Like Lydia’s confession she had planned to run away with him all those years ago because she had adored him.
Adored him!
Her exact words and he still wasn’t quite over them. She had said as much back then, of course, and more. But tonight he saw the truth in them.
Lady Lydia Barton could have had anyone—yet she had wanted him.
Behind the door, Gertie moaned in pain, dragging him back to the present, and Randolph clutched his own stomach in sympathy as he paced and practically howled, ‘She’s hurting, Owen! She’s hurting! And it’s all my fault!’
As technically it was, he had no words of comfort to ease his friend’s guilt. Instead, Owen unfolded himself from the chair and wandered to the sideboard to pour him a brandy. ‘It will all be over soon.’ He held out the glass and wrapped one arm around the other man’s shoulders. ‘Come. Sit. Gertie’s sailed through every labour so far and I’ve heard it gets easier each time.’
Randolph nodded, clasping the glass in both hands as if it were the Holy Grail, and swallowed the entire contents in one go before handing it back for Owen to refill it. ‘I keep telling myself I should abstain… After all these years I know exactly when to avoid it… When I should sleep in another room… But I cannot help myself.’ His pained expression was tragic. ‘You’ve seen her. She’s a goddess… A seductress… I can’t keep my hands off her. I do not possess your willpower, Owen.’
He wasn’t entirely sure he possessed it now either. With every passing day it got harder and harder. Tonight, if Slugger hadn’t interrupted, he’d have kissed her. And then what?
She would know he still had feelings. Know she still had power over him. Either one gave her the upper hand and frankly scared the hell out of him.
Another moan came from the bedchamber beyond and, as Randolph threw his arms in the air and began to flagellate himself again, the door flew open.
‘Any sign of the physician?’ Lydia was wide-eyed and clearly panicked. The evening gown she was still wearing was hanging limply from one shoulder and half of her artfully tousled hairstyle had collapsed.
‘He’s just finishing up another birth on Bruton Place and will be here presently.’
This news did nothing to placate her. ‘And the midwife?’ Her voice was unusually high pitched.
‘She is not at home…but we have a man posted there to fetch her here as soon as she materialises…’ One hand reached out and grabbed his cravat.
‘The baby is coming, Owen!’
His eyes swivelled to the clock on the mantel and then he smiled in reassurance. ‘No, it isn’t. It’s much too soon. She’s only been in labour an hour. We’ve at least another three to go.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘Then perhaps you’d like to tell the baby that? Because I can assure you it’s coming now!’ On cue, Gertie’s strangled moan cut through the pause, then she began to pant.
Behind Owen, Randolph dropped to his knees and howled, ‘This is all my fault, Lydia! What have I done?’
‘It can’t be coming now.’ His tone was irritatingly patronising. ‘Her last labour was five hours. The one before that nine and Lottie was a good eighteen…’
Lydia pulled him into the bedchamber and pointed to where Gertie was propped on the bed, knees braced, teeth gritted and clearly bearing down. ‘Look at her, Owen! Does that look like a woman with hours to go to you?’
He warily took in the scene, his eyes widening at her cry of pain, until Gertie noticed him between contractions and seemed to forget she was busy. Something she bizarrely seemed to do as naturally as breathing. ‘Hello, Owen. How’s Randolph holding up?’
‘Oh, you know…’ He smiled weakly, trying to keep his eyes on her face rather than below her neck. ‘The usual.’
But when Gertie’s face suddenly contorted and she groped for his hand, he was there like a shot.
‘Ooh!’ She squeezed so tightly the tips of his fingers were practically purple and, at a complete loss as to what else to do, Lydia wrung out a cloth and mopped her friend’s sweaty brow, all the while sending her clueless husband a pointed message with her eyes.
It took him a while to receive it. When he did, he smiled nervously and patted Gertie’s hand. ‘The physician is on his way. He’ll be here within the hour.’
Gertie grunted again, her knuckles white as she gripped Owen’s hand even tighter, then her breath sawed in and out as she pushed. ‘I haven’t got an hour, Owen. This baby is coming now.’ Clarification which, frankly, did not require repeating as far as Lydia was concerned but which seemed to finally galvanise him into action.
