by Aubrey Wynne
But as the second course removes were taken away, an uproar began at the end of the table. “Are you sure?” asked his mother in a high-pitched voice. Sir Knighton is out of town. It cannot happen until next week at the earliest.
Eliza pushed back her chair and bent low, clutching her belly. “You had better tell your grandchild because she isn’t listening.”
“My grandson seems to be as contrary as his father,” mumbled Lady Falsbury. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid you’ll have to finish the meal without us.” She stood and leaned over Eliza. “Come my dear, let’s get you upstairs.”
Grace shot up from her chair, toppling it backward. Kit caught it before it hit the floor. “Are you well?” he asked, concern over the sudden paleness of her skin.
“Grace,” her father said in a calm, soothing tone. “It will be fine. The monthly nurse is here. I am sure Lady Falsbury found the best in London.”
“Certainly, nothing less for my grandson.”
“Granddaughter,” corrected Eliza.
“We’ll soon see,” grinned Kit. He was disappointed his private moment with Grace would be forfeited, but the mystery would finally be solved. “Please, let me assist the lady to her room.”
It took a quarter of an hour to reach the lying-in room on the third floor. Another contraction had rippled over Eliza, and she’d sat on a stair, panting. Her cousin’s earlier alarm had vanished, and she’d held the girl’s hand until the pain subsided.
“I’ve had small pains all day, but I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. The last time, Sir Knighton said it was a false start out of the gate.” She began to laugh but the sound turned into a moan as she lumbered to her feet. “I might have misjudged.”
Kit lost his patience. “Lady Eliza, I don’t want to cause you duress, but please let me carry you the rest of the way.”
He had expected an argument. Instead, her eyes were filled with gratitude as she nodded her consent. She was lighter than he expected. He scooped her up into his arms, the other women following close behind. They had chosen chambers that would provide morning light for the mother and child. There was a large bedroom, dressing room, and an outer chamber, Kit assumed, for anyone waiting to hear news. He would happily wait downstairs with Boldon and drink port.
He gently deposited Lady Eliza on the bed, kissed Grace on top of the head while his mother arranged the sheets, and escaped. In the dining room, Boldon had foregone the last courses and poured two glasses of port.
“To a new generation,” he toasted, handing Kit a glass of the dark liquid.
“I’ll be happy when this is over. Grace and I will set a date, be married, and begin our own family.” He was anxious to get started with this new phase of his life. The optimism that greeted him in the mirror each day was the result of love. The abyss left by Carson’s death was shrinking with Grace’s love. She filled it, filled him with hope that the world could be a good place with laughter and family. This birth would make her hungry for a child. He was ready. At long last, he was ready and had Grace to thank for this new view of the future.
By midnight, Kit was pacing the floor. They had moved to the billiard room to keep busy. Boldon had gone up once and came back, shaking his head. “Not yet, not yet. These things take time. One never knows.”
Foreboding churned in his gut. “What is it?”
“The baby is turned sideways.”
“Well, they can straighten it out. Can’t they?”
“I don’t know.” Boldon’s mouth tightened. “The nurse is afraid to intervene without Sir Knighton. She’s afraid if something goes wrong, she will be blamed.”
Kit ran a hand through his hair and began to pace. “Is there nothing we can do?”
“Wait. And have another drink.”
Two hours later, a rap sounded at the door. A servant curtsied and announced, “You are needed upstairs, my lord.”
They dropped their cue sticks and headed toward the door. “Lord Boldon, my lords.”
Kit ignored the maid, and both men continued down the hall, taking the stairs two at a time. Hesitating at the entrance of the lying-in chambers, he heard a low moan of despair. “No-o-o, no, no.” Fear skittered down his spine as his mother emerged from the room.
