Salisbury

5 months later…

Emily smoothed a hand over her swollen belly and shifted in her chair. Her back ached and she had been feeling restless all morning. Mrs. Hill, the midwife, had said such changes were expected this far into pregnancy. But they still frightened Emily. Each day she was closer to meeting her child was one more day she must live without Stephen.

She set her sewing down. Her chest ached as it always did when she thought of Stephen. What was he doing now, she wondered? Was he married? Was he happy?

Emily glanced at the clock. James was due to return from London today and he had promised to call. It was well past three in the afternoon.

She looked forward to his visit. In the past few months, he had been a good friend to her. Indeed, she did not know what she would have done were it not for his kindness.

When they had first arrived in Sailsbury, she had thought she might marry him. But she knew, in her heart, the only man she would ever love was Stephen, so she had broken off the engagement. James had been hurt, but he had said he understood and they had remained friends since.

She was much better alone, posing as a widow. Mrs. Emily Endicott was her name now. She had run across the name during her travels and it suited her well enough. It did not signify. It was a name unattached to scandal, unattached to her past life. It was as good as any.

Emily glanced around her snug little cottage. It was warm, snug and with a portion of the money Stephen had given her, she had bought furnishings. Nothing too elegant. Sturdy, serviceable pieces that were likely to withstand the abuse of a child.

But even as she glanced around, the space did not feel like home. Perhaps it never would. Without Stephen, nothing felt like home.

There was a knock at the door.

Her maid of all work, Mary, had taken the afternoon off to visit her sister.

“One moment,” Emily called out as she struggled to remove herself from the chair. With her stomach protruding, it took her longer than usual to get up out of any sitting position. She groaned and rose to her feet.

It was James. He was due to arrive any moment.

Or perhaps it was the midwife, Mrs. Hill, calling to check on her. In the last week, she had stopped in nearly every afternoon. Emily had a complaint with her back she wanted to ask her about—yesterday, a dull, painful ache had begun radiating in her lower back. It seemed to be getting steadily worse.

Slowly, waddling like a duck, Emily moved to the front door. “I am coming.”

She removed her white apron and hung it on the hook beside the door, then pulled the door open.

Her heart jumped into her throat.

It was most certainly not Mrs. Hill.

Stephen.

Astonishment, joy, disbelief all overcame her at once. Stephen. Stephen. Stephen. The breath caught in her lungs, and she swayed on her feet, clutching the door for support.

He lunged forward and caught her, pulling her to him as best he could with her large belly in the way.

“Emily,” he whispered against her hair. “Thank God. You are such a difficult woman to find.”

When she pulled back, she realized he was not alone. James, Mr. Grant, Mrs. Hill and the curate of the parish were also standing on her doorstep.

“Stephen, what is this?”

He took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Emily, I have been miserable without you. I should have told you before you left. I love you. I love you more than I could possibly convey.”

She blinked up at him, disbelieving. All of the hope, and fear, and uncertainty she had been battling these last months rose to the surface and she broke. A flood of emotion crashed over her. Seeing his face, hearing his voice, was like drawing in her first real breath in months. She crumpled against his chest and wept.

Stephen enfolded her in his arms and turned to the party. “We will need a moment,” he said, then led her into the cottage and shut the door. They found the parlor, his hand pressed to the small of her back.

“W-what are you doing here?” she sniffed, trying, and failing, to stem the tide of tears.

He brushed away her tears with his thumb and gazed into her eyes. “I have been searching for you these four months. It was the footman, James, who finally led me to you.” He smiled. “He said you were miserable without me.”

James! He had sworn he would never reveal her whereabouts, but there were days when he had discovered her crying and she had opened up to him about her fears and regrets.

Emily pulled back slightly, reality creeping into the moment. “Where is your wife?”

Precious little news reached her in this far-flung hamlet, but that was entirely by design. Even James, who regularly traveled to London, did not speak of Town or share the gossip. He knew that news of Stephen would have devastated her. There were some days when just the thought of what she had lost with Stephen made her feel as though she couldn’t breathe, crushed under the weight of grief.

“I am not married,” he said. “Miss Westgate is now Lady Louth.”

A hundred pound stone of grief and pain and devastation rolled off her chest at those words. She shook her head. “What?”