‘Right, then…’ His panicked eyes sought hers and he gestured to the door. As soon as they were out of earshot, he rattled out a plan.
‘I’ll get Slugger to sit with Randolph and I’ll go fetch the physician myself.’
‘That’s it? That’s your plan?’ She grabbed his lapels and shook. ‘And what do you expect me to do in the meantime?’
‘Well, obviously, as the only woman here…’
Her mouth hung slack before she found her voice. ‘I’ve never delivered a baby!’
‘You have the same…’ his finger pointed ineffectually towards the middle of her ruined gown ‘…equipment.’
‘Which I have never used, Owen! I don’t have the first clue what to do! You’re the one who’s been here before. Gertie told me you’ve attended all three of her births!’
‘Only sat outside, Lydia! Dealing with blasted Randolph! You’ve seen how he is! He can’t be left alone.’ To prove this, he flung open the door and she was confronted with the sight of the father-to-be moaning as he paced and clutched at his stomach.
‘Well, you cannot leave me alone either!’ It was her turn to grip his hand and she must have done it so forcefully he stared down—then his fingers curled around to encase hers. ‘I need you here, Owen! Here! Where the real drama is happening.’
‘Then I’ll be here… I promise.’ He glanced back towards Randolph and took a deep breath. ‘Give me a couple of minutes to organise everyone and fetch towels and hot water and then I’ll be back.’
She nodded, the panic lessening because he would be here and he would be in control. ‘What are the towels and hot water for?’
He shrugged, completely destroying her fleeting confidence. ‘I have absolutely no idea. I just recall the midwife asking for them.’
‘Ooh!’
Lydia scurried back to her friend’s bedside as Owen dashed out the door, trying to project a calmness she did not feel.
‘Not long now, Gertie.’
Which from her limited knowledge of the birthing process was probably the case. The contractions seemed to be coming thick and fast, and by the way Gertie slumped back on to the pillow afterwards, they were lasting longer, too. Her poor friend looked exhausted.
‘And even if the physician or the midwife don’t get here, I am here with you.’
No matter how petrified she was on the inside, Lydia was determined to project a calm facade. The last thing she wanted to do was make her friend panic.
‘Everything is going to be all right.’
‘It’s all fairly straightforward, you know.’ How Gertie had the strength and wherewithal to smile was beyond her. ‘Pushing the head out is the hardest bit. Once that’s out, you’ll just need to be poised to catch the baby. Or at least you’ll likely have to catch this one. He’s in a dreadful hurry to be born.’
‘He? It could very well be a she, you know.’
‘Mark my words, only a man causes this much trouble. You wait till you and Owen have children. You’ll be able to tell the difference after the first.’
It wasn’t meant as a cruel comment or a cutting jibe, but it wounded still. ‘I doubt there will be a first.’ She couldn’t quite bring herself to say never. ‘We don’t have that sort of marriage.’
‘Not yet
, perhaps—but you will. I’ve always thought Owen would make a wonderful father. You’ve seen him with mine.’
She had, so couldn’t deny it. Owen had all the warmth, tolerance, patience and love which had been so sadly lacking in her own sire. ‘We haven’t discussed children.’
Lydia hoped the next intense contraction would be an end to the conversation—but Gertie was like a dog with a bone.
‘Don’t you want them?’
‘Of course, but…’ How to put it into words delicately without blatantly spelling out her new husband would much prefer to avoid her than make babies. ‘Unlike you and Randolph, we married for financial reasons.’
‘So did we.’
That pulled Lydia up short. ‘It wasn’t a love match?’ Because to observe them now that idea was inconceivable. Randolph and Gertie clearly adored one another.
‘We were complete strangers when we wed.’ At Lydia’s startled expression Gertie giggled. ‘That surprises you, doesn’t it! But it’s true. I met him for the first time on the Friday when he came to the women’s factory looking for a wife and we were wed two days later on the Sunday.’