“She was like a general in battle. The nurse was afraid to turn the baby, and Eliza was tiring. Lady Grace pushed up her sleeves, and pulled the nurse to the bed. She said they would both die if nothing was done, and she wouldn’t allow that to happen.” Lady Falsbury sat down with a sigh; the lines in her face had deepened in the last few hours. “With Grace’s assistance, the nurse was able to turn the child. As they delivered her into the world, the bleeding began—”
“And Eliza?” asked Lord Boldon.
“She’s weak but will recover. However, I think between the blood and the child not breathing immediately, it brought back memories of your wife. Her body began to tremble, and she backed away from the bed, calling for her mother.”
Another quiet sob on the other side of the wall. “I can’t reach her, Lord Boldon. I thought perhaps if you tried, we could get her out of the room. She’s locked in her past…”
Kit had heard enough. Anger made him push the door with force. It banged against the wall, startling the nurse. “Please, my lord. We do not need any more commotion.” She returned her attention to the patient, sponging the sweat from her face.
With a weak smile, Eliza turned to him. “You have a niece, Lord Sunderland. And I have Grace to thank for her safe delivery. Please help her.”
He heard a hiccup and a long intake a breath. Then he saw her. Huddled in the corner, her knees drawn up, her head buried in her arms. Kit approached her slowly, squatted down, and smoothed back the wet tendrils curled on her cheek. “Grace, my love, I’m here.”
“Why, Mama? Why again?” Her glazed eyes were puffy, her tear-streaked cheeks red. She couldn’t see him, her mind was back at Boldon five years ago. The sight of her pierced his heart. His beautiful, confident, infuriating, beloved Grace. Oh god, his mind screamed, not now. Not when we’re so close to a life together.
Kit placed his hands beneath her with care, as if she might break if he moved too quickly, and lifted her into his arms. He held her to his chest, tucking her head beneath his chin, whispering to her as he carried her out of the room. “Shh, shh my love. I’m here now, shh.”
Her father stood at the door, his eyes shining with concern. “Oh, my poor little girl.” He looked at Lady Falsbury. “Will she come back to us?”
Kit saw his mother guide Boldon from the room. “I think if anyone can reach her now, it will be my son. From what Eliza has told me, she needs a voice from her future not her past, to pull her from this dark place.”
Grace began to cry again, a soft, heart-wrenching sound that threatened to shred Kit’s very soul. He sat down against the sofa, rocking her, whispering words of love, kissing her hair. “Shh, come back to me, my sweet. Eliza and the baby need you now. Sammy is waiting for you. It’s time to come home.”
A strangled groan echoed in his ears, and he continued to rock her. She couldn’t leave him now. Not now, when he was whole again. Not now, when his life was filled with light and laughter. Not now, when her smile helped him heal a little more each day.
“By God, Grace, I won’t allow it. Come back to me, dammit. Blast them all, I need you.” He buried his face in her neck, his tears mixing with hers, and realized the tormented groan was his. “I need you.”
A hand stroked his hair, a whispered touch. Fingers curved around his neck. “Kit?” It was a raspy sound, hoarse and barely audible. The most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.
He let out a long, unsteady breath. “Grace, I’m here my darling.” He clutched her to him, rocking and laughing and kissing her eyes, cheeks, nose, lips. “I’ll always be right here.”
“I saw blood, and the baby was so still…”
“Mother and daughter are fine.” He considered setting her in chair so he could fetch a cool cloth and some
water for her. His mind said to release her; his heart wouldn’t let her go.
“It’s a girl? They’re both alive?”
“You saved them, my stubborn, fearless little chit.”
Her hand cupped his cheek, and he leaned into it. “And you saved me. I heard you scolding me. I felt your tears and wanted to wipe them away.”
Grace lifted her head and pressed her lips to his. He closed his eyes, understood the silent promise in the kiss, and his world began to turn again.
Epilogue
“Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.”
