The Flame and the Flower (47 page)

"No one knows that, Master Bran," the woman replied. "But it sure looks like Miss Heather is holding up a darn sight better 'n you. Why don't you go have a nice big drink of that stuff you like to drink. It sure couldn't hurt nothing, and it might help a lot."

Brandon felt in strong need of a brandy but declined, wanting to stay and comfort his wife in any way he could. She clung to his hand tightly, seeming to want him there by her side, and he could not leave her when she was so tortured with giving his child birth.

Again the agony came and again it went. Brandon wiped Heather's face with a cool, wet cloth and brushed her hair up from her neck and looked a little paler than he did before. Hatti moved to the bedside and taking his arm, urged him from it.

"Master Bran, you best let Master Jeff fix you something strong. You don't look so good." She guided him to the door and opening it, gently pushed him out. "You go get drunk, Master Bran. Go get drunk and don't come back until I calls you. I don't want you fainting while I got to tend the missus."

The door closed and Brandon was left staring at it, feeling lost and out of sorts. He glanced around him, and finally went downstairs and into the study where George and his brother waited. Jeff took one look at him and pressed a stiff drink into his hand.

"Here, you look as if you need this."

Brandon tossed the drink down without hardly noticing the two who regarded him, and Jeff motioned to George and the servant quickly took his captain's glass and poured a small draught of brandy in it and an ample supply of water. Brandon didn't realize the difference as he paced the floor.

Between the two of them, Jeff and George managed to keep Brandon's drinks pretty well watered. Jeff watched his brother light up one expensive cigar after another then crush them out after taking only a puff or two. He moved in a sort of daze around the study, inattentive and unconcerned with what went on around him, ignoring them and paying no heed to what he did. He strode into the hallway many times and gazed upward toward the second floor, then he would turn again and reach for another drink. A maid scurrying up or down the stairs now and then would send him rushing to the door, but for no reason. When he poured himself a bourbon and swallowed a good third of the contents without noticing the difference, Jeff knew he was in another world entirely.

"Brandon, you're getting too old for this sort of thing or else that little girl up there matters more to you than you admit. I've seen you go after a wounded boar without fear, knowing exactly what you were doing. Now you're so addled, you're drinking my bourbon and you can't stand the stuff."

Brandon thrust the glass at him. "Well, why the hell did you give it to me then if you knew I disliked it?"

Jeff turned a bemused expression to George, and the man smiled in return and shrugged his shoulders. The younger brother went to the desk, shaking his bead, and relaxed back in the chair. After a moment he took up quill and paper and began to scratch out a few figures. When he turned to Brandon again, he wore a grin broader than a barn door. It couldn't have worked out better if he had possessed a hand in fate.

"You know, Brandon, according to my calculations, you'd have had to marry Tory the first day you were in London port."

George spewed a mouthful of ale out in surprise and coughed and choked as some went down the wrong way, while Brandon lowered his head between his shoulders and scowled at his brother.

In the master bedroom Heather writhed in silent agony as she bore down in an effort to force the child from her. She breathed in deeply as the pain eased, but her relief was short and she was again tortured. She clung to the servant's hand and gritted her teeth while Hatti encouraged her.

"The head is about to come, Miss Heather. It won't be long now. Push down. That's it. Scream if you want. You been silent too long, child."

A whimper escaped Heather as her body was consumed in pain. She fought the urge to cry out, but as the child's head emerged, a scream did come, and down below in the study Brandon slid weakly into a chair as he heard it. He stared unseeing across the room, and George caught his glass as it tipped. Both the servant and the younger brother glanced at each other in nervous indecision, realizing that Heather's cry had affected them too.

Some time later, with a broad grin upon her black face, Hatti opened the door of the study, holding the wee Birmingham close. She went to Brandon first as the two other men stared at the bundle, drawing back the blanket for him to see his child.

"It's a boy, Master. A strong, fine, healthy boy. He was asqualling before he left the hatch."

"My God," Brandon uttered as he came from his daze to see the wrinkled, red face of his son before him. He grabbed up his drink and tossed it down and looked around as if he needed another badly.

Jeff and George sidled closer to view the child and beamed proudly as if they were the ones responsible for his being there, forgetting Brandon entirely. Jeff poked a gentle finger at the small hand.

"He doesn't look much like Brandon," he commented.

George quickly glanced from father to son, but Hatti spoke up in disagreement.

"Master Brandon looked just like this when he was born. He was just about as long too. This baby's gonna be as tall as his pa, that's for sure. He's already got a good start."

Brandon stood up and peeked leerily over George's shoulder at his son again. He moved from the group as they continued to admire the baby and hurried out of the room and up the stairs to the master bedroom. Heather smiled drowsily as he came to the bedside and took her hand.

"Have you seen him?" she questioned as he sat beside her. "Isn't he beautiful?"

He nodded to the first inquiry and reserved opinion on the second. "How do you feel?" he asked softly.

"Sleepy," she sighed. "But wonderful."

He pressed his lips to her brow. "Thank you for the son," he murmured.

She smiled and closed her eyes, holding his hand clutched to her breast.

"We'll have your daughter next time," he whispered.

But Heather had already drifted to sleep.

Brandon gently eased his hand from her grasp and tiptoed out of the room to the sitting room, leaving Mary to sit with his wife. He paused by a window and saw that dawn was breaking. He smiled to himself, feeling fit enough to wrestle a bear and quite good despite the fact that he had been up all night. He brought a chair to the window which he opened and sat down, propping his feet on the sill. A moment later when Hatti came through the room she found his head slumped on his chest and his eyes closed in sleep.

She shook her head slowly and smiled, "Poor Master, he sure had a hard night."

