by Meara Platt
He protested and grumbled and finally gave in because he wasn’t about to deny his wife anything. Indeed, if he could have eased Laurel’s pain by taking it upon himself tenfold, Daisy knew he would have done so in a heartbeat.
“I’m glad he’s gone,” Laurel said, collapsing against her pillows with a groan the moment he’d closed the door behind him. “This really hurts. What did you give me?”
“Something to help along your contractions,” the midwife said.
She let out a soft, writhing gasp. “It’s working.”
Was childbirth always this difficult, Daisy wondered? Was it possible Laurel would die? No! She put her hands together and silently prayed. Please, don’t take her from us. Protect her. Protect Gabriel.
“The babe’s stubborn, but well positioned,” Mrs. Peebles said. “Your sister’s built to deliver a healthy child. She’s broad in the hips and strong as an ox.”
“I resent being referred to as an ox,” Laurel said, maintaining humor despite her obvious agony.
“Ye’ll get no apology from me, since I meant it as a compliment. Be grateful that ye’re not a frail, sickly thing.”
Laurel voiced no further complaint, her efforts once more concentrated on birthing, but as time wore on, there didn’t seem to be any progress, only pain. Daisy had just released the breath she was holding when she heard a resounding crash, then a yelp and a string of invectives that caused even the midwife to blush.
Daisy shot to her feet. “Oh, no! I think we have another problem.” She and Dillie rushed downstairs, following the lingering echo of shattered glass and the clang of a silver tray striking against the marble floor in the entry hall.
“Rose and I tried to help him,” Lily said, her gaze never leaving Graelem, who was flat on his back, his arms and legs sprawled, his shirt soaked with tea and covered in wet cake crumbs, butter, and marmalade. Their uncle was by his side, carefully removing Graelem’s boot to examine his leg—the one Laurel’s horse had landed on with its massive hooves last year.
Daisy had to take several deep, calming breaths because Graelem’s leg was in a very bad position and his complexion was now green. “Uncle George, has he broken it again?”
Lily’s eyes began to glisten with tears. “Rose and I offered to help him with the tray, but he insisted on taking it up himself... and he really ought to have let us help because there was too much stacked on the tray for one person to manage.”
Rose nodded. “We tried to tell him so, but this is his home, and neither of us dared to contradict him after he gave us that imperious glare that cuts one to the quick... though I did continue to warn him, because he can’t discharge us no matter how much we irritate him. We’re family, after all.”
Daisy closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “Uncle George, what can we do to help?”
“Bring down my medical bag. I have it upstairs. Dillie, go wake Billings,” he said, referring to Graelem’s butler, “and tell him to wake the footmen. We’ll need to carry Graelem upstairs. Lily, wake Mrs. MacTavish. Her maids can clean up this unholy mess once Graelem is settled in one of the guest chambers.”
“A guest chamber, my arse!” Graelem struggled to rise, but the pain proved too great so he sank back on the cold marble floor. To Daisy’s relief, he seemed able to move his neck and back without difficulty. “I’ll sit beside Laurel. I want to be with her if she...”
He couldn’t continue, his fear of losing the woman he loved obviously outweighing the pain of an injured leg. Daisy knelt beside him. “Lie still, Graelem. Please. Laurel needs you to be strong for her. Are you dizzy? How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Seven,” he responded, ending with a “damn it.”
She’d held up only one hand. Five fingers. “Lie still. You need to give yourself another moment before you—”
“Fetch me a cane.” Once again, he attempted to rise. “There are two by the coatrack in the back hall.”
George forced him back down. “I’ll kick you in that injured leg of yours if you dare to move. The midwife may call for me at any moment and I won’t be able to rush up there until I’ve finished fixing you.”
Graelem appeared ready to protest, but Mrs. MacTavish, his efficient housekeeper, rushed to his side at that moment, followed by Billings and most of the staff. “Och! I thought I heard a noise, but I never dreamed t’would be the master falling down the stairs!”
“I didn’t fall down the stairs. I merely tripped on the first step,” he grumbled. “My leg’s not broken, perhaps the ankle’s twisted at worst.”
