XIV

Belle squirmed uncomfortably and shoved another pillow between her aching back and the back of the sofa she sat upon in the parlor. She trembled, the cup of tea in her hand rattling noisily against its saucer. She should have been enjoying her morning tea and scones she normally indulged in between breakfast and lunch. Usually it brought her comfort, but this morning no matter what she did, she couldn't seem to ease the pain in her back.

She concentrated on her breathing, trying to keep it steady and even as she called upon her gift. Focusing all her energies, she envisioned the pain – embraced it – and wound it into a tight ball. Just as she thought she had it centered and malleable to her whim, it exploded into a shower of sparks, sending a myriad of sharp stinging pain to every one of her nerve endings.

She'd taught her husband how to block her wayward gift since they'd been married, so as not to suffer any ill effects due to her lack of control, but if she weren't careful, the pain she was experiencing could very well break through his walls like tissue paper. The last thing she wanted was to see her Robbie suffer what she was going through. She'd always been told labor was a violent contortion of her abdominal muscles as her body prepared to expel the baby. No one had ever mentioned this searing pain in her back, and she couldn't imagine what was causing it. Perhaps she'd pulled a muscle due to the extra weight she carried?

Her stomach roiled violently as she lifted her cup, her favorite peppermint tea not agreeing with her this morning at all. She was ready to return to her bed when Henderson knocked softly on the parlor door. "Your Grace, there is a woman here to see you," he intoned with an imperious sniff.

Apparently, she wasn't one of their acquaintances judging by the disdainful expression on his dour face. "Did she leave a calling card, Henderson?"

"No, Your Grace. Should I tell her you aren't receiving this morning?"

Belle shook her head, in need of a distraction to take her mind off the pain. "That won't be necessary. Please show her in and perhaps fetch us a fresh pot of tea and some refreshments."

"Very good, Your Grace. I'll see to it at once." He bowed to her and left the room.

Belle smoothed a hand over the skirt of her mauve day gown and bit her lip thoughtfully, wondering who her guest might be who wouldn't have left a card. Her eyes widened as a willowy raven-haired beauty pushed her way past the stodgy butler and made her way swiftly to Belle's side. "Esme!" the duchess squealed in delight, pulling the girl into her arms as Esme dropped to her knees at Belle's feet. "Oh, darling, what are you doing here?"

"Belle," Esme whispered tearfully, drawing away for a moment, her eyes widening in disbelief as she took in the advanced state of her friend's pregnancy. She rose from the rug and settled herself on the sofa at Belle's side. "Didn't you receive my letter?"

"I did, but it was rather cryptic," she said softly, clasping the girl's hand in both of hers. "You should have sent word round to the house to let us know you'd arrived, and I would have sent the carriage to the docks to collect you. What kind of trouble are you in this time, Esmerelda?"

Wide violet eyes peeked up at her guiltily from beneath long ebony lashes and raven's wing brows. "What makes you think I'm in trouble?" Esme asked sweetly as she pursed her lips.

Belle leveled her with a pointed stare. They'd been friends since childhood, the Petrovs having been the closest thing her mother had to family. They'd followed Maurice and Irina to America when the couple had fled the scandal of their marriage, rejected by his family and disowned from hers. The girls were only a year apart in age and for a while it had been rumored Maurice would make a match between Esme and August, but it had never been settled.

Now it was too late. She would have loved to have been able to call the girl 'sister', but it hadn't been meant to be. She would have made a bad match for August anyway. Esmerelda had a fiery temperament and was in no way shy or timid. August would have squashed the fire right out of her.

"When are you not in trouble?" Belle asked dryly, her eyes darting to the doorway. "And just where is Danior? He never lets you out of his sight. I cannot see him allowing you to come all this way without him."

Esmerelda winced at the thought of her faithful companion. He was a big lumbering ox with more muscle than brains, but he'd never failed her. She'd found him near their home in the forests of Maine, near death from a chest wound – several in fact – caused by the arrows still imbedded in his flesh. She'd made a small shelter for him and nursed him back to health, not knowing if he would live or die. He couldn't even tell her how he'd come by the wounds as he couldn't speak. Later she would learn his captors had taken his tongue and would have taken his life had he not escaped. He'd been her faithful servant ever since.

