Andrew Lord of Despair(94)

Perhaps they’d adopt that as their family motto. “That’s my lady. Get out of your gown, put on a clean shift, and scrub your hands with lye soap.”

“I can do that.”

“I am going to fetch more hot water, so be quick about it.” Because Astrid was as much in need of rest as Gareth or Felicity, and the babies needed to be born sooner rather than later.

Andrew returned, bearing ten more gallons of hot water and sheets that had been recently washed and bleached. He spread a sheet on the birthing stool with a thickness of towels underneath.

“Time to get busy, Lady Heathgate. Up you go, and all that.”

Moving Felicity from the bed to the birthing stool took considerable effort. The slightest change in position, and she was in agony, leaving Andrew and Astrid on either side of her to half carry, half walk her across the room. Just as she lowered herself to the stool, a contraction hit.

“It appears,” she gasped, “they aren’t quite done yet.”

“No,” Andrew said, “and that is very encouraging.” He took most of her weight in his arms as she carefully lowered herself to sitting. “And now we have to see if the babies need to be turned.”

One baby did need to be turned, exactly like one of Andrew’s small namesakes in northern Italy. The process was uncomfortable, so uncomfortable, Felicity passed from consciousness, and that was probably all that allowed Andrew and Astrid to align matters properly.

Astrid sat back on her stool, surveying her sister’s pale face. “Andrew, I think we did it… The baby has moved.”

Andrew eased his grip on Felicity’s belly, expelling a breath he’d been holding for far too long.

“Good work, Astrid,” he said, offering an encouraging smile. “I suspect there are children to be born here very shortly.”

“Hurts,” Felicity said, opening her eyes moments later.

“Yes.” It hurt Andrew’s heart to see such suffering and courage, hurt him to think of his brother exhausted in the hallway, hurt him to know Astrid was dealing with all of this, when her own time wasn’t far off.

“You moved the babies,” Felicity said, frowning.

“You can tell?”

“Oh yes, I can tell. Holy smiling Jesus, Andrew…”

Before that contraction had passed, her fingernails had dug crescents into the back of his hand.

“This is right,” Felicity said wonderingly when the pain had passed. A smile bloomed on her tired face. “Oh, Andrew, this is right. This is like when James was born. It feels like the pain is pushing the babies down. I want to push the babies down.”

“Fairly said you might,” Andrew replied. “Is it time to summon the nursery maid?”

“Yes, please. And open the window more. I need air. The babies need air.”

When Astrid was in position to assist with the next contraction, Andrew went out into the hallway, sent a footman trotting for the nursery maid, and squatted beside his sleeping brother.

“Gareth.” He shook him by one muscular shoulder. “Heathgate…” Then more loudly, “Brother…”

Gareth’s eyes flew open, and Andrew could see the moment when reality intruded on waking awareness. “My wife?”

“Is busy right now, delivering your children. She’ll soon be asking for you.” Andrew stood and extended a hand to his brother.

Gareth let Andrew pull him to his feet, but stood as if dazed. Andrew turned him by the shoulders toward the master bedroom. “Tidy up, Heathgate, and pull yourself together. You will soon be introducing yourself to my newest nieces or nephews.”

He gave his brother a small push, then watched as Gareth squared his shoulders and marched off in the direction of clean clothes, a hair brush, and a few minutes of privacy in which to compose himself.

Felicity was far from out of the woods. She’d lost blood, and infection was always an issue. But she and Gareth had both been spared the awful choices Fairly had described, and for that Andrew would always be grateful.

And gratitude was something he hadn’t felt in any unreserved sense for almost half of his life, though it flooded every corner of his heart now.





Eighteen





“Gareth, wake up.” A voice at Gareth’s ear roused him from the daze he’d been in, for he’d refused to let sleep claim him again. His hand remained wrapped around Felicity’s fingers, his face pressed to her shoulder.

Her chest still rose and fell with slow, shallow breaths.

“She’s asleep,” Astrid said, “and you need to rest as well, or you’ll be no use to either her or those children.” Astrid’s voice was gentle, a light of compassion and sorrow in her eyes.