Chapter Seven

“Mr. B, if you’re going to keep waking me like this, we need to have a serious talk.” Catherine rolled onto her side and peered at what had prodded her awake. She frowned. “Mama?”

Her mother wrung her hands together. “It’s happening.”

Catherine pushed up in bed and pressed back the wild curls that had escaped their braid during the night. She yawned. “What’s happening, Mama?”

“Emma is!” Mama declared.

“Emma is happening…Oh! She’s having the baby?”

“Yes, yes.” Her mother flapped her hands impatiently and dragged back the bedding. “Now get up. Your father is having the carriage made ready. We must go at once.”

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Catherine slid her feet off the bed and reached for the wrapper that was still draped over the chair at her bedside. “Father is coming?”

“Yes, yes, now make haste.” Mama flung back the curtains.

Poor Emma. The last thing she needed was their mother fussing over her. She had been terrible at baby Nicholas’s birth but between her and her sister, they had managed to keep her out of the way. Why their father wanted to attend, she did not know, but she imagined he had been forced into it by Mama.

“I will, I will,” Catherine promised. The fog of sleep finally lifted, and she peered at her mother. “But, Mama, you still need to dress.”

Her mother glanced down and made a surprised noise. “Oh no. Oh we will never get there in time.”

“Unfortunately for Emma, I am sure it will not be over and done with so quickly, but the carriage will take time to ready anyway.”

“It has likely been several hours already.” Mama clapped hands to her cheeks. “The messenger boy looked to be a horribly slow creature. Oh, goodness, we must hurry.”

Catherine took her mother’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “All will be well.”

“This is the birth of the next earl, Catherine. The next earl! How can you be so sure?”

“Because Emma is made of strong stuff and she will have her sisters with her.”

Mama gave a shudder. “Why I had to have daughters, I do not know. Mothers with sons do not have to worry like this.”

“But if you’d had sons, Mama, they would not have been able to marry earls and dukes and viscounts.”

Her mother pursed her lips. “I suppose you are right. Oh, Catherine, we must hurry.”

“Yes, we must. Now go and change.” Catherine motioned for her mother to leave and closed the door behind her. She took a brief moment to suck in a breath, splash water on her face and run a brush through her hair before dressing hastily. She understood her mother’s concern and inability to quite think straight. Childbirth was always worrying but Emma was a strong, healthy woman. Everything would be well, it just had to be.

When Catherine came downstairs, she found her father pacing in the entrance hallway. “What’s wrong, Papa?”

“The carriage will be delayed. The horse needs re-shoeing first.” Her father grimaced. “Your mother will not be happy.”

“Do you really need to come? Can she not come alone?”

He shook his head and gave a wry smile. “Apparently not. What I shall do apart from get in the way, I do not know, but your mother insists.”

Catherine twined her fingers together and tapped her foot. Once Mama joined them, the wait would be even more unbearable.

No, she was not going to wait. She snatched her spencer jacket from the coat hanger and slung it on. “I’m going to walk,” she declared.

“You would be better off waiting, Catherine,” her father cautioned. “Emma does not live as close as Amelia or Julia. By the time you get there, we shall have likely arrived.”

“I know but at least I am keeping busy.”

She considered the route which she had taken a few times. Morgan and Emma had recently let a small manor house in the area after much time in London. It seemed Morgan had plans to build or purchase a finer house in the future, but Emma did not much care for their size of their living quarters, so long as she was near her family.

Her father shrugged. “I cannot stop you nor blame you. Your mother is in a state.”

“I know.” Catherine smiled at this.

Their mother had always declared herself too busy or too overwhelmed to be involved in her daughters’ lives in the past but since all these marriages, she had started to fuss over them quite a bit. She was not sure how her sisters felt about it, but Catherine rather missed having a little more independence, even if it was nice to think their mother worried for her.

Catherine came up on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to her father’s cheek. “Look after Mama. I shall see you there.”

“Do not get into trouble, Catherine,” he warned.

She pressed a hand to her chest and affected an innocent look. “As if I would!”

The day proved to be clear and bright. It was early, even for the rest of her family, and Catherine rather missed the cozy warmth of her bed, but she supposed there was something to be said for this time of the morning. A little mist swirled lazily about her ankles and dew clung to the grass. Speckled sunlight glinted low through the trees.