Which is why she looked more than a little guilty when she said, "I may have slipped a wee sleeping draught into his ale so I could come to see you."

"Oh, Esme, you didn't! He's going to be worried sick."

"Darling, you don't know the half of it," she groaned, taking the cup of tea her friend poured and adding a bit of sugar and cream. She opted to change the subject, not wanting to spoil their reunion with her problems. "So … married and expecting. Clearly not what I had thought to find when I got here," she chuckled. "You are married, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm married, Esme," Belle smirked, arching a brow at her. "And believe me, it's not …" She paused, her breath catching as another sharp pain lanced through her back. "… what I was expecting either."

Esmerelda's eyes narrowed on the duchess and she cocked her head to the side, her gaze missing nothing. "It never is," she agreed. "When I went to Regina's, imagine my surprise to find the house no longer there. The neighbors referred me to this address. A duchess, Belle, seriously? What does Auggie have to say about your new station in life?"

Belle took a sip of her cooling tea and grimaced, setting it back on the tray. "August is no longer with us … he died, Esme."

The gypsy girl's violet eyes widened in horror as she set her cup aside and reached for Belle's hand. "Oh, darling, what happened?" she asked in a horrified whisper.

"He really was responsible for our parent's death," the duchess said, just as quietly so as not to be overheard by the servants. She suspected they already knew, but if they didn't, she didn't want it to become common knowledge. "I think his gift might have driven him a bit mad. You remember what mama told us happened to her brother. August apparently shared his fate." She didn't feel the need to elaborate, the wounds still fresh in her mind from the loss of her twin. He'd deserved his end, but it didn't make it any easier to bear.

"And your husband, the duke? I'm assuming you told him of your gift?"

"Eventually," Belle admitted wryly. "I don't think anything would have deterred Robbie from his pursuit. He was quite determined."

"I just never thought you would settle for an Englishman, however. You were rather set against the country in general when August made you accompany him here … not that you had much choice in the matter." Again, she watched the lines of pain deepen at the corners of Belle's mouth, the pause in her speech, the clenching of her hands in her lap. "Belle?"

"Hmm?" she returned, fighting off another stab of agony.

"How long have you been in labor?"

"What?!" Belle asked, her brow knitting into a frown. "I'm not in labor, Esme. It's just a bit of pain in my back."

"How long?" the gypsy insisted, reaching out with her own gifts to touch upon the walls Belle had built up to protect her loved ones.

"Stop that, Esmerelda Petrov! You know you're not supposed to probe without my permission," Belle scolded, feeling the little tendrils of Esme's gift brush across her mind. Long ago when they'd discovered their talents, they'd promised not to invade the other's privacy and Belle shouldn't have had to remind her.

"And you stop avoiding the question. How long have you been suffering with your back?"

Belle bit her lip thoughtfully. "I don't know … um … perhaps last night after dinner."

"Oh, Belle, contractions are not necessarily confined to the abdominal muscles. You're having back labor. I know there's a technical term mama uses, but I just can't seem to remember it right now," she said referring to Lyra who served as midwife to their small band. "You should be in bed."

"Why the bloody hell is it so damn hot in here!?" came a voice from the door of the parlor. Robert removed his frock coat and laid it over the back of a nearby chair, glaring at the cold hearth as he attacked the scrap of silk at his neck. He flung the cravat atop his coat and moved to the french doors which led out onto the veranda, flinging them wide. "Are you hot, dearest?"

"No, darling, I'm not. Perhaps you're coming down with something," she said, noting his flushed cheeks and damp brow. "Why don't you go lie down for a while?"

For the first time, his gaze came to rest upon their guest, and he was instantly contrite, realizing he was making a bad impression. "Pardon me, ladies," he apologized with a little bow.

Belle smiled through her pain. "Robbie, this is my dearest friend, Esmerelda Petrov. Esme, this is Robbie, my husband." She leaned closer to her friend. "He's also known as the stodgy Duke of Sheffield, but I don't hold it against him," she said in a stage whisper.

He smirked and arched a brow at his wife as he bowed to Miss Petrov and brushed a light kiss to her knuckles. "Charmed, m'dear." He dropped into a chair to Belle's right and reached for the tea pot, needing some form of libation to ease the heat prickling at his skin. "What brings you to our shores?"