“We’ll need bandages to securely bind that ankle,” George said, his gaze never leaving Graelem’s leg. Daisy knew what the knit of her uncle’s brow meant. There could be a break, only Graelem would never admit it.
“Right away,” Mrs. MacTavish said, sending off two maids to attend to the chore.
Billings and several sturdy footmen carried Graelem upstairs as soon as his leg was bound, but he fought them when they tried to settle him in the guest quarters. “Laurel’s in bed, having your child,” Daisy reminded him. “They can’t carry you in there.”
He scowled at his footmen. “Put me down right here. I’ll walk into my chamber on my own, crawl on my hands and knees, if I must.”
Daisy ground her teeth in frustration. Did she believe her time away from the Farthingale residence would be quiet? Or that missing Gabriel would be foremost on her mind? At the moment, Gabriel’s mission seemed like a walk in the park compared with the problem she was about to have with Graelem.
He couldn’t be allowed in the birthing room. It simply wasn’t done.
There was also the problem of Laurel. One look at Graelem, and she’d climb out of bed to put her arms around him. Honestly! The pair were as stubborn as donkeys. Would she and Gabriel ever be this ridiculous? Surprisingly, she hoped so.
She met Graelem’s scowling countenance and let out a sigh. “I’ll try to convince Mrs. Peebles to let you in.”
“Just get me in there. I’ll take care of Mrs. Peebles.”
Thoughts of bludgeoning and murder swirled in Daisy’s head. Graelem would do anything to remain by Laurel’s side. She eyed him warily. “How?”
He cast her a wincing grin, seeming to read her thoughts. “Nothing violent, I promise. Doubling her fee ought to persuade her. I’ll triple it, if I must.”
Within the hour—though it was a long, unsettling hour—matters were once more under control. The maids had cleaned up the mess on the stairs and hallway, and Graelem’s ankle was bound.
Graelem was now seated by the hearth, but in full view of his wife’s bed. “If you move from there, I’ll beat the stuffing out of you,” George warned, then started for the door.
Daisy followed after him. “Uncle George, where are you going?”
He patted her gently on the shoulder. “I’ll be snoring in the guestroom should anyone need me. Graelem will be fine now that his leg is properly set and I’ve given him enough laudanum to dull his pain. As for Laurel,” he said, pausing to run a hand through his hair, “wake me in a few hours if the babe isn’t born yet. I’ll need to relieve Mrs. Peebles and it’s best I do it with a clear head.”
Daisy’s heart leapt into her throat. “I’m frightened.”
He sighed and patted her shoulder once again. “I know it’s taking a while, but there’s no reason to fear. The signs still point to a healthy birth. The babe’s a bit reluctant to leave the comfort of his mother’s womb, that’s all.”
She nodded.
“Why don’t you girls try to get some rest as well.”
Daisy was exhausted, but she was too distressed to sleep. No doubt her sisters were just as overset. “We couldn’t.”
“Then have Mrs. MacTavish fix you the light repast you ought to have had hours ago. Keep up your strength, or you’ll be of no use to Mrs. Peebles or to me.”
“I am a little hungry,” she admitted “The twins must be, too.”
Since the household had quieted once m
ore, she decided not to bother the staff. Most had returned to their beds by now and she knew her way about a kitchen well enough to manage on her own.
As she stepped into the hall and started downstairs, she saw Billings at the foot of the stairs, looking perplexed.
She cast him an assuring smile. “Why are you still awake, Billings? You mustn’t worry. His lordship and her ladyship will recover.”
“I have faith they will, what with you and your uncle close at hand. But begging your pardon, Miss Daisy, there’s someone here to see his lordship, claims to bring news of vital importance. Waiting until morning may be too late, this person insists.”
Daisy wasn’t certain what to do. Graelem was in no condition to see anyone right now, but what if the vital news concerned Gabriel? “I’ll see the gentleman. Show him into the library.”
Billings shook his head, now appearing quite distressed. “The visitor isn’t a gentleman.”
“A lady?” She frowned. “At this late hour? Very well, show her in.”