Nerves twanged in her stomach. Her other sisters would probably be at Emma’s house before her, so she would have all the support she needed. Catherine wasn’t sure she could be of much use during a birth, anyway, but should anything happen, she wished to be there. The thought quickened her pace and after half-an-hour at such speed, she was forced to remove her spencer and sling it over one arm. Sweat made her dress cling to her back and her stays grew uncomfortably itchy.

Following the lane, she cut into a field of sheep and trailed the hedgerow until she reached a sty. From here, she would have another three miles of walking to do. On a leisurely day, she quite enjoyed the distance. It gave her time to ponder the world and get a little gentle exercise. Today, the fields that rolled out in front of her, dipping down before rising up and dissected with tree lines seemed endless.

The thud of horse hooves made her pause. She twisted to view the rider but did not recognize the horse. The way the morning sun trickled in behind the stranger made it impossible to make out who it was.

Until he came to a stop beside her, that was.

“Miss Chadwick?”

“My lord, whatever are you doing out here?”

Thorne gave a slight smile. “I was about to ask you the same. Lilith says you do not like mornings.”

“Does she indeed?” Catherine liked Lilith immensely but the idea that Lilith spoke of her to her brother made her stomach twist oddly.

“I rather like them myself. It is the best time of day, really.”

“I prefer the evening,” she said, unsure why she even felt the need to point that out.

“Of course you do.”

“I’m afraid I am rather in a hurry, Lord Thornefield.” She took the hem of her skirt in hand and turned.

“Is all well?” he asked, forcing her to face him once more. “You look a little…” He closed his mouth.

She knew full well how she looked. Crumpled, hot, sweaty, and not at all pretty. Her hair had come free from the hasty braid she had done and swirled around her shoulders. If Lord Thornefield disapproved of her normally—and she had no doubt he did—he would think her wild indeed now.

“My sister, um, needs me. She has gone into labor.”

“Ah.” He brought the horse closer to her. “I had the pleasure of meeting her husband only yesterday.” He looked into the distance. “You have some way to walk.”

“Yes, and so I must hurry you see.” She turned away again but he brought his horse in line with her. “Lord Thornefield, I do not mean to be rude but—”

“You are in a rush, yes. Far be it for me to delay you, but I would not leave you in such a state.”

“A state? I am not some feeble, weak-spirited creature, my lord. I can quite manage a few miles on foot.”

“You are concerned for your sister, no doubt.” He moved the horse in front of her and stopped her progress. “Allow me to give you a ride.”

She peered up at him. “Why should you wish to do that?”

“Because my mother taught me better than to leave ladies in distress in, well, distress.”

“I am not in distress,” she insisted.

And she was not at all sure she wanted to ride with the marquis. Goodness, she was not even sure she liked the man. How could she spend the next half an hour on horseback with him?

“I beg to differ.” He offered a hand. “I can get you to your sister much more quickly.”

Catherine heaved out a sigh and took his gloved hand. “Very well.”

He lifted her up with such ease that she considered for a moment that she might have transformed into a mere feather. In a trice, she was settled sideways across the front of the saddle, safely cushioned against the marquis’s chest. A shock of sensation bolted through her when his arms came about her to grip the reins in both hands.

“It would be easier if you held onto me.”

She blinked. She’d heard the words yet could not quite process them. A look at his determined expression as he focused on the horizon and adjusted his seat for her weight had her stomach all a flutter.

“Catherine?” He looked down at her. “Hold onto me.”

Mouth dry, she nodded and put an arm around her waist then gripped the fabric of his jacket with her other hand.

“I shall drop you off discretely,” he promised. “No one shall see us.”

She laughed. The thought that someone might see them and turn this innocent moment into a scandal had hardly crossed her mind. Not when she was aware of his body brushing hers and the way her knuckles kept touching warm fabric that was close to even warmer, hard flesh. There was no doubting it—all that digging out hay in stables kept the man in a fine shape. Never before had she been surrounded by so much strength.

“I am not afraid of a little gossip,” she declared boldly, even though her voice did not come out as strong as she would have liked. 

“Then you underestimate the power of gossip. I prefer to avoid it at all costs.”

“There is no avoiding gossip. People from all walks of life take delight in it. So I prefer not to even care.”

