Chapter Four
Ainsley leaned on Royal’s arm as they inched along the upstairs hall outside her bedroom. Three hours had passed since her water broke and her labor had only slowly advanced. She thought of her bed with longing, but the midwife had suggested she keep moving to speed the baby’s entrance into the world.
Of course, the redoubtable Mrs. Peters was currently down in the kitchen, having a nice cup of tea with Cook, not stumbling about the halls. So far, midwifing had certainly not taken much work on her part.
Aunt Margaret had popped out for a bit in a flannel wrapper and an enormous frilly nightcap. After hearing from Mrs. Peters that Ainsley still had hours to go, she had departed for bed, after instructing Royal to keep an eye on things. Amazingly enough, he’d been more than willing to do so, and had even instructed Betty to get some sleep, knowing her assistance would be required later.
In the meantime, there wasn’t much for Ainsley to do except walk, curse during the occasional bout of contractions, and beat her brains against her skull. She’d been hoping for a few more weeks to sort out her baby’s future, but time had caught up with her.
Royal had been supporting her with quiet concern as she wandered about the halls or tried to find a comfortable seat to take a bit of a rest. His limp was particularly bad tonight. In fact, he was probably in almost as much pain as she was, although he’d never admit it or ever complain. When Ainsley thought about all he’d been through, about the physical and emotional pain he’d endured, her troubles seemed easier to bear.
“Stoic, that’s what you are,” she muttered.
He bent his head. “What’s that?”
She managed a smile. “Nothing.”
At the end of the hall, they paused by a window overlooking the gardens. A light rain obscured the dark landscape in a ghostly mist. It was eerily quiet, with only the sounds of the occasional tap of the rain on the windowpanes or the creaking of the old house around them.
Ainsley leaned a hand against the wall, blowing out a breath as a cramp pummeled her lower back. Like all the others, though, this contraction quickly faded, allowing her to straighten up with a sigh.
“All right, love?” Royal murmured.
In the light thrown by the branch of candles on the end table, she saw weariness mark his handsome features. Shadows played under his high cheekbones, and worry or pain, or both, carved lines around his mouth.
“You needn’t do this if your leg is bothering you too much,” she said. “I’m fine.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re in labor. That is far from fine.”
“It’s a perfectly natural process, as both the doctor and midwife have made clear. With tedious frequency, I might add.”
Both Dr. MacTavish and Mrs. Peters were typical no-nonsense Scots. They’d refused to let her indulge in any fears about the birthing process or engage in lengthy discussion about it. At the time, she’d been grateful for their practical approach. Now, however, she had to admit to being rather terrified, and wished she knew more about what exactly was going to happen next.
“Of course it is,” he said in a soothing tone. “There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”
“You needn’t humor me. I’m not a moron, Royal Kendrick. I know perfectly well the sorts of complications that can arise during birth.”
Like dying.
A starkly grim expression contorted his features for a moment. Then he mustered a smile. “I wouldn’t dream of calling you a moron. You’d stab me.”
She stared at him for a moment, trying to read his mood. Then she remembered that his mother had died in childbirth.
“I’m the moron,” she sighed. “Royal, I’m so sorry. This must be a very unpleasant experience for you, given what happened to your poor mother.”
He tucked her hand in his arm and got her walking again. “Nonsense. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with you right now.”
She suspected it was the simple truth, and it was miraculous considering what he’d had to put up with since arriving on their doorstep. He’d barely blinked at any of it, though, not even when her water broke in the middle of his marriage proposal. That had possibly been the most mortifying experience in her life, although there’d been quite a string of them lately.
When she’d started to blither out an apology, aghast at the gush of liquid between her legs, Royal had remained calm and hauled himself to his feet.
“Trust me,” he’d said as he grabbed a lap blanket from Aunt Margaret’s chair. “I’ve been knee deep in blood and guts more than once. This is nothing.”
He’d then wrapped the blanket around her, swept her up into his arms, and carried her off to her bedroom. Though Ainsley had felt the hitch in his step, he’d never faltered. By any measure, Royal Kendrick was a strong, impressive man. He had to be, since lugging her off without dropping her was a herculean feat.
“Still, I’m sure you can’t like this,” Ainsley said as they slowly made their way back down the softly lit hall. “God knows I
don’t like it.”