“When I confessed my love for you, she threw me over for an elderly Duke with nine toes in the grave.”

She could scarcely believe it. “You love me…”

“I love you more than I could ever express in words,” he said. “Marry me, Emily. Here, now. Make me the happiest of men and consent to be my wife.”

“This moment?” she breathed in disbelief. “Stephen, the banns must be called. That would take three weeks, at the very least.”

He pulled a folded piece of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket. “I have obtained a special license.”

A special license. How extraordinary. “How did you—?”

“Lady Evelyn offered her assistance. She was able to convince the archbishop to issue me a license. She wrote to me of your meeting,” he said. “It so brave of you to go to her. At your behest, she called her brother off and convinced him to retract his complaint from the House of Lords.”

Emily felt relieved, but calling the Duke off was only the beginning. “But what of the marriage license? Surely someone will now feel compelled to look into things.”

“Morris unearthed the first wife’s baptism entry in the church records and discovered she was one year younger than she claimed. She was twenty when she married my father and her guardian did not give his permission—he was a vagabond and she likely could not find him. In any event, the marriage was never valid. Neither my father, nor my grandfather knew of her duplicity, however, so the marriage was presumed legal.”

Morris had pulled through, after all. “I am so happy for you.”

Dipping his head, he captured her lips in a deep, soul-wrenching kiss. When he pulled away, emotion glinted in his eyes. “Say yes, Emily. Say you will be my wife.”

She smiled. “Yes. I will be your wife, Stephen.”

At that exact moment, her stomach pinched painfully and a gush of wetness trickled down her inner thigh. “Oh!” Mrs. Hill had warned her about this. It was a sure sign that her time had arrived. “I think the babe is coming.”

Stephen stared at her, half-horror, half-fear etched on his handsome features. He glanced down at her swollen belly, then back up at her face. “Are you certain?”

She clutched her belly as another wave of pain crashed over her. “Oh, ow. Yes, I am left in no doubt, this child plans to arrive today.”

His green eyes went wide. “Dear God.” He turned and rushed to the door, pulling it open. “Everyone inside.”

James, Mr. Grant, the curate and Mrs. Hill rushed in, pushing into Emily’s small parlor. “The babe is coming, we must perform the ceremony now,” Stephen said.

The ceremony was short—a blessing, because now the pains were coming more closely together, one on top of the other. She scarcely had time to breath before another painful spasm slammed into her.

Stephen took the ring from the crease of the open bible and slipped it on Emily’s finger. The beautiful green emerald matched Stephen’s eyes. Then he kissed her—short, sweet and full of love and promise for the future.

The curate thrust a pen at them and instructed them to sign the license and marriage registry. When that task was done, the curate took his leave and Mrs. Hill stepped in with all the authority of a colonel.

“Help her into the bedchamber,” Mrs. Hill ordered.

James and Stephen helped Emily up the steep staircase and into her modest bed.

“One of you must go to my cottage and fetch my maid. At this hour, she will be in the back garden,” she said calmly.

James volunteered quickly. “I will go.”

Stephen kneeled by the bed and clutched Emily’s hand, fear evident in his eyes. “Tell me what I can do. Give me a task.”

The pain was so great, Emily couldn’t think, let alone speak. She moaned, digging the back of her head into the pillow and squeezing his hand. Her belly tightened, cinching unbearably tight. She feared she might cry out in sheer pain.

“Sir, you must leave,” Mrs. Hill said sternly. “I assure you, she will be well cared for.”

Stephen’s brows knit together and his hand tightened around hers. “I cannot leave her.”

Her chest tightened at the protectiveness in his voice, but she knew he could not stay. Men had weak constitutions when it came to women’s troubles. He would likely faint clear away at the first sight of blood.

“Stephen, I will be fine. I promise you.”

“Emily…” His voice cracked with emotion.

“I have delivered a dozen babes safety into this world and I cannot do my duty with you under foot. I must insist you wait in the parlor.” Her tone softened. “If she is ever in any danger, I will fetch you at once.”

Reluctantly, he stood. “Be advised. I hear her cry out once and I will be back inside this room.” Then he left, glancing back at her one last time before closing the door.

