Part 23
"I am coming with you!" Nathaniel called out as he rushed out of the house. He slid on his gloves and ran towards the carriage.
Marcus cocked his head. "Will you not stay with Lord Charles?"
Nathaniel shook his head. "It is best if I go to London with you, for Beatrice's nurse, now that her child is almost born."
"You have given me your recommendation, my lord, and I am sure to take it. This Vanessa, she lives at the address you provided?" Nathaniel nodded. "We shall bring her with us when we return in a few days, after our visit to Lady Beaton." Marcus glanced at his niece, who was then giving her teacher a hug. "Come along, Emma. We shall see you at the soonest, Beatrice.
Nathaniel nodded. "You will find no one better," he assured them. "But it is best that I speak with her, for we shall ask her to leave her whole life in London. And I can take her back here within a day, maybe two if there are pressing matters to settle."
"Alright then, my lord," Marcus agreed. "Come along."
Nathaniel turned to Chuck and extended his hand. When Chuck took it, Nathaniel pulled his friend towards him, then whispered into his ear, "Will you be fine by yourself?"
And Chuck nodded. "Thank you," he whispered.
"I trust you will still be whole when I return. Do not break your heart for something you cannot help," Nathaniel advised. And then he proceeded to the carriage, held the door open for Emma, and climbed in.
Chuck admitted to a slight guilt at the rush of pleasure that filled him at the sight of the departing carriage. Beside him, he noticed her shift on her feet and idly touch her distended stomach. And then, with one hand, she waved goodbye. There were rings under her eyes, and her lips appeared tight and dry.
He turned to her. "How are you feeling?"
She returned with a small smile. "I wish I could have gone. For Emma."
Chuck gave a curt nod. He had seen it in the way the girl appeared so enthusiastic about visiting her grandmother. It had been at times over the expected happiness, especially when Lord Marcus was taking her to his a gathering Lady Catherine Beaton was throwing to mark the first year of the last earl's passing. Emma's father would have been dead a year; Marcus would have been a year into the title he had never expected; Emma herself would have been an orphan for exactly twelve months. The giggles that seemed often too high or loud that Emma gave only served to tell him that the girl was on edge.
"She needs me now," she shared.
When she placed a hand on the small of her back and stretched, he took her by her arm. "She has her uncle," he assured her. "And you are too far along to take that far a trip. You should lie down."
"I have to move about so I do not become a beached whale," she told him. And then she cast an apologetic look at him. "I wish Lord Marcus had not put this burden on you—to stay with a pregnant woman while they all return to London."
He helped her back into the house. "I wanted to stay," he said firmly, leaving no question that it was in fact his preference.
"And Lord Nathaniel was too kind to volunteer the services of his friend to help me with the child."
"t was," Chuck admitted. "And I would be happy to help you any day," he told her.
At that, she turned to him and smiled shyly. "My lord, I have to say, and do not think me presumptuous."
"Never," he breathed.
She stopped, and turned to him. Tentatively, she reached her hand to touch his cheek, then hesitated. He closed his hand over her floating one, then pressed her palm against his cheek. She caught her breath. Her eyes fell on his lips as her parted. "I wish to say, my lord, that it does not matter that she perished so young. Your wife was likely the most fortunate woman the world has ever known."
The world stopped as those words floated to him. He breathed deeply through his nose, then bent to capture her lips. And it was like there had been music humming in the background, then suddenly just dropped dead silent.
Her hand lifted from his cheek then moved to hold onto his nape. His hands cupped her face as his open lips devoured hers. When he lifted his lips from hers, he looked down at her still closed eyes and moist, parted lips. Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him. "My lord—"
He licked his lips, and she shuddered at the thought that he was tasting her on them.
"This is not right," she said softly, as if unconvinced.
"Did it not feel right?" he asked.
But she could not answer then, because for all the world, she had never known anything that felt so right. She shrugged away the kiss, as if she could forget, and knew she was lying. "But I do not know you, save for what Lord Marcus has told me."
Chuck determined her goal, and allowed her that once to escape. "That I had lost my wife?" he said quietly. She nodded. "Perhaps that it all you need to know. At times, it seems as if that is the only thing worth knowing about me."
"That cannot be true."
And so Chuck continued, but could not believe they were having this conversation here, in the corridor of the earl of Pembroke's home. Yet again, the devil that still existed inside him coaxed, it was better that it was here under the roof of the gentleman that he was certain would not think twice about taking his wife. "I had a family," he admitted, "until I learned of what my father had done that hurt my wife so. It had never been the same since then." She frowned. "I was a loyal friend until I fell in love with her."
"No," she said. "Your stories cannot all end with her. There is so much about you, I am certain, that did not involve her."
He gazed at her, as if perplexed. So much of his life since he had met her had been about Blair, and he searched his brain for a story. His father, murderer that he was, had it right. No person should ever give his all for another, because once that other left, you would be left without knowledge of who you were.