“Can’t very well call her a lady either. She isn’t the sort one would allow into one’s home. I’ll send her away. I shouldn’t have troubled you, but she mentioned Lord Gabriel—”
Daisy gasped. “Bring her into the library at once.”
“But—”
“Do as I say, Billings.”
Daisy hurried to the library and lit the oil lamp perched atop Graelem’s desk. She decided against ordering the servants to light the fire, for she doubted the visitor would stay long. Now anxious, she busied herself by clearing off a space on the desk and fumbling in the drawers for quill pen and ink. She wasn’t certain why she’d thought to pull out paper stock and writing implements, only that they might be useful. In any event, she was on edge and needed to do something to keep her hands from trembling.
Laurel’s life and that of her baby were in danger. Graelem was injured and in a laudanum-induced stupor. Uncle George was exhausted and probably snatching a desperate hour of sleep. She was exhausted, hungry, and about to face a stranger delivering bad news. Very bad news.
Daisy uttered a silent prayer that Gabriel was unharmed, but she feared it wasn’t so. Was he hurt? Captured? Dead? He’d only been gone a day or so. Too soon to have engaged the French, unless Napoleon’s agents had followed him and Edgeware, attacking them on a quiet stretch of road.
A gentle knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. “Come in.”
Billings entered, followed by the most beautiful woman Daisy had ever beheld. She was tall and slender, and had lush red hair and smoky, cat-like eyes. Even in the harsh lamp light, she appeared to have perfect skin and a peach complexion.
“Lady Laurel?” the woman asked once Graelem’s butler had closed the door behind him to lend her some privacy.
“I’m her sister, Daisy Farthingale. Er... um...” I’m Lady Dayne now. Oh, well. It seemed irrelevant at the moment. “And you are?”
“Ah, I see,” she said with a surprisingly wistful laugh. “My name is Desiree St. Claire. I’m a friend of Lord Gabriel Dayne.”
“A friend of Gabriel’s?” Daisy gripped the corner of the desk tightly. She recognized the name and knew Desiree was more than a friend. She was Gabriel’s mistress. Don’t cry! Don’t be a ninny and cry!
She had been told such women were brazen, tawdry. But this beauty was graceful and carried herself with regal bearing. She dressed in the latest fashion, her gown a shimmering, sapphire blue made of the finest silk, and the matching fur-lined cloak was of the finest quality. Gabriel had spared no expense on his amour, she realized with dismay. “You have news concerning him?”
Desiree nodded. “I do,” she said in a refined French accent, “but I think it best that I speak to Lord Graelem.”
“What possible interest could his lordship have... er, in any way relevant to your position with his... er, cousin?” she finished lamely, not sure why she hadn’t just come out and told Desiree that she was Gabriel’s wife. In truth, it hurt that this woman knew Gabriel better than she did. It quietly tore her heart to pieces that Gabriel liked this woman better than he liked her.
“Please, let me speak to him.” Her accent grew thicker with dismay. “There’s no time to delay. The message is confidential—”
“Gabriel keeps no secrets from me.” Liar. “Kindly get to the point of your visit, or leave.” Daisy held her chin up, retaining her composure, but inwardly, she was an utter mess. Her heart pounded through her ears, her hands trembled, and her blood ran cold with fear. She was no match for this exquisite beauty. How could she ever compete with Desiree for Gabriel’s affections? Desiree was the exquisite mistress who indulged his every pleasure.
“A woman in my position must live on the generosity of men,” Desiree said, regarding her curiously, no doubt because of her comment about Gabriel keeping no secrets from her. It was a lie and Desiree obviously knew it. “Some are kinder, more generous than others.”
Oh, don’t tell me! I don’t want to know!
“Lord Gabriel is one of those men. That’s why I had to come here despite the risk. I think he’s in danger.”
A chill ran up Daisy’s spine. “What sort of danger?”
Desiree hesitated.
“Miss St. Claire, it isn’t possible to see his cousin tonight. You see, he’s injured his leg and is quite incapacitated.”
“Oh, my!” She put a hand to her mouth, appearing sincerely distressed.
“So you’ll just have to tell me what this is about.”