“I’ve never been part of a groaning party before,” he mused. “It’s an experience.”
The term was vaguely familiar. “What’s a groaning party?”
“Och, it’s when the local women gather to help a mother in labor. They clean and cook and assist with the birth. They take care of anything that needs taking care of—including the men, who are regarded as entirely useless in these situations.”
“You deserve honorary admission, certainly. You’ve been exceedingly useful so far.” She squeezed his arm. “I’m very grateful that you’re here, Royal. Truly. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Ainsley. I hate like hell that you’ve had to go through this by yourself. Your mother and friends should be here to support you.”
“I had Aunt Margaret, and now you’re here. That’s more than enough, as far as I’m concerned. I have no desire to parade my stupidity before the rest of my family and friends.”
“You were not
stupid. Simply naïve.”
“That’s one way to look at it.” She’d certainly been naïve in trusting Leonard, although that wasn’t entirely her fault. Her family had been pushing her into his arms for months.
“The fault lies with the bastard who took advantage of you,” Royal said grimly. “And with your family. It’s insane that you can’t depend on them for support.”
For someone like him, whose family displayed legendary loyalty to one another, it must indeed seem insane. Despite the many troubles the Kendricks had suffered over the years, she couldn’t help but admire and envy their closeness.
“It’s pathetic, I’ll admit,” she said as she came to a halt. “But I simply cannot take the chance that Cringlewood will get wind of this.”
Leaning against the wall, she focused on breathing through the contraction that clawed its way through her body. Royal put his arm around her back to support her.
“Do you want to sit now?” he asked.
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, still waiting for the nauseating wave to pass. When it finally did, she straightened up and glanced at the bracket clock on the demilune table.
Hell and damnation.
It was twelve minutes since the last contraction, the same as it had been for ages
.
“I need to get this blasted baby out of me,” she said. “Let’s keep walking.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. What were we saying?”
It helped to keep talking. As long as she had Royal by her side, speaking quietly in that lovely, low brogue of his, she felt she’d be able to manage whatever the rest of the night would bring.
“I was going to ask you why you couldn’t tell Victoria. You know she is entirely trustworthy. She could have come here and supported you when you needed it most.”
“True, but then she would have told her husband.”
“So? Nick would never betray you either.”
In Ainsley’s experience, men tended to stick together, especially noblemen. It might very well be that Lord Arnprior, a stickler for duty and honor, would believe that Leonard had both the right and the responsibility to care for the child he had fathered. Certainly, the law would see it that way.
The law can go to blazes.
“Sorry, but I can’t take the chance. Aunt Margaret is the only person I can trust.”
When Royal flashed her an ironic look, she waggled a hand. “And you, of course, Royal. I do trust you.”
“I should hope so, if for no other reason that I didn’t run screaming into the night when your water broke. That was quite a moment.”
She grimaced. “Stop. I was utterly mortified.”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “I’m teasing. It’s impossible to embarrass me, pet.”
That was true. Ainsley had publicly insulted him more than once, and Royal had invariably laughed. Then he’d proceeded to insult her right back, never holding her words against her.
Leonard, however, took every slight—real and imagined—and stored it away in his massive vault of anger and resentment.
She stopped again, digging her nails into Royal’s arm as she rode out another wave of pain. This one pulled every muscle in her torso into an unforgiving, unbearable knot that left her gasping and hunched over. When she could finally straighten up, she realized she’d all but dug holes in Royal’s sleeve.
“Sorry,” she gritted out.
He’d pulled out his pocket watch, frowning at it. “That contraction was quite a bit closer than the others. You sit down while I go fetch the midwife.”
Mrs. Peters had said she’d feel an overwhelming urge to push when it was time. Ainsley certainly had an overwhelming urge, and it was to down a brandy to help with the pain. But push? So far, that instinct eluded her.
“Not close enough, I’m afraid,” she said as she pushed straggles of hair off her brow. “And it still feels better to walk, believe it or not.”
He gave a tight nod. “Whatever you wish.”
“You’re the one who should have a rest. Why don’t you fetch Betty? She can walk with me.”
He shot her a look. “Daft girl. I’m fine.”
She sighed. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“What?”
