what she was about, then he stood patiently while she slid down into his thin arms. He set her carefully on the ground. Allison snatched up the reins where he had let them fall and thrust them at him. “Here, take care of Blackie.”

  He nodded dully. Allison pushed past him to the carriage.

  She peered inside, almost afraid of what she might see. Gen was leaning rather awkwardly back in the seat, her dark woolen skirts spread before her. They hung heavily against the floor as if they were sodden. Allison frowned, gazing up at her sister’s face, a pale oval against the dark velvet upholstery.

  Gen managed a strained smile. “Good afternoon, dearest. I think the baby is coming.”

  Allison felt as if someone had shoved a rock against her stomach. “Now?” she croaked.

  Gen grimaced, and her hands gripped her belly. “Now!” she grunted.

  “Help us, Lord,” the groom muttered outside.

  Allison sent up a prayer as well. She clambered into the coach, rocking it, and Gen moaned. Gingerly, Allison took a seat beside her sister.

  “What should I do?”

  Gen gasped in a breath and relaxed against the squabs, eyeing Allison with surprising belligerence. “How am I supposed to know? This is my first baby!”

  “But I thought all married ladies knew,” Allison cried, feeling the panic building. “Didn’t Mother tell you? Didn’t Dr. Praxton say anything?”

  “As they assumed they would be there to assist, I doubt either thought it necessary.” Her sister’s words were cross, but she rubbed her abdomen softly. “I sent the coachman through the woods to the Abbey. Alan is in the village, and today is Mother Pentercast’s day to visit the pensioners. She took the other carriage earlier this morning.”

  “He should have been back by now,” the groom mumbled through the open door. He was obviously trying to avert his eyes respectfully, and his curiosity was apparently getting the best of him. It only served to make him look slightly cross-eyed.

  “Someone will come,” Gen insisted. “Mother will know what to do, and so will Bryce. And they can send someone for Dr. Praxton.”

  “Do we have that much time?” Allison asked hesitantly, thinking how much territory the country doctor often covered. “He could be anywhere from Barnsley to Prestwick Park.”

  “Well, he can jolly well get here now,” Gen said. Then she closed her eyes and stiffened, clutching her stomach. As Allison watched in horror, her sister’s face contorted, and she cried out. Allison reached for her, only to draw back, unsure of what to do. The spasm only lasted a few seconds, then her sister collapsed back into a heap, gasping.

  “Oh, Gen, that was awful!” Allison cried.

  “You may call it awful,” Gen said, voice tight. “It isn’t your belly a creature is trying to claw its way out of.”

  Allison felt herself blanch. “What, what can we do?”

  “Well, we have to do something!” There was a manic note her sister’s voice, and her eyes gleamed with an unholy light that frightened Allison. “I can’t do this alone! We have to find someone who knows about babies, and quickly.”

  “Ladies,” a deep warm voice said from the side of the carriage. “Might I be of assistance?”

  Allison stared at him, hope filling her.

  Gen took one look at Geoffrey, silhouetted in the door of the carriage with the sun a halo about his head, and fainted.

  Chapter Twenty

  Geoffrey had taken Samson and ridden straight for the Abbey. He had never felt so free, or so determined. His fate stood before him, and he knew it was up to him to seize it, or die trying. Like a cavalry officer facing Napoleon’s cannons, he narrowed his eyes and urged his mount forward.

  He didn’t falter when he found the door to the Abbey standing open. Striding in, fully intending on glaring Perkins down if necessary to find Allison, he was at last forced to pull up short by the scene before him. The Manor’s Coachman Jack was standing in the center of the parquet-floored entry, trembling and wringing his hands. The sight of the man who could calmly handle a coach and six through a crowded city street now so discomposed shook Geoffrey. He frowned at Perkins, who was standing rigidly in front of the man, back straight, gaze implacable. Then he caught sight of Chimes, who was leaning against the far wall, watching the display in his shirt sleeves with what could only be called unholy glee. Geoffrey’s eyes narrowed still further.

