Chapter 20

Angélique wrote to Mrs. White to tell her that she and Andrew had gotten married, how happy she was, how much she liked New York, and then she wrote to her again when she knew she was pregnant. Mrs. White told Hobson all about it, and he was pleased. He was relieved to know that Her Ladyship was happy, had married a nice man, and was in good hands.

And a letter from Mrs. White in the spring gave her the news that her brother Edward had been killed in a hunting accident. She said the funeral had been at Belgrave, and he was buried in the mausoleum with her parents. She thought about writing to Tristan about it to offer her sympathy, but decided not to after discussing it with Andrew. She had heard nothing from her brother since the last time she had seen him at the Fergusons’ and he had denied her as a sister.

“He doesn’t deserve the time of day from you,” Andrew told her, and she decided he was right.

They had just found a house on Washington Square, and she was busy decorating it, and getting it ready. They planned to move in, in May, and the baby was due at the beginning of October. She had been feeling well, and Andrew thought she was more beautiful than ever, with his baby growing in her gently swelling belly.

She had never seen his father again, although Andrew saw him for dinner from time to time, and had told him about the baby, which only made him angrier. He reminded Andrew that he wanted to hear nothing about her, nor their future offspring. The only relationship he wanted was with his son.

Andrew’s political ambitions were going well, and he was planning to run for a congressional seat in November, in a special election to replace a congressman who had died. It was an excellent opportunity for him. It was his first big step into politics, and Angélique was excited for him too. She hoped to be able to be at his side for the final weeks before the election, after the baby was born.

And when they moved into their new home, it was beautiful and everything they hoped it would be, and she was four months pregnant. They entertained friends frequently, and Andrew knew he was a lucky man. He had a wonderful wife he adored.

She had a letter from Fabienne in June, from Provence. Their baby had been born, a son they named Étienne, and they were over the moon about it. And Angélique promised to let her know as soon as their baby was born. She could hardly wait. The nursery she had prepared for it looked like a child’s dream. The only argument she and Andrew had was that she wanted to take care of it herself, and he insisted she have a baby nurse. He wanted to be able to go out with her, and said she couldn’t do it all alone. They compromised on her having a young girl to help her, but she didn’t plan to be a mother like Eugenia Ferguson, or even some of their friends in New York, who never saw their children. And Andrew said he wanted many, and Angélique was willing. She was excited about becoming a mother. And it was surely going to be easier than taking care of Eugenia’s twins. The doctor said it was just going to be one baby. They were hoping for a boy, but Andrew assured her he would be satisfied with a girl too, and they could try for a boy soon after, if that was the case.

They rented a house in Saratoga Springs for the summer, and stayed there for July and August until Labor Day. Andrew made occasional trips to the city for work and his campaign, and in September he got fiercely busy, with dinners, appearances, meetings, and shaking hands with voters everywhere he could, while Angélique stayed home and waited for the baby. She was too big to go out now, was expected to remain out of sight, and had almost nothing to wear that fit her. She complained that she was bored, but she was more tired than she wanted to admit, and she was going to have the baby at home. Everything was ready, and Andrew was more in love with her every day, and she with him.

On the first of October, she was folding tiny shirts in the nursery, with Claire’s help, when her water broke and the first pains started. A baby nurse had been hired and was due to arrive from Boston in the next few days. She had been working for a family there.

Angélique went back to their bedroom, to lie down and wait. Claire and their new housekeeper, Mrs. Partridge, brought in stacks of sheets and towels, as she had seen done for Eugenia when she had the twins, and they sent a message to the doctor. He arrived an hour later and said that everything was going well. She was progressing slowly and not in too much pain. And Andrew was at an important dinner with his supporters, and not expected home until that evening. The doctor didn’t think the baby would come before midnight, and promised to come back at suppertime. He expected things to move along at a faster pace by then, and he sent a nurse to watch her, as Angélique lay nervously on her bed, timing pains. And nothing much had happened when Andrew got home and said the dinner had gone well.

“It’s so tiresome waiting for something to happen,” she complained to him when the nurse went down to supper, and he kept her company. He was anxious for the baby to come too, although he was grateful she wasn’t in too much pain. And when the doctor arrived to see her again, things were moving more slowly than he’d expected, and he didn’t think she’d have the baby until the next day. And they both looked disappointed when he left.

“Maybe if I get up and walk around a little bit,” she said to Andrew, and he looked nervous.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You should stay in bed.” And just as he said it, the first big pain hit, a whole succession of them one after the other, as she clutched his hand and couldn’t catch her breath. It had hit her much harder than she expected, and she lay back against the pillows. Andrew said he’d get the nurse, who was sitting downstairs having tea with Mrs. Partridge.

“No, don’t leave me,” she gasped as another wave of pain hit her like a tidal wave, and she clung to him for dear life. She felt as though a train were roaring through her and she couldn’t stop it. “This is worse than I thought,” she admitted to him, and he looked panicked.

“Let me get the nurse.” He tried to get away, and she wouldn’t let go of his arm.

“No, Andrew, no—” She cried out as pain after pain rolled through her, and she looked dazed when she got a moment’s break, just as the nurse walked in, and she could see what was happening. She smiled and told Andrew he could leave.