‘That was fast.’ It certainly put hers and Owen’s hasty four days to shame.
‘That was the way of things in New South Wales. You grabbed the bull by the horns before it ran past and disappeared over the mountains.’
‘Randolph told me you were thoroughly seduced by his rugged good looks and rapier wit.’ Which was such a typical Randolph comment to make, she had taken it with a big pinch of salt, but assumed he had worn her down gradually because he was so infectiously lovable.
Gertie rolled her eyes, then winced, her hands fisting in the bedsheets as she sucked in several calming breaths. ‘I was…actually seduced by…’ she exhaled loudly, then sank back on to the pillow ‘…the size of his purse and the promise of a roof of my own over my head. Things weren’t easy for a girl alone in the New World. People take advantage.’ Gertie’s eyes clouded momentarily.
‘But after a year of living hand to mouth, I decided enough was enough and promised myself when the next crop of desperate and lonely men came begging for a wife, I would snag myself the one with the best prospects. And on that day, thank goodness, it was Randolph.’
Gertie laughed at the memory while her index finger idly stroked the plain gold band she wore on her wedding finger as if its mere presence gave her a great source of comfort. ‘It was funny, really. As I remember discussing it all with a friend that very morning and when I declared my criteria, I actually said, “I don’t care if he’s three feet tall, as long as his pocket jingles.”’ She grinned at Lydia. ‘Life can be wonderfully ironic sometimes. I often think fate likes to play with us.’
It had certainly played with her and Owen.
‘And that was all it took for you to agree to marry him?’
‘As mercenary as it sounds, that was all it took. You weren’t the only one in dire straits and forced to marry in haste, Lydia. At least you and Owen knew each other before you were wed. All we knew were each other’s names—but it all worked out in the end and we fell head over heels in love. Just as it will all work out for the pair of you.’
‘Things would probably be easier if Owen and I did not know each other.’ Lydia shrugged, trying not to feel depressed at the sorry state of her marriage. ‘There is too much animosity between us.’
‘Is there?’ Gertie said. ‘From where I am standing there seems to be a lot more between you than a little animosity. Enough that I suspect the animosity doesn’t stand a chance of keeping the pair of you apart successfully for very long.’
Against her better judgement Lydia was curious. ‘Such as?’
‘Obvious friendship despite your differences.’
‘I suppose…’
‘Mutual affection…’
‘I wouldn’t go that far.’
‘Mutual attraction. Obvious and palpable lust…’
‘There is no lust, I can assure you. At least not on my part.’ Good grief—was it that visible? Her friend’s spontaneous bark of laughter at her lie was mortifying.
‘Girl, you cannot look at him without drooling, nor he you. I cannot fathom why you’re both so adamantly denying yourselves.’
‘Because things are complicated.’
‘Then for the love of God and for the sake of your own sanity, uncomplicate them as it is clear to me, and everyone else here for that matter, that a good roll in the hay is exactly what you and your idiot husband need. He’s a handsome devil and thoughtful—and thoughtful men always make the best lovers. I know. Mine is exceedingly thoughtful.’ By the scandalous expression on her face her friend was not alluding to her husband’s good deeds. ‘Deliciously thoughtful, in fact. I remember the first time…’
‘Gertie!’ This was all so embarrassing.
‘Do his kisses make you melt?’
They had done. A decade ago when he had last kissed her. ‘We don’t have that sort of relationship… Or at least not any more.’
‘Then I suspect that is the root of the problem! All that pent-up lust is fermenting and festering and sending you both daft. Take my advice. Kiss him tonight! Sprawl yourself across him and throw caution to the wind. Then tell him you want his baby… And if I’m right, Owen will happily give you one—and all your problems will be solved.’ Then Gertie laughed again at her own bawdy humour until it turned into another grunt which seemed to go on for ever.
* * *
Gertie was in the midst of another punishing contraction when Owen’s head appeared tentatively through the door. As he edged inside, looking every inch a man who would rather be absolutely anywhere else in the world, she saw he was carrying two steaming buckets of water and had half the linen closet draped around his neck.