Esme grimaced, lowering her gaze to avoid the duke's penetrating stare. "Actually, I'm here on a personal matter. I'm looking for my husband."

"Husband!" Belle cried, her eyes widening with stunned disbelief. "When did you get married?"

"It's complicated."

Robert snorted and Belle shot him a bemused glare. "How is it complicated, Esme. This isn't like you. When your father wanted to have you betrothed to Auggie, you didn't hesitate to voice your objections."

"I didn't want to marry at all, which you very well know. I didn't wish to marry August because it would have been akin to marrying my brother."

"She was going to marry your bounder of a brother?" Robert whispered in an aside over the rim of his cup.

"Not now, love," Belle returned, patting his knee. She turned her attention back to Esme. "Was your father pressuring you?" she asked, refusing to believe Vasili Petrov would want to force his only daughter into a marriage she didn't want.

"No, it was Velkin. He talked papa into agreeing to a marriage between myself and Sergei."

Belle wrinkled her nose in distaste, remembering the man in question. He was a close friend of the Petrovs, widowed, much older than Esme, and always reeking of garlic. Actually, his son would have been a better match considering they were of a closer age. "Velkin must have owed him money, no doubt. Quite heavily if your father agreed to it."

Esme nodded. She'd always feared Velkin's gambling would one day get them in trouble. "So, I ran. Danior and I went to Boston … or the outskirts really. It's where I met my husband. We were camped on the east side of the Charles River. We found the poor man, burning with fever, looked like he'd been in the water for days and his naval uniform was clearly British, at least the parts which weren't tattered and hanging off him in shreds. I can only assume he'd been on the losing side of a naval battle."

"Oh, Esme," Belle crooned softly. "You took him in and cared for him? You won his heart as you nursed him back to health?"

Esmerelda arched one raven's wing brow at her. "Hardly, darling. My drunkard brother found us, accused him of stealing my virtue and forced us before a minister at knife point. Then before I could protest, he had his men toss Jones on the first ship bound for England."

"Bloody hell!" Robert growled, rising to pace the confines of the room. "What kind of person does that to his sister?" Of course, they weren't gentry. Who knows what went on in those backwater colonies? His late brother in law was a prime example.

"Velkin thought to bring me back to Sergei, but wasn't too keen on the idea because he believed me to be less than virtuous. Danior didn't take kindly to his treatment of me and enabled our escape," she explained, setting her cup aside.

"And this Jones … was he opposed to the marriage?"

"Kicking and screaming all the way to the altar. Could you really blame him?" she asked, seething with righteous indignation that her brother would do something so vile as to take away their rights. "I've come to try to find him in an effort to grant him an annulment. There's no reason he should have to suffer because my brother is an idiot."

"And afterwards?" Robert asked, eyeing her thoughtfully. "Will you return to Maine or remain here in England?"

Esme shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose Danior and I will remain at least for a while until we can earn enough money to travel."

"You're welcome to stay with us, Esme," Belle offered with a firm nod. "Robbie has resources which will make your search for this Jones person that much simpler." She reached out to squeeze her friend's hand. "And it will give us time to catch up, yes?"

"Belle, I don't want to be any trouble," she protested.

"Nonsense. You're my friend and I want you to stay."

"Who is this Danior person she keeps mentioning?" he asked as he leaned over to drop a kiss to Belle's temple.

"He's her protector, darling." She glanced up at him and noticed the lines of pain around his eyes and mouth. "Are you alright, Robbie? You look a little peaky."

"My stomach hurts and it's too bloody hot in the house. I may go for a walk in the garden," he grumbled.

Esme watched the exchange between the two and glared meaningfully at Belle. The gypsy girl knew exactly what havoc Belle's gift was playing on her poor husband. "Belle, how long do you think –"

"A little longer, if you don't mind," the duchess said in a warning tone.

"A little longer for what, sweetheart?" Robert asked, frowning as he watched Belle's hands tighten into fists in her lap, the knuckles white as fine bone china.