“No,” Angélique begged him, “don’t leave me.” And they both saw the nurse frown when she saw a pool of blood in the bed.

“Is that unusual?” Andrew asked her, as she shook her head and assured him Mrs. Hanson was fine, and then she discreetly left and asked Mrs. Partridge to send the coachman for the doctor. She said they needed him there at once.

“Is something wrong?” the housekeeper asked her, looking worried.

“Some women just bleed more than others. She looks like a bleeder” was all the nurse would say and went back upstairs where Angélique was starting to scream with the pain, and felt like her back was breaking. She said she could feel the baby coming down, and Andrew and the nurse could see that she was bleeding more.

“My mother died when she had me. What if I die too?” she said to Andrew in a hoarse voice, and he tried to sound calmer than he was. He was worried about all the blood, no one had warned him, and they were going through stacks of sheets and towels. Claire had just brought more. And by then, Angélique couldn’t stop crying, and she seemed weaker. The nurse was telling her to push, and she couldn’t, and each time she tried, a gush of blood would splash across the bed.

“You’re not going to die,” he reassured his wife, and prayed it was true, just as the doctor walked in.

“Well, I see we’re getting busy. I guess I was wrong, and we’re going to have a beautiful baby here tonight.” But he frowned when he saw the blood, and Andrew noticed a silent exchange and nod to the nurse, and he knew with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was wrong. “My dear, let’s try and get the baby out quickly,” he said to Angélique. “There’s no point wasting time, when you can have the baby in your arms. I’m going to need you to push as hard as you can.” But she was already too weak and had lost too much blood. She couldn’t push hard enough to get the baby out—all she could do was scream and cry with the pain. The doctor looked at Andrew then with an intense expression. “I need you to help her. When I tell you to, I want you to press the baby downward toward me. Don’t be afraid to push.” Andrew nodded just as another pain hit. The nurse held her legs, Andrew pressed, and Angélique did her best, as the doctor watched what was happening and tried to stanch the flow of blood. They kept at it for another five minutes, and then a tiny face emerged, and then the whole head, and the shoulders, and their little boy was born as Andrew watched him and cried. The baby gave a lusty cry, as his mother picked up her head, smiled at him, and slipped into unconsciousness. There was a pool of blood on the bed, her face was gray, and Andrew couldn’t stop crying. He was terrified he was losing her, and the doctor was working hard as the nurse held the baby and took him away to clean him and wrap him in a blanket. He had been born covered in his mother’s blood.

“Doctor—” Andrew said in a choked voice, gripped by panic.

“She’s lost a lot of blood,” the doctor said, and then miraculously it slowed. He watched her for a few minutes, and then put smelling salts under her nose, and Angélique regained consciousness. She was deathly pale and weak, but she was breathing and awake.

“Is the baby all right?” she asked Andrew and the doctor.

“He’s fine,” Andrew told her. She had given him the fright of his life, and he suspected that she wasn’t out of the woods yet. But two hours later, the doctor seemed satisfied, and after giving her laudanum drops to help her sleep and for the pain, and instructions to the nurse to give her more in a few hours, he left and spoke to Andrew on the way out.

“She had a condition called placenta previa,” he explained. “Some women hemorrhage to death from it. I think she’ll be all right now, but she can’t get out of bed for a while. And it will take her time to recover.” And then he looked seriously at Andrew. “I wouldn’t let her try again. You could lose her next time or the baby. She was lucky this time.” Andrew nodded, feeling dazed by what he’d just heard and all he’d seen for the past few hours. He had correctly sensed that she could have died from the way things were going and all the bleeding. And all he cared about now was that she was alive, and so was their son. He walked back into their bedroom and looked down at her. She was sleeping from the laudanum drops they’d given her. And sensing him next to her, she looked up groggily and smiled at him.

“I love you…,” she said, drifting off to sleep again.

“I love you too,” he said, and meant it with every fiber of his being. He didn’t care if they never had any other children. They had one now. And he wanted her safe and alive and at his side for the rest of his life. They had been lucky that night, but he didn’t want to try their luck again. She meant too much to him to take the risk.

They had already agreed to name him Phillip Andrew Hanson, after her father and Andrew. And her brother Tristan didn’t know it, but the next heir to Belgrave Castle, the estate, and the title, had just been born. With her brother Edward gone, and Tristan having only two daughters—unless he had a son before he died, which seemed unlikely—the baby Angélique had given birth to that night was Tristan’s heir, and her father’s. She had explained it all to Andrew in case they had a boy and something happened to her. She wanted him to inherit what was his right. Tristan would have to be told at some point, but there was no hurry. The future Duke of Westerfield had been born that night in New York.

Andrew smiled to himself as he thought about it. It was an antiquated system that cheated people who didn’t deserve it, especially women, like his wife. But it was an odd feeling knowing that his son would be a duke one day. And it pleased him to know that the man who had been so cruel to Angélique would get his just deserts in the most natural way, by the same rules and laws he had used to hurt her. The title meant nothing to Andrew, or very little, but Angélique meant everything to him, and now so did their son. His Grace Phillip Andrew, Duke of Westerfield, had arrived.