“Bear the constant pain. Much more of this, and I’d be ready to shoot myself. And yet you manage it on a daily basis.”
“It’s nothing remotely like labor, I’m sure.”
“Still . . .”
“I admit it can be bad some days.”
“So, how do
you keep from going utterly mad with it?” she asked, as much from curiosity as the need to distract herself.
“Whisky helps.”
“Ha. Stop pretending you’re a drunk.”
“No, but I have drunk myself into oblivion on more than one occasion.”
“When the pain got to be too much, I’m sure.”
He frowned down, looking at the faded carpet runner, as if the floral pattern was a puzzle. “I don’t think it was the physical pain so much as how I felt about . . . everything.”
“You mean the war?”
“That and the aftermath,” he said in a somber tone. “The impact the injury had on my life.”
She thought she understood that very well. In the weeks after her rape, unable to find rest or a decent night’s sleep, Ainsley had resorted to laudanum drops. Unfortunately, those had produced nightmares, and too much wine gave her a headache.
“Did the doctors ever give you drugs?” she asked.
“In the beginning. They were afraid I’d destroy my leg completely if I kept thrashing about.” He looked a bit embarrassed. “I was quite out of my mind with fever for a while, acting like a damn fool. The drugs were to knock me out, and they worked.”
Suddenly, she found herself blinking away tears. The idea that he almost died and that she would never have known him seemed too horrible to contemplate.
He tipped her chin up. “There’s no need to get mawkish, pet.” His brogue was soft and deep. “All is well now.”
“I just hate thinking about what happened to you,” she said gruffly.
His warm hand slid over to cup her cheek in a loving touch that soothed the grief in her heart. Grief for innocence lost and for a future that would never be.
“I survived, lass, when so many did not. And I have a family that loves and supports me, no matter what.” His lips tilted up in a wry smile. “Even if they are pains in my arse. No moping about
should be the Kendrick motto. They nagged me back to life, I tell you.”
“I wish I had a family who cared for me that much,” she said wistfully.
His expression sobered. “You asked how I put up with the pain. I do it for them. My family is worth whatever paltry sacrifice I have to make.”
Just like my baby is worth any sacrifice I have to make,
she thought.
“Now, what are you going to do with this wee babe?” Royal asked, as if reading her mental processes. “And no putting me off this time.”
“I . . . I don’t know. Aunt Margaret has offered to take the child, but that’s no permanent answer. She’s too old. Besides, someone would probably figure out where the babe came from, which would mean—”
“Cringlewood would eventually hear of it,” he said grimly.
“It’s just so wretchedly complicated. I don’t know what to do.”
Royal took her hand. “I do. You should marry me and let me be father to your babe.”
As she stared into his earnest gaze, Ainsley could feel the need building inside her to finally say yes. It was almost as powerful as the wave of pain currently gathering at the base of her spine. But saying yes to Royal would mean giving up everything she’d ever known for an uncertain future—and still with no guarantee her baby would be safe from its father. The mistakes of her life would come back to haunt Royal as well as herself, possibly even destroying them. He, of all people, did not deserve such a fate.
“I wish I could marry you, Royal,” she said, blinking hard. “Truly, I do. But there are too many complications.”
Leonard could very well deduce the reasons behind their marriage and raise a terrific scandal—perhaps even take legal action against her or Royal. Ainsley’s entire family would reject her, with potentially disastrous results.
Her former betrothed and her father could lay utter waste to her life. And then what would happen to her poor baby?
“Lass, I’m very good at complicated,” Royal said. “I can handle it.”
She shook her head. “I wish I was as brave as you, but I’m not. I need to find a haven for my baby, and then return to London and get on with whatever sort of life I can rebuild from this mess. Certainly a life that keeps my secrets buried. That would be the best thing for all of us.”
He grimaced. “It’s a hell of a thing to give up a child, Ainsley. I don’t know if you would ever get over it.”
At his words, a wave of pain swept through her, more terrible than anything her body could fashion. It was like her heart was being ripped from her chest.
“I know, but it must be done,” she said. “As long as Cringlewood doesn’t know I birthed his child, the baby will be safe.” That had to be the only
thing that mattered.
When he looked ready to argue, she clutched his hand. “Please
, Royal. Please do this for me.”
She saw his warring emotions in the green fire of his gaze.