‘Slugger has Randolph, I’ve closed the club and dispatched every available body to hunt for the midwife.’ She saw his Adam’s apple bob nervously as he stared at the child bed. ‘In the meantime I am at your service.’
‘Gertie has been talking me through what we need to do.’
He smiled weakly, his handsome face bleached of all colour. ‘Splendid.’
‘Your job is to hold Gertie’s hand and mop her brow.’
He nodded, clearly relieved he wouldn’t be at the business end. ‘Splendid… Splendid… I can do that.’
‘And my job is to catch the baby when it comes out.’ He nodded again, looking every bit as overwhelmed by the prospect as Lydia was. ‘Then we have to cut the cord.’
‘With what?’
‘The scissors on the nightstand.’
‘Scissors… Nightstand… Splendid.’ His gaze travelled to the piece of furniture, then quickly returned, his brows furrowed. ‘And when, exactly, do we use the towels and hot water?’
She shrugged, bewildered, just as Gertie gripped the bedstead and they both saw first-hand exactly what those items were for.
‘We might also need a mop, too, Owen…once we’re done.’
If he was squeamish, he didn’t show it, and with stiffly squared shoulders he walked decisively to the bed. As he took Gertie’s hand, she practically growled as fresh pain tore through her.
‘Argh! Ooh!’
He held up his end relentlessly, his eyes intermittently flitting to Lydia’s for reassurance as the contractions suddenly all seemed to merge into one. Then Gertie gripped his shirt, pulling him to eye level and snarling directly in his face.
‘You tell Randolph if he ever touches me again I am going to kill him!’
‘You have my solemn pledge, Gertie, if he ever touches you again, I will kill him for you.’
‘Thank y—Ooh!’ She rode the contraction and then let go of his hand long enough to point a quaking finger at Lydia. ‘Ignore what I said before! Never let a man touch you! Or kiss you! Or do all the other wicked things they do so well to thoroughly seduc
e y—Ooh! Because this is what happens!’
She growled again, her nails biting into poor Owen’s skin until he had to resort to peeling her fingers off one by one and reattaching them to his hand.
‘I’m going to have Randolph castrated!’
‘A splendid idea.’ He gently mopped her brow as the contraction subsided. ‘He thoroughly deserves it.’
‘You’ll need to be castrated, too, Owen!’ He nodded sagely as she gripped his hand again.
‘I’ll get us all done as soon as this is over. I promise. Slugger, too.’ He slanted Lydia an amused glance. ‘We’ll use the scissors on the nightstand.’
‘You’re all vile seducers!’
‘We are indeed… Vile…the lot of us.’
* * *
The next fraught ten minutes were spent much the same and, to his credit, Owen endured it all stoically despite looking absolutely terrified throughout.
When it became apparent the time for pushing had properly come, at her insistence he sat behind Gertie on the mattress and supported her weight and stared diligently at the ceiling as Lydia pulled up her nightgown and hoped for the best.
The baby’s head was crowning.
Each time Gertie pushed a little bit more emerged. It was hideous and wonderful at the same time. An eye-opening lesson of what her body could do.
‘That’s it… Keep pushing.’ Remarkably, her voice sounded authoritative and confident as a tiny ear appeared. Two squeezed tight eyes. Then a nose. ‘Once more, Gertie… Just once more… Deep breath…’ As if it might somehow help, she sucked in a lungful of air and then saw Owen do the same, then all three of them blew it out slowly.
‘Ooh!’
‘That’s it, Gertie… The head is out.’ She smiled at Owen in wonder and he smiled back.
Because it felt like the right thing to do, she gently grasped the baby’s neck and crown to help it battle its way into the world, only to feel the barrier of its shoulders preventing it.
‘We need a big push now… A really big one.’ Gertie nodded, her knuckles white as they gripped Owen’s big hand.
This time, as he supported her through the contraction, he forgot to avert his eyes and watched transfixed as the child slithered out of Gertie’s body all in one go. And to everyone’s delight it was angry.
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