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Andrew Lord of Despair(92)

By:Grace Burrowes


“Who is with her now?”

“Gareth. He hasn’t left her side all night unless it’s to see to her every comfort.”

“I might have known. What seems to be the difficulty, and where is the damned fancy doctor Heathgate lined up?”

“Dr. Mayhew is stuck in Town because of the snow, or because a lot of babies decided to come all at once, the midwife is similarly detained, and I don’t know what the trouble is,” Astrid replied miserably.

“I wouldn’t give much for Dr. Mayhew’s reputation once it’s known he let Heathgate’s marchioness down,” Andrew observed as he poured a second cup of tea. “What are Felicity’s symptoms?”

“She has contractions, but they are not regular, and they haven’t started coming in any predictable pattern. She says it doesn’t feel right, and while I’m no expert, I have to agree. She’s in a lot of pain, very tired, and there’s little progress.”

Andrew polished off his tea in gulps and then started on Astrid’s. “Is the opening to her womb dilating?”

This went beyond blunt, and yet, that Andrew knew what to ask was an enormous relief. “Only a doctor would be able to determine that, and I am certainly not a doctor.”

“Has her water broken?”

“It has not,” Astrid replied, a hot blush creeping up her neck.

“That might be part of the problem. If you break her water, the whole business might get under way in earnest, though some think it can hasten infection.”

“And if I break her water, assuming I could figure out how to do that safely,” Astrid replied, “and that doesn’t get the whole business under way, might it not hurt the babies?”

“Astrid,” Andrew said gently, “you’ve likely read the same treatises I have nearly memorized. Labor might not be progressing because the babes are dead. Breaking Felicity’s water will not make them any more dead.”

Astrid sat back, breathing having become a challenge. “You mustn’t let Gareth hear you talk that way, and I can’t say I like it much myself.”

“Nor do I. You look exhausted. Why don’t you rest while I look in on Lissy?”

“I’ll rest later.” She didn’t want to let him out of her sight, and she didn’t want to rest while her sister’s life might be slipping away.

***

Andrew gave in to his tired, beautiful, gravid wife, and let her accompany him as he marched himself up to Felicity’s room. He knocked once, then let himself in.

The stench nearly gagged him.

Felicity lay in the big bed, her great belly mounding up under her nightgown. The room was hot, the air foul. Gareth sat by the side of the bed, holding his wife’s hand. While Andrew stood just inside the door, Astrid slipped her hand into his, and despite the heat, Astrid’s fingers were cold.

This wasn’t the reception Andrew had expected, not by a long, wide shot, but Andrew squeezed her fingers gently. Hope lanced through him, hot, light, and irrepressible. He savored it as he held his wife’s hand, then tamped it down to be examined later, when less trying circumstances might reveal it for folly.

“Andrew,” Gareth said quietly. “I suppose Astrid sent for you.” His voice was devoid of emotion, but his face told a tale of exhaustion, bewilderment, and grief.

The staff would be of no help, it being rare for servants to marry, much less marry, have children, and know enough of childbirth to be of use in this situation. Hence, Gareth’s unwillingness to abide by convention and leave Astrid to contend with Felicity on her own.

“I was about to send for Andrew,” Felicity said, her voice scratchy with fatigue. “For Astrid,” she clarified.

She was conscious, at least, and that counted for something.

“I’m here now, Felicity,” Andrew said, “and I see there is much to be done, so let’s be about it, shall we?” He slipped his hand from his wife’s grasp and approached the bed.

“Don’t you touch her,” Gareth snarled.

“Gareth…” Felicity chided quietly.

“He’ll hurt you if he touches you,” Gareth said, not taking his eyes off his brother.

“And you will hurt her if you insist she continue to lie in those soiled sheets,” Andrew shot back. “Her own mother did not die in childbirth, you know. That poor lady died of the ensuing infection caused, no doubt, by the unclean conditions of the birthing chamber.”

“I tried to tell him that,” Astrid murmured. “We have to keep things clean here, but he doesn’t want Felicity to have to move.”

“What is the damned point?” Gareth bit out.