“Of course you do.” His lips were pressed into that line of disdain that she was beginning to recognize from him. “Ready?”

She nodded.

Lord Thornefield set off at a gentle pace to begin with until the horse and they were accustomed to the extra weight and unusual positioning. He eased the gelding into a steady gallop with expertise. The thud of hooves beneath her mirrored the pounding in her heart while the countryside passed them by in a blur.

But this frantic rush in her chest had little to do with the speed or even her sister’s condition. She glanced down at the hands that gripped the reins, where evidence of hard labor lingered on his knuckles. Her body fizzled with awareness—each brush of his arms against her, every hard muscle pressed against her back had her on alert.

There was no denying it, the heightened pace of her heart was caused by him.

He slowed the horse when they came upon the stone bridge that crossed a meandering stream. From there, the modest house stood tall, no longer hidden by trees. Not as big as Guy’s or as imposing as Lord Thornefield’s, Stokesfield Manor was a wonderful mix of old Tudor spires and red brick. She knew once the baby was born Morgan intended on either expanding it or finding a house more suited to an earl and his wife, but Catherine thought the place quite charming as it was.

“I shall leave you here.”

The words whispered across her ear, making her jolt. So lost had she been in the feeling of his body that she had quite forgotten there was an actual live person behind it.

Words failed her so she waited until he had stopped and climbed off before forcing a smile and summoning up some kind of response. Her next set of words tangled like vines in her throat when he handed her down.

He released her hand, seemingly utterly at ease with the situation. Damn that man.

Gaze steady, breaths regular, one hand behind his back, the other clasping the reins. Blast, blast, blast the man. How could he do this to her then stand there so coolly?

“I—” Why was her tongue being so thick and unyielding? “Thank you, my lord. You—I…that is…”

“I imagine you are eager to see to your sister. I wish you and her the best of luck.” He dipped his head quickly and mounted with such speed that she was unable to string another sentence together before he was gone.

“Damn man,” she muttered. Turned her insides out then vanished. Typical.

She picked up her skirts and took the rear steps up into the house. She entered via the rear doorway and so found no one there to greet her. A maid paused at the sight of her. “Oh, miss, the master is in the main drawing room.”

“Thank you, is all well?”

The petite fair-haired woman smiled. “As well as can be expected. His lordship is fretting somewhat.”

“And my sister?”

“She is in fine health. I am sent to fetch some water. Her Grace is here already.”

How Julia had arrived here before Catherine she did not know but she could have been staying the night. Guy was due to travel to London the previous day so perhaps she decided to spend time with Emma.

“I shall leave you to it.” Catherine made her way through the house to the drawing room, shoving open the door and barreling through it.

She paused as she went to fling her arms around Morgan, intending to tell him to stop being a baby and cease his fretting. All the Chadwick girls were made of strong stuff and she had no doubt Emma would do a marvelous job of childbirth.

However, this declaration dried up on her tongue. “What are you doing here?”

The Marquis of Thornefield arched one dark brow.

Morgan grinned. “Found him at the front of the house. Seemed like a fine time to have visitors.”

A sheen shone on her brother-in-law’s forehead. Catherine scowled. It seemed he needed some male company, but did it really have to be the marquis? Her father would be along soon and perhaps Nicholas was in Hampshire at the moment. Far better to have either of those men at his side than this blasted marquis.

“I shall fetch you a drink, Thorne. It is not yet time to celebrate but a little brandy would not hurt.” Lord Thornefield lifted a hand to protest but Morgan ignored him and began to ransack a drinks cabinet.

“I was on my way home,” Lord Thornefield murmured. “Your brother spotted me and came out to greet me. I could not refuse.”

Catherine shook her head and sighed. He did not want to be here anymore than she wanted him to be. Especially not after all that strange stomach flipping, heat creating time together. If anything, she needed distance and lots of it. Preferably he would not just head home but vanish to the depths of somewhere—London would do for now. At least then she could forget about what his body had felt like and how there was something about his icy eyes lingering on her face that made her breaths shorten.

“I had better see how my sister is doing. It looks like you have been forced to be Morgan’s support. Best of luck to you.”

“And to you and your sister.”

“Oh we do not need luck,” she declared airily. “We are the Chadwicks. We make our own.”