Andrew Lord of Despair(87)

When they had gained the corridor, Felicity paused, her lips thinning. “I wish I could tell you to send Gareth off to Willowdale to fetch Andrew tonight, but he’d see through the stratagem. Get me undressed and into bed, then tell my husband to send for the doctor.”

Astrid had her sister into a nightgown and tucked under the covers in no time.

“David was able to keep Gareth from the room during my previous birthings,” Felicity said, “but I don’t think my husband will be as easily distracted this time, and neither David nor Andrew is here to make the attempt. It will be up to you, Astrid, and Dr. Mayhew to keep my husband under control.”

“You know that’s not fair. Gareth will listen to you, and you alone. If you want him from the room, you must be the one to tell him.” Did she expect Astrid to toss the marquess bodily from the room?

“I can’t.” Felicity went silent, and Astrid could feel the pain resonating through her sister’s body. “When Gareth looks at me, his anxiety so carefully hidden, I haven’t the heart to send him away. In truth, he steadies me.”

“That’s not all he does to you.”

“Well, please fetch him,” Felicity replied. “He will be furious I’ve done this, gone into labor right as the weather turns nasty. Dr. Mayhew will be none too appreciative either.”

“Then let them be the ones to birth the children while we stand around, swilling brandy, and cursing the weather,” Astrid replied staunchly. That inspired a smile, so Astrid left the room and went to fetch her brother-in-law.

“Gareth?”

Wire-rimmed glasses were perched on his nose, and he held a small silver rattle in his big hand while he read at the desk in the library.

“Hello, Astrid.” Gareth rose, taking his glasses off and folding them into a pocket; the rattle went into a different pocket. “Did you leave Felicity upstairs?”

“I left her in bed.” And abruptly, it was hard to say what needed to be conveyed. Fear was contagious, apparently. Astrid shoved it aside with a confidence she did not feel and a prayer she did not voice. “She asked that I fetch you, and that I further ask you to send for Dr. Mayhew.”

Gareth sat right back down, as if his knees had simply given out.

“I was afraid of this,” he muttered. “The damned weather… The goddamned bloody weather has brought this on.” He crossed his arms on the desk and momentarily rested his forehead on his forearms.

He was praying. Astrid was sure she was witnessing the Marquess of Heathgate in a sincerely prayerful moment, and that frightened her too.

“I rather think the weather is only one factor, Gareth, but we waste our time here, and it is going to be a long night. You go up to your wife and act pleased with this turn of events, or I will personally use a horsewhip on you. First you should send a rider for Dr. Mayhew and one for the local midwife as well.”

“Felicity doesn’t like the midwife,” Gareth said, getting back to his feet. “She interviewed her, but said only dire emergency would justify relying on her.”

“So we don’t like the midwife,” Astrid said, “but she is much closer to hand than Dr. Mayhew and will be a source of some experience until he arrives. Now pull yourself together and go to your wife.”

He left, so Astrid penned the requisite notes, put Heathgate’s seal on them, sent for the grooms, and prayed the snow would ease off.

***

Five miles and one universe of misery away from his wife, Andrew stood at his library window, watching the snow come down by the light of a lantern hanging outside the stable doors. He knew Astrid loved snow, but this had all the look of a true winter storm, one that would leave roads impassable, travelers stranded, and Andrew unable to join his wife, even if he wanted to.

And he did want to. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let her go; on that much, at least, he was now clear. Astrid had been right to insist on a separation, because Andrew had been forced to confront his feelings in a way he wouldn’t have otherwise.

He loved his wife, and he wanted her to be happy; it was that simple, and that difficult. He would have to accommodate himself to whatever wishes she expressed that supported her happiness, even if it meant she sent him away. The difficulty lay in the nature of the truths Andrew was honor-bound to share with her before she made such a decision.

Were it not pouring snow, he would saddle Magic up and make his way to Willowdale. He hadn’t mentally arranged all the hard truths that he must convey to Astrid, but a lonely and very likely condemned husband could visit his wife while he was considering his next move, couldn’t he?