"Tell me a story that does not revolve around her. You speak Italian well. Tell me about your time in Italy," she suggested.
He almost found it humorous, if it were not tragic. "You do not wish to hear of Tuscany now, I fear," was his wry answer. At the look of disappointment on her face, he shared, "Back when I was a child, I asked my father to tell me about my mother. He sent me to my room. The next day I found out from my dear nanny that I was being sent to boarding school in Wales," he said quietly, emotionlessly. "And that was when I knew my father despised me, because mother died giving birth to me."
He could almost recognize Blair in the way her eyes flickered as he told her the story that Blair had never heard before. "Thank you, my lord, for sharing that. It could not have been easy."
"I swear my baby would be loved, and would have no reason to doubt my love," she vowed.
Chuck walked with her towards the staircase leading up to the rooms. She looked up at the winding stairs and sighed. And then he offered her his arm.
"My one regret," she admitted, "is that there will be no father to teach him, or to protect her."
He cleared his throat, and asked the question he had been clamoring to ask since finding her here. "And what of Lord Marcus Beaton?"
"He is a good man. He will do what he can, but it would never be the same as the love of your own flesh and blood."
And he knew it for a fact, because even now he would wonder just how much hatred it was that his father held against him. "So you ever wonder about the child's father, or desire to find him?"
They were halfway up the steps when she stopped, then smiled. And the sight of it made him smile as well. "If he were half the man I know from my dreams, my lord, I would search for him to the ends of the earth." Chuck was fascinated by the look on her face and knew even if she did not, that she was speaking so fondly of him. He felt like an intruder to be privy to this. "But I cannot go. And when our child is born, there is no way I can leave my baby to search for a man who may well have dropped off the face of the earth."
Her next answer mattered more than life, and so he held his breath to ask, "And if he found you, what would you do?"
"I am certain I will remember him. The way I dream of him, I know I will remember him," she said with conviction.
At that, like a being possessed, he gripped her arms and said, "Let me show you the Hartington house."
"It is close by, is it not?"
"Not an hour by carriage."
She held his gaze and she nodded, then laughed softly at the sheer joy of once again doing something outside the plan. "I do not know if I had ever been this impulsive."
Chuck remembered the exhilaration of their decision to leave Paris for Tuscany, of breaking all the rules, of changing plans. He ached to tell her all of it, to ask her to remember, but he did not. In the spirit of allowing himself to be natural and unbounded, he dropped a kiss on her hand. "I shall send word to prepare the house to receive guests."
By nightfall, Chuck and Blair traveled through the fields leading to the mansion that locals referred to as The Palace. He had once arrogantly listed his holdings to Lady Blair, when they were in France and were counting off the riches they would bring into a marriage. They had both been silly and shallow then, thinking of their worth based on property and allowance. Neither of them had recognized what would soon be true, and that they would commit their lives to one another without thought of wealth.
Yet still he could not help but puff up with pride and he helped her out of the carriage and presented the yawning mansion that stood so elegantly against the countryside. The London townhome was a pittance compared to this, his jewel. She gasped at the size and the finish. He took her hand and led her down the grassy path to the doorway.
"I had them prepare a bedroom on the first floor so you would not need to suffer through a flight of stairs."
This should have been how it was, had he come home with her after the wedding. He could have presented The Palace so ceremoniously that she would feel at home forever.
Having been announced early, he was expected with his companion. The door swung open and the Hartington estate butler welcomed them with kind eyes.
"Jeremiah," Chuck greeted.
"My lord," the butler said. And then he turned to Blair. "My lady."
Blair gasped at the marble flooring. She looked up and noted the banisters carved so elegantly. She glanced at every tabletop adorned with flowers. Hanging from the windows were lace curtains and chiffon trims.
"It is beautiful," she declared in amazement. And then she spied the small open box on the table. She looked down and saw a pearl necklace. Her eyes narrowed. It had a gold B clasp. She turned back to the marquis. "Was she to live here?" she asked softly.
Chuck's gaze had fallen on the necklace as well. He had all but forgotten the small trinket he had had sent to her to welcome her to Hartington. He walked over, his body pressed tightly against hers. Chuck picked up the necklace that she had never worn. "Yes," he confessed.
"No one ever told me her name." She touched the golden clasp, brushing her fingers against his.
He glanced up at her, then softly declared, "Blair."
"That is a beautiful name."
He unclasped the B and held up the necklace against her throat. "Please take it."
She sucked in her breath, then pushed his hands away. "I cannot replace her."
It was as if he found the idea preposterous, and it rang in his voice, "That is insane. You can never replace her."
Her lips parted, and he noticed the flicker of hurt. She turned away from him and turned towards the stairs. In her rush, she tripped and fell heavily on the second step. He stepped towards her and grasped her by the elbow. He helped her to her feet, but she gasped, then clutched at her stomach.