  “What’s going on here?” he demanded, breaking in between the city butler and the coachman. The burly Jack Coachman turned an anguished brown-eyed gaze on him.

  “Master Geoffrey, thank God! Tell this idiot I must speak to Mrs. Munroe right now. Mrs. Pentercast needs her!”

  “Has something happened to my mother?” Geoffrey demanded with a frown.

  The coachman shook his head. “Not the dowager Mrs. Pentercast, sir, the younger. She’s having the baby!”

  Geoffrey felt as if he was having one himself by the grip that seized his gut.

  Perkins merely sniffed. “As I explained to this gentleman, Mrs. Munroe is indisposed and cannot be disturbed. If Mrs. Pentercast has chosen to give birth prematurely, she will simply have to do it alone.”

  Geoffrey stared at him. “Are you mad? Send for Mrs. Munroe immediately! Sister Genevieve may have my mother with her, but she’ll want her own mother as well.”

  “But that’s just it, sir,” Jack Coachman protested, shaking so hard that he knocked the battered top hat from his greying head. “She doesn’t have your mother with her. She isn’t even at the Manor. She’s in the carriage halfway between here and the Manor, with only young Peter at her side.”

  “What!” Geoffrey yelped, mind churning with his gut. Abandoning any hope of moving the over fastidious butler, he strode to Chimes’ side. “Did you hear that? How can you stand there and listen to this idiot? Fetch Mrs. Munroe and quickly.”

  Chimes grinned at him. “I sent Mary for her ten minutes ago. With any luck, she’s already being loaded into the carriage and on her way. I simply wanted to see how far his nibs would go in refusing.”

  “Thank you,” Geoffrey said, taking a deep breath to try to calm himself. “Did Miss Allison go with her?”

  Chimes shook his head. “She left sometime earlier. On her way to Enoch McCreedy’s, I understand. Now, why do you suppose that might be?”

  Despite his tension, Geoffrey caught himself grinning as well. “I could suppose a lot of things, but perhaps I’d better discover the truth by asking Allison. But first, I’m going to make sure Sister Genevieve is all right.”

  He started to turn back to where Perkins and Jack Coachman stood locked in battle, but Chimes caught his arm. “Stop by here before you go home,” he advised. “I’ll have an overnight bag packed, just in case.”

  Geoffrey clapped him on the shoulder. “Chimes, you’re a man after my own heart!”

  He swept back through the entryway, grabbing the distraught coachman’s arm as he did so and hauling him out of the Abbey. Perkins he left to Chimes’ not-so-tender mercy. He quickly explained the situation to the coachman, who sagged in relief, then sent the man back through the woods to the Manor so that the servants there could be ready. Then he sprang up onto Samson and galloped off down the drive.

  As soon as he was around the bend that joined the Abbey drive with the one to the Manor, he saw the ca
rriage, with Blackie standing beside it. Now he gazed into the coach, amazed at the sight that met his eyes. Sister Genevieve lay in a sodden heap against the worn velvet seat, the woman he loved was gazing at him in a most besotted manner that only made him want to leap over there and kiss her equally senseless, and he was pretty sure he had just volunteered himself to deliver his brother’s child.

  “Oh, Geoffrey,” Allison cried, holding out her hands. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

  That was all the encouragement he needed to clamber up into the carriage. The motion was enough to rouse Gen, who eyed him dubiously as he settled himself on the seat opposite her.

  “You,” she said quellingly, “are not touching me.”

  “Now, Sister Genevieve,” he murmured soothingly, winking at the wide-eyed Allison. “I’ll have you know I’ve delivered a baby before.”

  “When?” Gen demanded, eyes fiery. “Where?”

  “This is not the time or place to discuss it,” he replied, hoping he would not have to admit it had been a baby horse. “Besides, I’ve been to the Abbey. Your mother is on her way, and Jack Coachman is heading for the Manor to get additional help. I only have to keep you company until they arrive.”

  “Oh, very well,” Gen grumbled with noted lack of graciousness. “Just keep that oaf of a groom away from me!”