The sun was streaming down in bright rays over Harthaven when Brandon woke to the sound of angry squalls and realized his son was making his demands. He rose and washed the foul taste from his mouth left from the night of drinking, then pushed open the door to the nursery to find Hatti bending over the wee one. She was clucking to him and cooing and talking in a soothing tone, but he raged on.

"We gonna have you fed in just a minute, lil' Birmingham. It ain't the end of the world."

Feeling now a fatherly interest and pride in his son, Brandon drew closer and stood with hands behind his back as he watched the old Negress struggling to remove the wet clothes. The baby drew up his knees and wailed the louder, turning red with his anger.

"Whooee, that boy sure is mad. He's a wanting something to eat and he's letting everybody know it."

As soon as he was dry, the young Birmingham's manner calmed some. He smacked his lips, opening his mouth like a little bird everytime his fist brushed his cheek, and released whimpering little gurgles, now and then letting out a disgruntled yelp.

Hatti chuckled at him. "Look there, master, he's trying to sweet talk me into giving him something to eat."

Brandon smiled and the baby gurgled pleadingly.

"You sure is an impatient lil' fella," Hatti cooed, picking him up and cuddling him to her big bosom. "But your mammy is awake, and we're gonna take you in there right now."

Running his fingers through his tousled hair, Brandon followed the servant into the master bedroom. There he saw Heather sitting up in bed, hair combed and ribboned, fresh and frilly gown donned, and looking irresistibly beautiful. When she saw him she hurriedly motioned Mary away, giving her a hand mirror, and then turned to give him a radiant smile and hold eager arms out for her son. He followed Hatti to the bed, sitting beside Heather as she took the babe gently into her arms. He saw a light blush spread across her features when she undid her gown and pushed it aside, and sensed her unease with this new, unfamiliar task of motherhood, yet she cooed to the baby softly and tried to direct him as he rooted about eagerly. The nipple brushed his cheek and he turned his head hurriedly in that direction and latched onto it with the ferocity of a starving pig, causing Heather to jump in painful surprise as his mouth clamped down on her. Brandon smiled, and Hatti chuckled as she viewed the babe sucking at his mother's breast.

"Lordy me. The young master is hollow from the feet up. Most likely, we'll be having to fix that boy a sugar tit to tide him over until his mammy gets milk."

The tiny, tugging mouth sent strange rivers of delight pulsating through Heather's body as she gazed lovingly at her son. Already she thought he looked a great deal like his father. Soft, black hair covered the small head and magnificent little brows were already shaped with his sire's curve and not his mother's slant. With a maternal pride, she thought him a most handsome baby.

"He is beautiful, isn't he, Brandon?" she murmured, lifting warm eyes to his, and Hatti prodded Mary out the door, closing it behind them as Brandon replied.

"He is indeed, madam." He reached and thrust a gentle finger into the tiny fist that pressed against her breast. It was readily accepted and firmly held, and Brandon smiled in pleasure.

He returned his gaze to his wife's face and lost himself in the soft liquid eyes that beheld him. He was barely conscious of his actions as he leaned forward, almost mesmerized by the deep pools of blue. His free hand slipped through her hair to the nape of her neck and still she stared, and then his mouth found hers and eyelids lowered. He felt her lips slacken and begin to tremble and then open as his mouth moved upon hers. He tasted response, sweet, warm and clinging and was aware of the rapid beat of her heart beneath the fingers resting on her breast.

Heather struggled for breath under his flaming kiss, all too aware of his hands upon her, of his searing mouth taking hers. Feeling faint, she tore free and laughed shakily.

"You make me forget the baby." She sighed as his lips slid to her throat and tried to stop the spinning of her head. "What shall we name him?"

He drew back and looked at her. After a moment he murmured, "If you have no objections, I'd like to name him after a friend of mine, now dead. He was killed a few years back fighting a fire that burned his church. I admired the man very much, but you might be warned that he was a Frenchman—a French Huguenot. I will understand if your English ancestry disapproves of naming our son after him."

"You forget, m'lord," she smiled, "that in all actuality, you are more English than I. What was your friend's name?"

"Beauregard—Beauregard Grant," he answered readily.

She tested the name on her tongue, then nodded her head. "It's a nice name. I like it. Beauregard Grant Birmingham is what he shall be called."

Freeing his finger from his son's grip, Brandon opened a drawer in the bedside commode and removed a long box which he presented to her.

"With gratitude, madam, for giving me a son."

He lifted the lid for her and she stared at the necklace within. Two long strands of large, carefully matched pearls were clasped together by a generous ruby set in gold filagree.

"Oh, Brandon, it's lovely," she breathed.

His eyes fell to her throat and bosom and his voice was hoarse when he spoke. "Somehow I thought pearls would compliment the beauty of your skin better than diamonds."

She could almost feel his stare caressing her. A warm feeling again swept her, and her pulse throbbed in her throat, then he glanced away.

"I'll get dressed," he said huskily as he rose from the bed. "I imagine Abegail is anxious to see the baby."

He selected clothes from his wardrobe and turning again, gave her a long appraisal before he went into the sitting room to dress.

Some time later, Abegail came in with Jeff to view the baby who now lay asleep on the bed beside his mother. She lifted a lorgnette and peered at the new born, then raised an eyebrow as she smiled at Brandon.

"Well, I see there'll be another generation of girls set upon by a Birmingham. But I do hope you plan to have enough to make a lot of those frilly-skirted things happy. They shan't like it if there's only himself there."

Jeff smiled slowly. "They'll probably have at least a dozen, but I doubt if their children will be all boys."

The old woman looked in obvious glee to Brandon. "Well, now that would be justice indeed, to have one of you two defending a maiden's honor." She chuckled merrily at the thought. "It would stir your blood more than a mite if you had to force a gay bachelor to wed your daughter."