Chuck watched in horror as Blair's stomach contracted visibly under her dress. The pain caused her knees to buckle, and he caught her by her arms. She groaned, and sent a panicked look towards him. "Aaaaaah!"
He hooked his arm under her shoulders and he lifted her up in his arms. He felt warmth flood against his shirt and, despite having no knowledge of childbirth, recognized it for what it was. He turned to Jeremiah and commanded, "Get a doctor!" He glanced down and saw her dress soaked through with her water.
He carried her to the bedroom that she was meant to use, and deposited her at the center of the bed. At once she turned to her side and groaned at the pain. "We will get a doctor soon."
And then she was crying, in all honesty, afraid of what was to happen then. She reached out a hand and he grasped it, intertwined their fingers. Chuck told her, "I am here."
He felt her hand tighten around his and knew she was riding out the wave of pain. When her grip loosened, the door opened and in walked a maid, wringing her hands. "My lord, the doctor had gone to the other town. Here is Ethel. She is a midwife."
For hours he had waited through the waves of pain until they were bare minutes apart. The midwife sweated profusely as she looked after Blair. Chuck glanced towards the weary woman and said quietly, "What is it?" The woman seemed afraid to speak, and Chuck repeated. "What is it?" He reluctantly released Blair's hand, then walked towards the woman. By then, it seemed that Blair was too exhausted to complain about the loss of contact, and her hand fell limply onto the mattress.
"The baby is breech, my lord."
"What does that mean?" he hissed. Chuck glanced towards Blair, who now lay back on the bed with a ghastly pallor. "We need to birth the baby. She cannot take much more of this."
"The baby is sitting on his bum, trying to get out," the midwife told him. "We best turn the child else your lady'll bleed to 'er death."
He tensed his jaw. Chuck knelt beside Blair, until his face was level with hers. "She needs to turn the baby. And then it will all be fine," he said reassuringly.
She took shallow breaths. "I know that look," she said softly. "And I know you hate promises like I do. But promise me, if anything should happen, you will find my baby's father, whatever it takes. Promise me you will tell him to love the child. Do not allow the baby to think his father did not love her, if only for this," she said, referring to the labor and to whatever cost it took to birth the baby.
Chuck shook his head. He then looked at the midwife, then removed his coat. And then gently lifted Blair's shoulders off the bed, making her sit up. He slid behind her with his legs on either side of her. Her upper body fell exhaustedly against him, and her head rested against his shoulder.
"This will hurt, milady," the midwife warned, resting her hands on Blair's stomach.
"I am too weak for this," she said tearfully.
He took both of her hands in his and rested it against his knees. "Scream if it will help you. I am right behind you. Push against me if you will," he said into her ear. And then he met the midwife's eyes and nodded.
And then the midwife turned the child by pushing against her stomach. Blair's eyes flew open and she screamed at the ripping sensation inside her. The midwife pushed, turning the child around to that the baby would be in a proper birthing position. Chuck's jaw tightened at the sight of dark blood staining the sheets under her. She pushed at the bed with the balls of her feet, and encountered his unmoving form behind her providing bolster.
"Oh my God," she moaned.
"Push, lady!" the midwife commanded.
"Push, my love," he whispered into her ear.
She was slack against his body.
"Push!" cried the midwife. She looked up from between Blair's parted legs and up at Blair. She sent a look of panic towards Chuck.
Chuck placed his hands on Blair's stomach and said firmly, "Push. Push now."
"I cannot," she whispered tiredly.
"Just one more, and then you can sleep," he pleaded. "Please." He applied some pressure on her stomach and bore down with her. "Push."
And she took a deep breath, then sighed. And the child slid out of her body in a mess of bloody fluid. Blair fell back against Chuck's chest. He sighed in relief as the sight of the squirming mess. He slid out of the bed and held out his arms. The midwife hesitated, because she often needed to bathe the child before the lord would look. At Chuck's insistence, she handed the baby over.
He knelt down beside the bed, with the squirming, screaming child in his hands. She could barely keep her eyes open. He lifted the child so she could see her product. When he saw her eyes flicker from the child to his face, Chuck knew she would see the tears in his eyes, the awe. He kissed a still bloody baby, then, in another move so natural and unrehearsed, he kissed her mouth.
"It is a boy, a strong boy. Now rest."
Out of sheer exhaustion, she fell unconscious.
"Blair?" he said, slipping at that moment of panic. Chuck's heart stopped. He handed his son back to the midwife. He patted her cheek.
"Milord, let her rest. She is breathing fine, Lord Hartington. Tis weariness coupled by loss of blood from the breech. Best watch 'er through the night. Ye have a nurse?"
"One is coming," he answered.
"Someone has ta stay with'em tonight."
Chuck took his child from the midwife's arms and waved in the warm water brought for the child's first bath. "I shall stay with them through the night."
tbc