My Favorite Countess (34 page)

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Authors: Vanessa Kelly

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Bathsheba's heart skipped several beats. “What . . . whatever can you be talking about, Meredith?”
“You refer to him as John,” Meredith replied dryly. “Although I can tell simply by looking at your face how you feel about him.”
Bathsheba slumped into her chair with a sigh. “It's that obvious, is it?”
“To me it is. But I doubt my husband would notice. He's hopeless when it comes to this sort of thing.”
Bathsheba laughed. More of a choke, really, but it made her feel a bit better.
“You love him, don't you?” Meredith asked in a kind voice.
“I do,” Bathsheba admitted, feeling more wretched by the second. “But I don't know what to do about it.”
“Does he love you?”
Bathsheba nodded. “He asked me to marry him.”
“Then what is the impediment? His current situation is distressing, but surely he can establish himself elsewhere. Money is no object for you, since you're already wealthy. Why can you not go north with him?”
Bathsheba shook her head, unable to force any words past the tears clogging her throat.
Meredith hesitated, then spoke warily. “I've been told you despise the country, and rarely leave London. But surely that can't be the reason. If you truly love each other, you could be happy anywhere.”
Her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions, Bathsheba couldn't find her voice.
“Forgive me,” Meredith finally said in a cool voice. “I have no right to pry. I'm sure you'll make the right decision, whatever that might be.”
Bathsheba's heart took a sickening plunge. If Meredith thought she was that shallow . . .
“It's not that,” she blurted out. “I'm afraid you don't understand my situation. I'm not rich at all. In fact, I'm poor. And if I don't do something soon, I'll lose everything.”
She clapped both hands over her mouth, horrified by her impulsive confession. Why could she never learn to keep her blasted mouth shut?
“Oh, my dear, I had no idea,” said Meredith, her cool demeanor evaporating instantly. “You must be consumed with worry. What can I do to help?”
In the face of such heartfelt sympathy, especially from a woman with her own troubles, all Bathsheba's defenses crumbled. She poured out everything—her dire financial situation, her wrenching estrangement from John. She even told Meredith about Rachel. Words rushed out, leaving her breathless. The marchioness listened quietly, her beautiful face alight with understanding, her silver eyes glistening with tears.
“Is that why you've entertained Sir David's advances?” she enquired when Bathsheba finally paused for breath.
“Of course. I hate the thought of it now, but it seemed sensible at the time. Sir David is kind, and he seems generous, but . . .”
“But there's Miss Roston.” Meredith nodded. “I can't imagine the two of you living under the same roof.”
Bathsheba rubbed her temples. Her head throbbed and her heart ached, but she felt strangely relieved. She had bottled up her feelings for so long that telling another person eased the burden.
“You're right.” She sighed. “Miss Roston would make life difficult. But what choice do I have?”
“There's always a choice,” Meredith said, her eyes going misty. “But sometimes one can't see it straight away.”
“And sometimes one can, but it still doesn't help,” Bathsheba replied bitterly.
Meredith grimaced and shifted awkwardly on her cushions.
Bathsheba studied her with concern. “Good Lord, Meredith! Why am I bothering you with my foolish tale of woe? Your husband will have my head if I tire you out.”
“I'm fine,” the marchioness replied, though she looked anything but. “It's just that my back hurts like the devil. But that doesn't matter. What matters is you, and what you're going to do about Dr. John Blackmore.”
“There's nothing more to do. He'll go north and start a new life, and I'll marry Sir David,” she said firmly, hoping to close the discussion. “It's not what I truly want, but at least I won't be poor. And I'll be able to care for Rachel. That's what matters most.”
“Yes, but—” Meredith broke off on a shuddering gasp as she hunched over her belly.
Bathsheba shot to her feet. “What's happening, Meredith?”
The marchioness looked up, her face ashen and pulled tight with pain. “I'm not sure, but I think I might be in labor.”
Chapter 26
Meredith squeezed Bathsheba's hand in a punishing grip, doubling over as another contraction slammed through her body. Bathsheba held on tightly, forcing back a surge of panic. The marchioness had been in labor for over thirteen hours, and still she made no progress.
As the long day crawled into night, Meredith had grown weaker and weaker, each contraction driving her closer to exhaustion. Fear had crept into the spacious dressing room where the portable birthing bed had been set up. Even the monthly nurse, the redoubtable Mrs. Griffiths, had begun to look anxious.
Bathsheba winced as Meredith's fingernails clawed into the soft flesh of her palm. It hurt like the devil, but she thanked God the marchioness retained some of her strength. If only the blasted doctor would arrive, all might yet be well. Perhaps it was even normal for there to be so much pain when birthing twins.
As the contraction passed, Meredith collapsed onto the pillows. Her younger sister, Annabel, stationed on the other side of the bed, gently sponged her face with a cool, wet cloth.
“There, darling,” the girl murmured, “you did splendidly that time. I'm sure those little babies must be getting very close to being born.”
Meredith gave her sister a weary smile. Bathsheba couldn't help smiling at Annabel, too. The slender, sweet-faced girl—young woman, really—had a strength of character and calm presence Bathsheba had come to appreciate over the course of the drawn-out, difficult day.