  “As you please, mum!” The groom scampered out of sight with obvious relief.

  Allison had the most inspiring look of pride on her face as Geoffrey continued to talk in a calm, reasonable manner to her nearly hysterical sister. He gently moved Gen into a more comfortable position before she even realized he was touching her as she had forbidden. He quickly abandoned his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

  “Anyone seeing you now would think you are the gentlest man alive,” Allison murmured.

  With such praise, a man might fly. Geoffrey wanted to hold her close, but he knew his duty. He settled for winking at her again. He liked the way it brought a flush of pink to her cheeks.

  Beside him, Genevieve groaned again, writhing into a ball, and his attention was forced back to the matter at hand. He reached out to help, and she swatted his hand away. Rocking back, he motioned to Allison, who leaned toward him.

  “It will help if you can keep her from straining so,” he murmured. “Rub her back in a circular motion; speak calmly to her.”

  Allison swallowed, eyeing her sister, who was panting and clutching her stomach. She looked as if she was afraid to touch her sister in case she made the pain worse. But she took a breath and nodded. “I’ll try.”

  She moved closer to her sister and began rubbing in circles. Gen glared at her, then shrugged her shoulders and rolled her neck as the rhythm helped relax her obviously tired muscles. Slowly she uncurled with a long, heart-felt sigh. Allison beamed at Geoffrey.

  “That’s better now,” Geoffrey murmured, wondering how best to broach the next subject. If he was any judge by how quickly and hard the pains seemed to be coming, the baby would be bursting into sight any minute. He wasn’t sure Sister Genevieve was ready to raise her skirts in front of him, but he knew she could never birth the child without doing so.

  As Gen closed her eyes for a moment, Allison motioned Geoffrey closer.

  “You’re wonderful,” he murmured before she could speak. “Can you continue that rubbing a while longer?”

  She blushed. “As long as need be. But, Geoffrey, Father took me to see a lamb born once at your father’s barn, and I imagine this baby’s coming the same way. Surely we need to clear a path through the skirts and petticoats.”

  He nodded. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. I cannot do it, Allison. Genevieve would be mortified, and I’m not sure how Alan would feel about it, even given these circumstances. If I step outside, can you handle this alone?”

  Allison grabbed his hand, her grip panicked. “You’d leave me?”

  “Never,” he vowed, holding her hand tightly. “I’d just be out of sight. If I’m right, it won’t be for long.”

  Allison bit her lip. She glanced at her sister, who was even now twitching as the next birth pain began. “All right,” she agreed. “But you’ll talk to me? You’ll explain what I should do?”

  Geoffrey nodded. “Whatever you need. Quickly now. She’s stirring.” He slipped out of the carriage and shut the door.

  –

  Allison gazed down at her sister, curling into a ball now as the pain wracked her body. She moved closer, lifting the cold skirts. As she had suspected, they were soaked with fluid. “These cannot be helping,” she murmured as Gen collapsed again. “Let’s get these damp things out of the way, shall we?”

  “Where’s Geoffrey?” Gen demanded, rousing herself to gaze wildly about the coach.

  “Just outside,” Allison replied calmly, wrestling with her sister’s clothing. “He’ll come if we call, but he thought you might like some privacy.”

  Gen yawned, obviously exhausted. “About time,” she muttered, submitting to Allison’s tugging. To Allison’s relief, she found that her sister was wearing divided drawers, with plenty of room for the baby to drop in the center. They managed to tuck the dress and petticoats up about her waist between pains.

  “Is everything all right in there?” Geoffrey called.

  “Fine,” Allison replied. She dug under the seat of the carriage, thankful that someone had remembered to throw in some woolen lap robes. She spread these over her sister’s legs. Gen smiled wanly. A moment later, and she convulsed again.

  “The pains are coming awfully close together,” she called out to Geoffrey.

  “That means the baby will be here soon,” Geoffrey called back. The carriage rocked, as if he were leaning against the sun-warmed wood. “Get your sister to lean back and encourage her to help the baby come.”