Esme met his gaze, her eyes flashing as she easily swept into his mind. Being a full-blooded gypsy, she'd always been stronger than Belle and it was simple to brush Robert's walls aside to probe his mind. He was suffering the same hot flashes as Belle, him being the closest person to her heart, he was going to be doomed to experience the effects with her. Actually, she was quite surprised he wasn't writhing on the floor in pain. No doubt, Belle had taught him well.

The duchess shot her a look of betrayal as she felt the gypsy's empathic power sweep over her husband, not liking it one bit that she'd used it on someone she considered hers. "Esme."

Esme withdrew with a shrug, a small smirk curling her full lips. "I was just curious, darling."

Belle rose awkwardly to her feet, determined to find Travers to send him with Esme to collect her things from wherever she was staying in London. "I need to … " She paused as Robert rose with her, clutching a fistful of his waistcoat in an iron grip as another contraction ripped through her back. " … to find Travers. He'll need to escort Esme back to her … lodging so she can gather her things."

"Is there any way he can do that alone if I give him the address? I don't want to leave you while you're in labor."

"What?!"

"I'm not in … " A rush of warmth alerted her to the fact her water had just broken, liquid pooling about her feet and staining her silk slippers. "… labor."

"And you've been sitting here having tea and visiting as if everything was fine?!" Robert shrieked, panic settling into the fine lines of his countenance. "What were you thinking?!"

Belle groaned as he swept her up into his arms and quickly carried her out of the room. "I didn't know! That's my only defense. Esme's mother is a midwife and I just didn't know you could suffer labor in your back. I thought –"

"Henderson!" he bellowed, not interested just now in his wife's excuses. The man appeared instantly as the duke reached the stairs. "Send for the doctor, man, immediately. And have one of the footmen find Emma. And someone needs to tell my mother!"

Belle stroked a hand along the curve of his jaw as he took the stairs two at a time, anxious to reach their bedroom. "Darling, please calm down. These things take time. There's no need to panic."

"Easy for you to say. You only have to deliver the baby."

She arched a brow at him as he laid her gently down on the duvet and went to the wardrobe to fetch a clean nightgown. "Oh, indeed, my love. It's going to be a cake walk," she muttered dryly.

When he turned, Esme was there already working at the buttons on Belle's day gown. He brushed her aside with curt instructions to gather water and clean towels. If he were soon to be booted from the room, he was going to first see to his wife's comfort. He carefully removed her sodden clothing and bathed the damp sheen of sweat from her skin before helping her dress.

"Is there anything I can get you?" he asked, a worried frown creasing his brow. He rinsed the cloth out in the basin again and gently washed her face, brushing her damp locks away from her brow.

She clasped his hands in hers, biting her lip nervously when she noticed they were shaking. "Robbie, please, darling, go to your club. I don't want you to stay here and suffer should I lose control of my gift."

"Oh, my dearest Belle, I would stay right here by your side if I didn't know your ladies would boot me from the room. I don't want to be anywhere else," he whispered against her temple as he gathered her close to his chest and stroked a comforting hand through her hair.

She stiffened, her fingers digging into his forearms. "Ow … " she hissed, the air seeping out through her clenched teeth. "Robbie, I'm frightened." His eyes were wide and liquid as she met his gaze and she could have happily kicked herself for increasing his worry.

He pressed a lingering kiss to her brow. "I'm not going to the club, Belle. I'll be here should you need me."

"I always need you," she rushed to assure him.

Emma barreled through the door, her emerald eyes sparkling with excitement and not a small bit of fear. "Robert! What are you doing here?"

"I would think that would be obvious, dearie," he snarked impatiently, realizing reinforcements had arrived. "I'm comforting my wife."

"He's a stubborn one, isn't he," Esme chuckled, coming to add a few more pillows to Belle's back.

"Who are you?" Emma asked, eyeing the girl suspiciously as she moved to the end of the bed.

"I'm Esme … Belle and I grew up together and I've just arrived in England," she explained, nodding to Emma. "And just in time it seems."

"Esme's mother, Lyra, is a midwife," Belle explained. "Esme, this is my cousin, Emma. I'm so happy both of you are here." She leaned forward suddenly, burying her face against Robert's throat as a contraction started in her back and wrapped viciously around her abdomen. Robert grimaced at the pressure she exerted on his arms as she cried out, the sound reverberating in his left ear. Yet, he couldn't think of any place he'd rather be.