“Good Lord, I hope you're right,” Meredith croaked. “I don't know how much longer I can stand this.”
Bathsheba glanced over at Mrs. Griffiths, crouched at the foot of the bed. The nurse slid Meredith's shift up to her knees and took a quick look. After a moment, she hissed out a tight breath and switched her gaze to Annabel, giving a quick shake of the head.
Bathsheba's heart plummeted. “Where is that blasted pig of a doctor?” she grumbled without thinking. Annabel gave a surprised squeak, and Meredith's eyes snapped open.
“Oh, my fool mouth, again,” groaned Bathsheba. “Ignore me, Meredith. I'm sure Dr. Steele will be here straight away. Everything is going to be fine.”
Meredith managed a thin laugh. “Don't apologize. I think he's a pig, too, but I'd put up with a whole roomful of barnyard animals if only someone would get these babies out of me.”
Mrs. Griffiths snorted and Annabel giggled, easing the tension in the room.
“I'm sure they'll be out soon enough,” soothed Bathsheba as she massaged Meredith's hand. “And then you can spend the rest of your life scolding them for making such a troublesome entrance into the world.”
Meredith cast her a grateful smile. “I'm so glad I asked you to stay with me today. You've been such a comfort.”
Bathsheba's throat closed with emotion. She had to work not to let tears well up into her eyes. But she would be damned if she gave into them, at least not until this was all over.
“I'm quite sure no one's ever called me
that
before,” she said in a teasing voice. “I must ask you to put that in writing, else no one will believe it.”
“Well, you have been a marvelous help,” Annabel defended stoutly. “I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself.”
“Annabel,” Meredith protested. Bathsheba laughed.
Their short respite ended as another fierce contraction seized Meredith's body. This one lasted even longer than the previous one, and it wrung every ounce of strength from the marchioness's body.
Meredith flopped back with her eyes closed, sweating and as gray as death. With a nod, Bathsheba motioned Mrs. Griffiths to follow her to the door. Annabel stayed where she was, fighting back tears as she dabbed her sister's forehead.
“Has Dr. Steele been sent for again?” Bathsheba asked the nurse in a quiet voice.
“Yes, Lady Randolph,” the nurse whispered back. “I told Lord Silverton an hour ago that my lady needed the doctor. I'm worried. I'm sure one baby's head is lodged against Lady Silverton's pelvis.” She cast an anxious glance toward the bed. “I know Dr. Steele had to attend another delivery, but the housekeeper downstairs told me Lady Winbury had her baby hours ago. Her cousin works in the Winbury household, and she sent word right away.”
Bathsheba cursed quietly. The entire day had been one frustration after another. When Meredith went into labor, the household had sprung into action. Mrs. Griffiths had been summoned, and Silverton had dispatched a footman to fetch John. But the footman had returned with the distressing news that John had gone to visit a poor patient in the East End. Only his kitchen maid had been at home, and she had no idea how to find him or when he would return.
After two more attempts to find Blackmore, Silverton had reluctantly sent for Dr. Steele. To his credit, the older man had come quickly and had refrained from disparaging John. But he had scowled when Silverton told him that Meredith was pregnant with twins, and had sharply demanded to know how that fact had been ascertained. But when the marquess leveled his quizzing glance at him, the doctor had flushed a mottled red and murmured an apology, hastily turning his attention to Meredith.
“There's no cause for alarm, my lady,” Steele had pronounced after examining her. “Your pain is in no way out of the ordinary, I assure you. But you must be patient. Nature must take her course, and no amount of prodding on our part will do any good.”
Bathsheba had been tempted to put the idiot in his place for that unfeeling statement, but Annabel had hastily stepped in, asking the doctor what they should do in the meantime.
“Simply ensure her ladyship is calm and comfortable,” he had replied. “Mrs. Griffiths will know what to do. I'll return later this afternoon to check on her progress. Lady Winbury is also in labor, and I must attend her immediately. After all,” he had said with a hearty chuckle, “she is the daughter of a duke, and a duke trumps a marquess any day of the week.”
With that appalling comment, Dr. Steele had sailed from the room.
When he returned later in the day, he checked Meredith and then cheerfully pronounced she had many hours of labor ahead before she delivered. He had taken himself off again, promising to return after calling on another patient. At that point, Silverton had been ready to throttle him, but a few quiet words from Annabel had defused the worst of his anger.
But it was now well into the evening, and Steele had yet to return. Casting a worried glance at Meredith's pale, perspiring face, Bathsheba opened the door to the bedroom.
“I'm going to find Lord Silverton,” she said to Mrs. Griffiths. “I'll be right back.”
She hurried down the staircase, following the sound of voices into the drawing room. Not waiting for the footman, she threw open the door and halted on the threshold.
Robert Stanton and his grandparents, General and Lady Stanton, sat huddled at one end of the room. They turned at the sound of the door opening, and the general and Robert glared at her with undisguised hostility. Lady Stanton, however, simply appeared tired and anxious.
Bathsheba swallowed a sigh, and advanced into the room.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I'm looking for Lord Silverton.”