Stephen paced the length of the small parlor, the floorboards creaking under his boots. Knots cinched tight in his stomach and sweat poured off him in buckets. He had the distinct feeling he wanted to vomit, or get drunk.

Or still better, get drunk and then vomit.

He had heard nothing, not a sound, in the three hours since he had left Emily’s side. If only there were some sign she was well. This silence was utter torment.

“Sit down, will you?” Grant said. After retrieving the maid, he had joined Stephen in the parlor. James had taken his leave, so it was just the two of them now. Waiting. Endlessly. “Watching you walk to a fro is hurting my neck,” he finished.

“If only I knew she and the child were out of danger.”

“I am sure everything is fine,” Grant said. “I have a cousin with no less than six children and all are well to this day. Oh, wait, no, she did perish, sadly, with the last one.”

Stephen turned to Grant. “Why in God’s name are you here?”

Grant fixed him with a bored stare. “Excellent question. As I recall, I was sitting in a coffee shop, when you stormed in, plucked me up, mumbling something about a requiring a witness, and then tossed me into a carriage.” He lifted his hands. “So here I am. Dragged across four counties to watch my best chap pace endlessly. “

Stephen growled. He remembered now. Once he had gotten news of Emily’s whereabouts, he had wasted no time. He already had the license, but he would require two witnesses for the ceremony. He already had James, so it was only natural he would force Grant to stand in as the second.

“You’ve fulfilled your purpose admirably. You can leave now if you wish.”

Grant laughed. “Surely you jest. I have been dragged through this strange romance of yours and now I intend to see it through.”

“How good of y—“

At that moment, a low, guttural cry cut through the air. Stephen flew up the small staircase and burst through the bedroom door. He stood mid-way into the room, his gaze fixed on Emily. He saw her from the side, her head resting back on the pillow, sweat trickling down her temples, wetting her hair. Her breath came in hard, short bursts, as though she had just run a great distance.

Time stopped. The breath sawed from his lungs and his heart thundered against his ribs. He swallowed. “Emily,” he said, stepping forward.

Then he heard it—the strong, angry cry of a babe.

“You have a daughter,” Mrs. Hill said as she cleaned the babe and wrapped her in a bundle of cloth and then handed her to Emily.

A daughter. A daughter.

Dear God, he felt like his heart would burst.

He rushed to Emily’s side. Her face was more pallid than he would have liked, but when she smiled up at him, her eyes were bright with unshed tears. She held the little bundle in her arms and within the folds; he could see a small cherub face with a tuft of blond hair.

Their sweet babe. She was perfect.

Mrs. Hill and her maid slipped out of the room, leaving them alone. Stephen slid onto the bed next to Emily and placed his arm around her shoulders, tugging her close to him. He kissed her on the temple, his heart swelling. “You have done well, my love.”

“We have done well,” she said, gazing down at their child. “She is so precious. I thought for certain she would be a he, but even so, I would not trade her for the world.”

“I always knew she would be a girl,” he said proudly. “A father knows such things.”

Emily laughed. “I rather think it was a lucky guess on your part.”

He touched his head to Emily’s. “Perhaps.”

“What shall we call her?” Emily asked.

He thought for a moment. “I have always admired the name Annabel. It was my Scottish grandmother’s name and I was extremely fond of her.”

She looked down at their daughter. “Scottish. How very fitting. Yes, she looks like an Annabel, does she not?”

“She looks like her mother, thank heavens. I should have been distressed to discover she had inherited my nose.”

“No, indeed,” she laughed again. “She has something of your eyes, I think.”

They stayed that way for the rest of the day; cuddled together, sleeping and waking with a jolt whenever little Annabel made a sound that was not expected.

Late in the evening, when Annabel was suckling at her mother’s breast, Stephen gazed down at them. This was everything he had dreamed life would grant him—a wife he loved and a child he cherished.

“I vow to always love and cherish you, Emily,” he whispered against her hair, inhaling her lemon scent. “You are all I have ever longed for.”

She wet her lips and glanced up at him. “And I vow to love you, Lord Devon, as long as there is breath in my lungs.”

“Only until then?” he asked.

She turned in his arms. “I am yours, now and forever.”

He smiled down at her. “That is more like it.”

And then he kissed her, long and sensual, careful not to wake their sleeping babe.

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