  Allison eyed her sister, who glared back at her. “How do we encourage the baby?” she asked.

  “Tell your sister to tighten her belly muscles. She must push the baby out.”

  Gen frowned, but before she could protest, another pain seized her and she was too busy combating it to speak.

  “I don’t think she can with all the pain,” Allison called back, worried by the sweat that stood out on Gen’s brow.

  “Use the pain,” Geoffrey advised. “Push against it. It will help lessen it.”

  “Did you hear that?” Allison asked her sister as she lay panting in the aftermath.

  Gen eyed her. “I heard. It sounds like so much nonsense. Only a man would think to fight against a birth pain. Oh!” Another pain wracked her, but this time, Allison saw she tried to do what Geoffrey had suggested. Gen’s eyes widened.

  “It works!”

  Allison laughed in pure relief. “Wonderful. Keep doing it.”

  She took one of Gen’s hands and squeezed each time a contraction hit. Gen pushed against the pain, holding her breath and gritting her teeth. Her face was fierce to behold. Geoffrey was right, Allison realized. It was rather like fighting a battle. She only hoped her sister would be victorious.

  –

  Geoffrey stood outside, listening to the grunts of pain and the cries of relief after each pain subsided. Soon now, it had to be soon. He wondered whether he would be this close when his own child came into the world. If he had anything to say about it, he’d be holding Allison in his arms. He rather pitied Alan for not being here to witness the birth.

  He noticed the wide-eyed groom standing near the horses and sweating. Having pity on the man, he sent him ahead to the Abbey with the horses. He had no sooner done so then he heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats. His brother galloped up beside him, eyes wild.

  “What’s happened?” he demanded, leaping from the saddle. “I saw the coach halfway up the drive from the village.”

  Geoffrey caught his shoulder. Inside the coach, Genevieve cried out. Alan jerked away from him, pushing past him for the door.

  “Easy,” Geoffrey cautioned, catching him and holding him with difficulty. “The baby is nearly b
orn. Go carefully, and you might just get to see it.”

  Alan stared at him, obviously shaken. “The baby. Here? Now? Where’s Dr. Praxton?”

  Geoffrey shrugged, stepping aside. “No one knows. But I doubt he’ll get here in time. Allison is with her. Go ahead. She’ll need your support.”

  Alan nodded blankly, fumbling with the door handle. Geoffrey helped him open it and averted his eyes as Alan climbed into the coach. Gen greeted him with a glad cry, and Allison moved aside to let him hold his wife in his arms. Smiling, Geoffrey shut the door.

  He could hear Alan taking over, issuing gentle suggestions to both Allison and his wife. He knew his brother was the veteran of many nights in the lambing shed. Geoffrey closed his eyes and waited for the sound of the baby’s arrival in the world. When the weak cry sounded, he was sure only the singing of angels could be sweeter.

  It seemed only a short time later when the door opened again. He straightened, meeting Allison’s glowing eyes. She broke his gaze to look down at the bundle in her arms. “Mr. Pentercast, I give you your niece, Allison Fancine Pentercast.”

  Geoffrey stared down at the tiny, red, wizened face nestled in the lap robe. Pride rose inside him. “They named her after you?”

  “Well,” Allison grinned at him, “it was a little hard to name her after you.”

  He laughed, running a hand back through his hair. “Yes, I suppose it was.” He glanced up at Allison, noting how her ringlets were nearly flattened, hanging in lank ropes about her beaming face. Her riding habit was crushed and damp. Her face was streaked with dust and sweat. She had never looked lovelier. “Do you think I could hold her?” he asked.

  Allison nodded, and he accepted the small body from her arms. The child nestled against him, offering him a yawn much like a kitten. Geoffrey stared at her, awed.

  Allison climbed down beside him. “I love you, Geoffrey,” she murmured.

  Geoffrey’s head came up, the world suddenly spinning around him. He must be mad to think he had heard what he thought he had heard. “I…I beg your pardon?” he sputtered.