The Shy Duchess Part 22

Emily laughed. "All I need is good fresh air, one midwife-and you. All will be well, with me and the baby, too, I promise."

"That is a promise I insist you keep. I can't do without you, Em. You are everything to me."

"As you are to me." Emily rested her head on his chest, closing her eyes as she listened to his heartbeat. "We have everything together, Nicholas. I won't lose it."

And she would not be parted from him ever again. They were her family now, Nicholas and the new baby, her whole wonderful world. She would protect them with all her strength, for ever.

Epilogue.

Eight months later Nicholas paced the length of the library at Scarnlea Abbey, all the way from the carved marble fireplace to the windows, open to the warm spring day. The painted eyes of his ancestors in their portraits along the panelled walls watched him with faint disapproval, but he didn't notice them at all. Nor did he notice the soft, flower-scented breeze from the gardens, or hear the happy shrieks of his nieces as they toddled along the pathways.

He could only think of that bedchamber high above his head, where Emily laboured to bring their child into the world. He could hear nothing from up there, no screams or shouts, but his imagination conjured all sorts of terrible scenes. All sorts of mysterious things that could be happening to his darling wife in that room of women.

"Nick, do sit down," Stephen said from his seat by the bookshelf. He held up his decanter of brandy. "You're going to wear a hole in that carpet with your infernal pacing. Have a drink."

Nicholas shook his head. "I can't sit down."

"Well, you won't help Emily that way. She has Justine and Charlotte and her sister-in-law with her, as well as the midwife and who knows how many servants. She would have her mother, too, if the lady hadn't fainted and been carried out of the room. She will be quite well."

"Surely it should be over now," Nicholas muttered. He paused by the window to watch Katherine and little Anna stumble past on their tiny toddler legs, their nursemaids running behind them. Their golden hair and white dresses gleamed in the sunlight, their laughter ringing out like music.

The sight of his sister's children, so robust and healthy, did rea.s.sure him. But still-why was there no word?

"You said she felt the first pains this morning. Justine said it could be hours yet," Stephen said, infuriatingly reasonable. He held up the brandy again. "A drink will help, Brother, I am sure."

Nicholas finally gave in. He sank heavily into the chair across from Stephen and accepted a large snifter of the amber liquid. He took a long, bracing gulp. "This is the best bottle in my cellar, I think."

"Only the best for such a momentous occasion!" Stephen said cheerfully, draining his own gla.s.s. "Besides, I have nothing so fine at Fincote. I have to take every advantage of a visit to Scarnlea."

Just then, Emily's maid Mary hurried past the open door with a basin full of bloodied rags in her hands. Nicholas leaped up and ran to the doorway, but she was already gone. The house was still quiet.

"d.a.m.n it all," he muttered. "Why will no one tell me what is happening with my own wife?"

"Probably because nothing is happening yet, Nick," Stephen said. "You need to sit down and forget about this for a while."

"That is easy for you to say now. Wait until it is your child being born, your wife in danger. You will not be so sanguine then."

"You sound like our sisters, always pestering me to marry since they have you safely paired off." Stephen poured himself another brandy. "If this is what marriage does to a person, then I am better without it."

Nicholas leaned against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest. "Well, what is this I hear from Charlotte about her friend Mae Halford? She tells me that you-"

But he was interrupted when Justine appeared in the corridor. Her hair was tousled, falling from its pins, her gown spotted with water and what looked horribly like blood. But she was smiling.

"Oh, Nicholas," she said softly. "You have a son!"

"I have a..." A son? A child who lived? "And Emily? Is she safe?"

"Yes, perfectly. Tired, of course, but quite well. The birth was very easy, especially for a first child."

"I must go to her," he said, already running down the corridor and taking the stairs two at a time. Emily was safe. But he had to see her for himself, to be absolutely sure.

"Nick, you can't go yet!" Justine called after him. "She is still abed."

"There is no stopping a man so desperately in love, Jussy," Stephen said. "Come, have a drink with me. We have a new heir to celebrate, G.o.d bless him. I'm saved from heirdom!"

Nicholas burst into Emily's chamber. It was crowded with women: his sister Charlotte, Amy Carroll, the plump, efficient midwife Emily insisted on over the London doctor, and Lady Moreby, who was recovered from her faint and beaming. The windows were closed and a fire blazed in the grate, making the palatial room warm and stuffy, thick with smoke and blood and lavender water.

Yet he could see only the bed, with its curtains and blankets pushed back, pillows piled high. Emily lay there, but unlike in the nightmares he had since she told him she was pregnant, she was not pale and still. Her cheeks were bright red and damp, her hair clinging to her damp brow. A tender, tired smile curved her lips as she stared down at the bundle in her arms.

A bundle that was shrieking like a tiny banshee.

Emily glanced up to find him standing there, and she held out her hand to him. Her green eyes glowed. "Oh, Nick, my darling. Come and look at him."

He went to her, his heart bursting with relief and hope, with a fierce happiness he had never known before. He clasped her hand in his, her blessedly warm hand, and kissed it before he looked down at the baby nestled in the crook of her arm.

He was red and wrinkled, his tiny face creased with terrible discontent at finding himself suddenly in this bright world. A tuft of blond hair covered the very top of his head, and when he looked up at them Nicholas could swear he saw a hint of emerald green in his eyes, just like his mother. He waved his fists furiously, a true Manning spirit.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Emily whispered.

"He looks a bit like an angry radish now," Nicholas said. "But I can see he is going to be heartbreakingly beautiful, like his mother."

"No, he looks like you, especially when you get angry about something." She smoothed her finger over the soft baby cheek and he immediately ceased his wailing. He went still and stared up at his parents with wide eyes. "See, he knows us. Probably from all those hours we spent talking and singing to him these last months."

"So he does," Nicholas said, fascinated by his son's face, his little fingers and the tiny b.u.t.ton of his nose. He was alive, this baby, alive and well.

"I think we could name him Stephen," she said. "Your brother's gift to me of that horseshoe was a very thoughtful one. See what luck it has brought us? We have each other, and a child. We have so much love."

"Oh, Em. That wasn't luck. It was you, my beautiful wife. Only you." He gently kissed her lips, his heart bursting with all he had now. His wife and family, a life full of joy and love ahead. "You are all the luck I need."

Emily smiled up at him radiantly. "I hope so, Nick. Because we're going to need lots of luck indeed if we're going to have what I hope for now."

"And what is that?" he said, knowing that, whatever it was, he would go to the ends of the earth to get it for her.

"A daughter next year."

ISBN: 978-1-4268-8821-2.

AMANDA M C CABE.

Available from Harlequin Historical and AMANDA M C CABE.

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