Lord Byron
Early December 1815
Grace swayed back and forth, soaking up the baby’s warmth, inhaling the sweet infant scent. The embarrassment of last week had faded. The tenderness for her future husband had grown tenfold. She’d been spiraling down, sinking into a shadowy pit, reliving her mother’s death. Kit had brought her back; his voice had penetrated the fog. She had reached for him, and he’d pulled her up, held her close, wouldn’t let her go. Her heart swelled, remembering how his words had gone from soft and soothing to angry and demanding. He loved her. Oh, how he loved her.
Kit tickled the little girl’s chin. “Hello, Althea, you gave us quite a scare.”
Lady Falsbury fussed over Eliza, smoothing her bedsheets again. “The nurse said we can open the window for a bit of fresh air. Not too long, I don’t want either of you to catch a chill. Your diet should remain—”
“Mother, stop fretting over the woman and come hold your granddaughter,” Kit ordered. “It’s been almost a week and you’ve repeated the accoucheur’s orders so many times, I can recite them by heart.”
With a glare, his mother took the child from Grace. “Come here, my little one. We waited such a long time for you. Your grandfather will be furious when he comes home.”
“Because it’s not a boy?” asked Grace, indignant at the thought the marquess wasn’t satisfied with his own son.
“Goodness, no. He’s relieved it’s a girl, says Christopher always had a mind for business.” She cooed at the baby. “Lord Falsbury planned on being here for the birth. He likes to be at the helm for any important event. This certainly qualifies.”
“Ha! That will irritate him.”
“Eliza, I thought you had chosen Cara for a girl?”
“I had. One day, I was reading a book in the library and came across Althea. It means ‘of healing power’ and thought it fitting.”
“I’ve never been a philosopher but my brother has accomplished several good deeds in the wake of his death.” Kit pulled Grace to his side. “By marrying Eliza, he provided a safe and happy home for a good woman, my mother with a daughter and a grandchild, and me with a wife. He must be particularly smug right now.”
“I hadn’t thought of it in that sense. You’re right, he’s left behind quite a legacy,” said Eliza with a wistful smile.
Kit looked at the ceiling and grinned. “To Carson: who’d have thought you’d come through in the end?”
Kit swore the warm breath of laughter brushed the back of his head.
THE END
Reviews are an author’s life blood. If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review for My Book.
Afterword
Authenticity is very important to me. In every story I write, there are real places, people, and things that exist. In this book, the toy theaters were very popular during the Regency. The play that Sammy put on was a favorite with the boys because of the explosion at the end. Check it out!
https://janeaustensworld.wordpress.com/tag/toy-theatres/
The first male midwives, accoucheurs, were growing in popularity. These were educated men who saw the financial gain in this new field. Two well respected and costly obstetricians served London aristocracy and the royal family. Sir William Knighton and Sir Richard Croft.
Sunderland is an area in northern England and was once a bustling port. I came across it when I wrote my medieval story, Rolf’s Quest. The villain in that story is Kit’s ancestor, who owned Sunderland Castle. You’ll meet the mad duke (from Rolf’s Quest) when Kit and Grace move in to the haunted castle. But you’ll have to wait until Christmas 2018.
Eliza’s story will be next. Sign up for my newsletter and don’t miss the release this summer.
https://www.subscribepage.com/k3f1z5
The Earl of Basingstoke by Aileen Fish
Here’s Chapter One of the next Wicked Earl in our club:
Chapter One
May 1815
London
Last night at Almack’s, a particular earl was observed dancing with a certain Lady P.W. three times! A short time later, it was remarked upon that neither person could be found. Lady P.W. was later discovered beside her friend, Lady M. G. Where had she been hiding, and who had she been with?
Lady Phoebe Woodson snapped her diary closed and set it on the small table beside her chair, patted the leather cover, then carefully aligned her inkwell to its side. “You looked so lovely dancing with Hartshorne last night, Marjorie. Those sapphires you wore matched your eyes.”