“He's gone out to find that quack Steele,” barked the general. “The man should have been here hours ago. A pretty turn of events when a marquess has to scour the town to find a blasted physician.”
Lady Stanton gave her husband a quelling glance. “Do come in, Lady Randolph. Sit for a moment. You must be tired, and we would be grateful for any news.”
Bathsheba hesitated, but Lady Stanton's offer seemed genuine. She sank onto the settee next to Robert, who immediately inched away from her. Repressing the urge to roll her eyes, she dredged up a smile for the older woman.
“I'm afraid I have little to report,” she said apologetically. “Nothing much seems to be happening, and that causes Mrs. Griffiths some concern. I intended to double-check to ensure Dr. Steele had been sent for.”
“Of course he's been sent for,” retorted the general. “Do you think we're all sitting around down here like a bunch of addlepated boobs?”
Lady Stanton actually did roll her eyes, and Bathsheba had to choke back a laugh.
“Not at all, General,” Bathsheba managed to reply in a calm voice. “Please forgive me for seeming impertinent. My actions are a reflection of my own anxiety, I'm sure.”
The general subsided with a grumble, looking slightly mollified.
“How is Meredith holding up?” Robert asked hesitantly.
There was no point in lying, but neither did Bathsheba want to unduly worry them. “She's in quite a bit of pain, but I would think that's perfectly natural when having twins.”
Lady Stanton smiled. “It's perfectly natural when one is having a baby, period, my dear.”
Bathsheba was about to agree when she heard voices in the entrance hall. She jumped up and hurried out to see Lord Silverton and Dr. Steele handing their hats and walking sticks to the butler.
“My lord, Dr. Steele,” she exclaimed in a low voice. “I'm so happy to see you.”
Anxiety flashed through Silverton's eyes. “Is Meredith all right?”
“Yes, but she continues to be in a great deal of pain. Mrs. Griffiths is anxious to see you, Dr. Steele.”
The physician gave her a jovial laugh. “Nurses always tend toward the hysterical, Lady Randolph. I'm sure everything is perfectly fine. Frankly, it's too bad Dr. Blackmore had already engaged Mrs. Griffiths. The nurse I work with—a most respectable woman—is a paragon of good sense.”
“Mrs. Griffiths came highly recommended,” Silverton replied dryly. “By the Queen, among others.”
“Oh, quite,” Steele huffed, flushing a dull shade of red.
Silverton led the way upstairs, his long legs taking the risers three at a time. Bathsheba hurried after him, while Steele trudged along behind with offended dignity.
By the time Bathsheba reached Meredith's dressing room, Silverton had already crouched down by her side, stroking her tangled hair from her brow. She breathed a sigh of relief that the marchioness looked a bit stronger than she had only a few minutes ago.
“Well, now, Lady Silverton,” exclaimed Steele as he came into the room. “I have a report that you are in pain. Surely you know that a little pain in childbirth is no cause for alarm.”
Meredith gave a weak snort, but held her tongue. Annabel didn't.
“It's hardly a little pain, my good sir,” she exclaimed. “She almost fainted after her last contraction. Not that you would know, since you weren't anywhere to be seen,” she finished in a sarcastic voice.
Steele began to bluster, but Silverton cut him off with a hand gesture.
“Annabel,” the marquess said in a kind voice, “why don't you go down and sit with Robert and your grandparents. They're most anxious to see you.”
Annabel looked outraged. “I have no intention of leaving Meredith.”
Her sister reached for her hand. “I insist, darling. You've been up here for hours. I don't even know when you've eaten last.”
“I'm fine,” growled Annabel, even though she was almost as pale as her sister.
Bathsheba stepped up to the bed. “Annabel, go sit with your family and have something to eat. I'll stay with Meredith.”
The girl looked mulish, but Bathsheba crossed to help her up from the floor. “Once you've eaten, you can come back up and take my place. I'm sure I'll be famished myself by then.”
“Well, all right,” Annabel grumbled. “But I'll be back in half an hour.”
“I'll be waiting,” Bathsheba promised.
The girl left and Bathsheba sat next to Meredith, taking her hand in a reassuring clasp.
“Now, Dr. Steele,” Bathsheba said, “perhaps you might get to work and deliver these babies.”
The doctor gave her an offended look—the man appeared to be perpetually offended—but positioned himself at the foot of the bed.
“Lady Silverton,” he said with a frown, “why aren't you lying on your left side?”
“It hurts when I do that. Lying on my back causes less pain.”
Grousing to himself about newfangled ideas, Dr. Steele reached under the marchioness's shift and began examining her. Meredith gasped and bit her lip, squeezing Bathsheba's hand. Silverton stroked her face and murmured comforting words into her ear. His blue eyes glittered with emotion, but his voice was steady and warm with affection.
Under his calming influence, Meredith began to relax. She stared up at him, and even though her eyes were dull with pain and her skin slicked with perspiration, her obvious love for Silverton made her seem almost serene.
Bathsheba dropped her gaze, struggling to swallow the lump in her throat and push back the sense of terrible loss that threatened to swamp her. She would never again know the kind of love that flowed with palpable energy between Meredith and Silverton.

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