"Come on, Emma," Esme said, beckoning to the other woman. "There are things we're going to need, and I think Robert and Belle would benefit from a bit more time together."

"Don't worry, Robbie," Emma said, casting a sympathetic smile his way. "Jefferson is waiting for you in the study with a fresh bottle of scotch and I've sent a footman to round up Killian, so you won't have to suffer alone."

*.*.*

"Come on, Rob, you need to sit down before you fall flat on your face," Killian cajoled, trying to press another drink into his hand. It was only his second. The first he'd downed in one swallow to settle his nerves, but this one remained untouched. "You don't look well at all, mate."

"Piss off, St. James," he growled irritably as he continued to pace like a caged animal about the room. Considering his dearest friends were keeping him prisoner in his study to prevent him from racing up the stairs to his bedroom, it wasn't far off the mark. "Let's see how you fare one day when you finally marry and have to muddle through this. My poor Belle is suffering the agonies of the damned and I'm not allowed – allowed for fuck's sake! – to be at her side!"

Killian rolled his eyes and pulled a flask from the breast pocket of his charcoal gray frock coat. "Would you prefer a shot of rum instead?"

Jefferson shot up off the sofa, abandoning his own drink to step between the two as Robert took a threatening step towards their friend, his hands curled into fists. Never a good sign, that. "Alright, Killian, enough. Your wit is not appreciated."

Robert swayed on his feet, his anger weakening the mental walls he erected to protect himself from Belle's gift. He gasped, his eyes rolling back in his head as her pain washed over him. "Bloody fuck!" he roared, collapsing to his knees.

Jefferson knew exactly what was going on, having been warned by Belle more than a week ago as to what he could expect. She'd wanted him to take Robert off to the club, but the duke would not be budged on his stubborn refusal to leave. "Breathe, Robbie. Come on, deep breaths," he murmured softly, resting a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Remember what Belle said. You have to concentrate."

Killian hunkered down beside them and arched a brow at Jefferson. "Concentrate on what?"

"Never mind," the earl answered, knowing Killian wasn't privy to the knowledge of Belle's gift.

Robert groaned and dropped back against the rug as he fought to drag air into his starving lungs. "Blessed St. Bridget! I swear I'll never touch her again!" he growled hoarsely.

Killian chortled gleefully. "Yeah, right, Rob!"

Jefferson shoved him hard in the chest so that he fell over onto his arse. "Shut it, you!" he said reproachfully. "Haven't you caused enough trouble lately?"

"My poor Belle," the duke groaned, clawing at the pain in his abdomen. "My precious little love is dying and it's all my fault."

"What do you mean I've caused enough trouble? Are you implying I've been less than honorable with your little wife, Rochefort?" Killian asked, his lips curling up into an infuriating grin.

"Emma wouldn't be unfaithful to me … especially not with you," Jefferson sneered as he helped Robert to his feet and into a chair. This time he took the drink and tossed it back before holding it out to his friend to have it refilled.

"Just what is that supposed to mean, mate?"

Jefferson snorted. "You're not her type."

A scream pierced the air and Robert shot to his feet, slipping around the arguing pair to throw the door open. The earls each grabbed an arm as he gained the bottom step of the ornate staircase and dragged him back down the hall to the study. "Lemme go, you tosser, m'Belle needs me!"

"She needs you to stay the hell out of the way," Jefferson huffed, closing the door behind them. "Last time you went up there, Emma threatened to brain you with the wash basin. Do you really want a concussion before you can meet your child?"

"Come on, Rob, it can't last much longer," Killian reasoned. "She's been up there since before lunchtime yesterday. What's that … eighteen hours or so?"

Jefferson smacked his forehead and raked a hand down his face. "You're not helping, Killian."

"Get out! Both of you! Out of my house. It's your fault I can't get to her," Robert moaned petulantly as he raked both his hands through his rather unkempt hair.

The earls exchanged a dubious look and shook their heads. "We're not going to leave you in this condition, Robbie. Forget it. You can try to beat the hell out of us later." Jefferson poured himself another drink and flopped down on the sofa, leaving Killian to take up his position against the study door to bar Robert's only exit.