“I’m exceedingly happy with him. I still have trouble believing we’ve been married almost seven months. To think a year ago I was ready to wed someone else.” Marjorie sighed and looked toward the window, her face glowing in the sunlight streaming through the glass, which highlighted her short, black curls.
“You two are perfect for each other. Now it’s my turn. I must find the man who’s perfect for me. I’m twenty-four and am still single, isn’t it shocking? Papa has been giving me stern looks when each day passes and no gentleman has sent flowers or offered to walk with me at Hyde Park. I won’t return to the country without an accepted proposal.”
In truth, Phoebe had already found the man she desired with all her heart. She’d brushed aside the flirtations from three men over the years, unable to consider anyone but him—Nathan Carruthers, Earl of Basingstoke, with his wickedly handsome dark features, and glittering brown eyes, was the most handsome man of her acquaintance.
At least, she assumed his eyes were brown, and they must glitter, given how his smile lighted his face. She’d never stood close enough to be certain of the shade. Never danced with him, or pretended to stumble so she could fall into his arms.
Her problem was getting Basingstoke to notice her. They’d been introduced three years ago, but for all she knew, he’d promptly forgotten her.
“Do you think he’ll attend Lady Albright’s ball tonight?” Phoebe asked.
“Who? Hart won’t be there. He mentioned meeting a friend at his club.”
“Oh dear, I forget you cannot hear what I think.” The friends laughed. “We’ve known each other so long, I sometimes believe I know exactly what you’re thinking.”
“Ah, now I understand,” Marjorie said. “You meant Basingstoke.”
Phoebe actually blushed, her cheeks burning so much they must be bright red. “I’m foolish to think of him, aren’t I?”
“You’re foolish to think your father would allow you to even dance with him, much less marry. All those friends of his…the scandals…the rumors…even if only half are true, those men are truly wicked.”
“But doesn’t the thought of kissing one of those scoundrels excite you, just a little?” Seeing Marjorie’s frown, Phoebe continued. “Well, wouldn’t it have before you married? The gossip surrounding them might be as exaggerated as your husband’s situation was. Hartshorne wasn’t guilty of that scandal with his brother’s wife. Or rather, the woman his brother ended up marrying. That would have been quite the scandal the other way, wouldn’t it?”
Marjorie’s scowl hadn’t softened. “That W pin on Basingstoke’s lapel tells you all you need to know about him. Wicked. Your parents would never forgive you for associating with such a man, and you’d be ruined in Society’s eyes.”
“Very well, I’ll forget about Basingstoke.” But she wou
ldn’t stop detailing the rumors surrounding him in her diary. Embellishing them…making herself the willing victim of his debauchery, or what she assumed that entailed. Those stories she wrote might be as close as she ever came to a grand romance, so she’d take her enjoyment where she could find it.
***
Nathan Carruthers, Earl of Basingstoke, scooped his winnings from the center of the table and stacked the coins with his prior winnings. The club he and the so-called Wicked Earls frequented was quiet, the smell of stale pipe smoke lingering in the air. His friends and fellow earls, Grayson and Weston, passed their cards to the dealer, Sussex.
Grayson drank from his glass. “What’s this rumor I hear about you, Basingstoke? You’re planning to leave the club soon?”
“Leave? Never!” He eyed each of his friends, searching for the laughter they must be holding back.
“That’s not what I heard. You’ve decided to end your days of freedom and marry.” Sussex shuffled the cards and dealt.
Basingstoke coughed to cover his gasp of surprise. He’d mentioned something of the sort to his friend, the Duke of Thornton, but Thorn was very tight lipped. Who could have overheard? “That’s not precisely what I said. I don’t think I mentioned marriage, as such. I simply said it might be time to consider a family.”
The three men laughed loudly, and Basingstoke gritted his teeth.
“Last I heard, the one required the other, at least for a man of our station,” Weston said. “Although, the ton is convinced you’ve already fathered a son.”
“Leave Gabriel out of this discussion, or any other,” Basingstoke barked.