She withdrew a parchment from her reticule. “I wrote the words exactly as he’d mumbled them. You see, I was with a certain gentleman of high position who visited me earlier this evening. Oh, he was quite drunk and unpleasantly persistent. I fear my coming here will have consequences, especially if he finds out that I was the one to warn Lord Dayne.”
Daisy took it without comment.
She cast Daisy a weak smile. “I’ll protect myself if the need arises,” she said, a sudden cloud of sadness shrouding her gray eyes. “I’ve had to all of my life.”
“I see.” Though she didn’t really. Women such as Desiree were much sought after and understood the power they wielded over men. They traded their bodies for protection, their sexual favors for lavish gifts. They lived charmed lives, or so Daisy had thought until this very moment. Desiree looked scared and lonely.
“Please go on,” she said politely, no longer willing to judge the beauty for entering into one of civilization’s oldest professions. “Tell me what this man said.”
She took a deep breath. “He was drunk and making threats against Lord Gabriel that frightened me.” She stared at the parchment Daisy held in her hand. “Lord Graelem must read it at once. But before he does, please tell him that this gentleman offered to become my benefactor.”
Daisy shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand the significance. You must receive many such offers.”
“There is a strict protocol to such arrangements, a gentlemen’s code of honor.” Her cheeks were flaming as she spoke, for it was obviously an uncomfortable topic and Desiree couldn’t have imagined she’d be explaining it to Gabriel’s wife. Not that she realized she was speaking to Gabriel’s wife. “Since Lord Gabriel has paid a six-month advance, I’m obligated to him until the time expires. For another gentleman to engage my services is a grave insult to Lord Gabriel.”
“You make it sound rather like a contract,” Daisy muttered with disgust, “and this gentleman was interfering with the terms and conditions.”
“It’s more serious than that. Men die over such disputes of honor.”
Daisy only saw the sordidness of the arrangement, women treated as concubines and routinely abandoned as they aged, their protectors moving on to more youthful amusements.
“This gentleman would not have risked approaching me unless he thought Lord Gabriel was not coming back.”
Daisy’s hands began to shake, so she tightened her grasp on the parchment. “You mean, not coming back to y
ou.”
“No, I fear he believes that Lord Gabriel will not come back at all. That’s why you must take what I’ve written to his cousin at once. He’ll make better sense of the words.”
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Daisy read the note as she hurried upstairs, her mind awhirl with questions, especially since the note contained only one line:
Confirm N. will have welcome party for guest arriving at Boulogne.
The words could have been said by a friend, confirming that ‘N’—didn’t have to stand for Napoleon—had made arrangements for the arrival of a certain guest. But Gabriel was on his way to France and she feared the welcome party was a French regiment prepared to shoot him on sight.
Women had a sense about such things, even “‘bad” women such as Desiree. And what of her? She was French and could very well be one of Napoleon’s agents.
Daisy entered the bedchamber that was now serving as an infirmary. There was no help for it, she’d have to rely on Graelem’s judgment. Fortunately he was as alert as one could possibly be in a laudanum-induced stupor, sitting up with tears streaming down his face as he gazed intently at Laurel.
Her uncle was back in the room, and he and Mrs. Peebles were beside Laurel, her uncle’s medical bag open while he rubbed a foul-smelling liquid on a metal implement that looked like an instrument of torture. The hot, dank room reeked of foul alcohol. Rose and the twins were standing quietly in a corner, their hands clasped together. Oh, no! Oh, no!
Daisy knelt beside Graelem. “Take a look at this note. Please, it’s important.”
“Not now, Daisy.”
“You must.” She knew he was despondent over Laurel. “Please. It concerns Gabriel. He may be in danger.”
“Damn, I’m so fuzzy-headed.” A savage expression crossed his face as he took it from her hands and read it. “Where did you get this?”
“Desiree St. Claire.” Daisy felt her cheeks heat. “She’s here, in your library. Can she be trusted?”
He glanced at the parchment again. “How did she get it?”
“She wrote it down, claims she overheard... a certain gentleman visitor seeking to become her new benefactor.”