"Women have babies every day, Rob. You're worrying over nothing," Killian scoffed with a huge yawn.

"Emma and Esme assured me Belle is doing beautifully. Besides, the doctor would have come down himself if there had been problems," Jefferson added.

Robert leaned his head back against the chair, silently plotting the murder of his two dearest friends in the world. Who needed friends, anyway? Bludgeoning? Pistols at dawn? "Load my dueling pistols, Jeff … and shoot me. I can't take it anymore." He'd changed his mind. It would be better for him to die. He wouldn't be able to live without his precious wife. He needed her more than air. To think that he'd been responsible for her …

Another ear-splitting scream rent the air and he was up again and running for the door. Killian's eyes widened, only barely ducking out of the way as Robert's fist hit the door where his head had been only seconds before.

Killian glanced over at Jefferson who hadn't moved from his position on the sofa, simply too tired to run after him any longer. "I think he's bloody serious!"

"Y'think?"

Robert pounded up the stairs, his heart stuttering as another cry joined the ones coming from his beloved wife. He didn't stop until he reached his bedroom, a smiling Dr. Frazier stepping out, looking worn but jovial.

"Congratulations, Your Grace. Mother and baby are doing just fine," the rotund physician said happily, instantly putting the duke's mind at ease.

"My wife … is she …" He gasped for breath, realizing he'd been holding it. "Is she going to be alright?"

"The duchess is a strong woman. Though first babies are the most difficult to deliver, she did amazingly well. She'll have to remain in bed for several days, but she'll make a full recovery."

"Can I see her?" he asked hopefully, his eyes riveted on the door. He wanted nothing more than to see for himself that she was well.

"Miss Petrov and Lady Madden are seeing to her comfort and getting her cleaned up. And your lovely mother is seeing to the child. I'm sure it shouldn't be too long before you can see her. Again, congratulations, Your Grace." The doctor took his leave, whistling a happy tune on his way to the door. The arrival of a new life always left him feeling exhilarated.

Robert glared balefully at his bedroom door and turned on his heel to retreat to his study. Jefferson rose slowly to his feet as he watched Robbie dazedly walk through the study door. "Well? Is she ok? The baby?"

A relieved smile crept over his features as he met his friend's worried gaze. "Frazier said they're both doing fine, and I can see them shortly."

"Congratulations, Rob," Killian beamed, clapping him on the back. "Was it a boy or a girl?"

The duke's brow crinkled in confusion. "You know, I was so worried about Belle, I forgot to ask."

Jefferson laughed as he poured a drink for each of them. He passed them around and took a hearty swig, glad it was finally over, and his friend could relax. He wouldn't say no to a good eight hours of sleep curled around his own wife. And then the knock they'd been waiting for sounded at the door and he rushed to answer it, smiling lovingly at Emma as she entered the room with the baby held carefully in her arms.

"Robbie?" she said softly, making her way to his side. "Say hello to your son."

Tears fell unchecked from his eyes as he took the infant from her and cradled him gently against his chest. "Hi, baby," he crooned, a look of pure wonder and adoration spreading over his worn countenance. "I'm your papa. I'm so happy to finally meet you."

Killian had to look away, feeling tears beginning to prick at his own eyes as he watched his dear friend reduced to primordial goo in light of holding his child for the first time. He was not expecting his gaze to settle on the dark-haired beauty hovering in the doorway. His glass crashed to the floor, the color draining from his face as she stepped forward, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Jefferson's gaze swung to Killian and then down to the shattered glass at his feet. "What the hell, St. James? Can't hold your liquor … literally."

Emma turned to Esme, following Killian's murderous gaze. "You know each other?" she asked, taking note of the surprise on Esme's face.

"I should hope so, love. A man should know his wife when he sees her."

A/N: Alright, you lot, I cannot begin to express how dreadful it was to write this chapter. It did NOT want to be written. However, I had to come up with some backstory for Esmerelda and Killian since their story is next. Did you like it? Hate it? Don't care one way or the other? Lemme know, ok? Sorry there wasn't much MadSwan in this chapter, but they will return tomorrow. There will be much more MadSwan/Rumbelle fluff before the end, darlings. I promise (o: Thank you all so much for putting up with my insanity and sticking with me. Love and hugs.