Eventually, he gave a tight nod. “All right, lass. Whatever you need.”
“Thank you. I’m so—” She broke off, startled by a notion that darted into her head.
Good Lord.
Could it really be that simple?
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
How could she ask such a thing? It was so clear, and yet so monumental. “Oh, God,” she gasped as the pain slammed through her. It was epically worse than anything she’d felt up to this point.
And suddenly she wanted to push more than she wanted to breathe.
She dug her fingers into his arm. “You need to get Mrs. Peters. The baby is coming.”
“Well, it’s about time.” With an easy sweep, he lifted her into his arms and started for her bedroom.
Ainsley wanted to fuss about his leg but she was too busy trying not to shriek at the top of her lungs.
Just as they reached her door, Betty appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Lord, sir, is everything all right?” the maid cried.
“Lady Ainsley is ready to have her baby,” Royal said in a calm voice. “Please fetch Mrs. Peters and your mother.”
“Yes, sir.” In a flurry of skirts, Betty pelted back downstairs.
Royal shouldered open the bedroom door and carried Ainsley to the bed, gently depositing her on the coverlet. She flopped back, panting, as the debilitating pain gradually receded.
“That was awful,” she managed, breathing heavily.
He stroked back the damp tangle of hair on her forehead. The gesture was so tender that Ainsley almost burst into tears.
Stop it. You never cry.
“Everything will be over very soon,” he said.
“I’m afraid of dying, Royal,” she whispered.
He frowned. “Ainsley, you are not
going to die. You will come through this with flying colors.” He went nose to nose with her. “I won’t have it any other way.”
She swallowed against the hard lump in her throat. “I—I’ll try.”
“Ainsley Matthews, you are the most stubborn, arrogant woman God ever put on this blessed earth,” he said. “It is inconceivable that you would allow anything to go wrong.”
Oh, yes. Until last summer, she’d been arrogant enough to believe that nothing truly bad could ever happen to her. Life since had taught her otherwise.
Royal pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Do you hear, love? Everything is going to be all right, I promise.”
She curled her fingers into his cravat, demolishing it. “Promise you won’t leave.”
“Of course not. I’ll be close by the entire time,” he said in a voice gruff with emotion.
Mrs. Peters bustled into the room, followed by Betty.
“Now, what’s all this?” the midwife said. “Betty here said young miss fainted, and had to be carried to her bed.”
Annoyed, Ainsley struggled up to a sitting position, Royal helping her. “I never faint. Mr. Kendrick was simply overly cautious.”
“That’s what I get for trying to be gallant,” he teased.
“Well, that’s grand,” said Mrs. Peters. “But it’s time for the fine gentleman to leave the ladies to their business.” She nodded at Royal. “Cook is bringing tea up to the parlor for ye.”
“I’ll be waiting in the hall,” he replied in a tone that brooked no opposition, then gave Ainsley’s hand a little squeeze.
“Suit yerself, but it may be some time, ye ken.”
Ainsley groaned. “Oh, God.” Then she bit down on her lip as another wave of pain came rushing toward her.
When Royal started to reluctantly pull away, she grabbed his arm. “Promise me that you’ll take care of my baby if anything happens to me,” she gritted out.
He blinked. “Uh, what?”
“If I die, you must take my baby. Keep it safe.”
The midwife patted her shoulder. “Och, ye’ll not be dyin’ tonight, my lady. Ye be as strong as a nanny goat, not to mention quite broad in the beam. I ken the wee one will slip right out of ye.”
Ainsley stared at the woman in disbelief, then glared at Royal, who was trying not to laugh.
“Beautifully broad in the beam,” he choked out.
“Bugger—” She couldn’t finish because the contraction hit full force. Grabbing his cravat, she yanked him down so they were again nose to nose.
“Promise you’ll take care of my baby.” Ainsley needed him to do this, and she needed him to agree to it now
, before the pain obliterated her ability to think straight.
He covered her hand with his. “Yes, all right, love.”
“Say it.”
He stared down at her, his gaze troubled. “I promise. I will take care of your baby. You have my word, no matter what.”
Ainsley fell back with relief. Whatever happened next, she could face it. Her baby would be safe.
“Away with ye, sir,” Mrs. Peters ordered, flapping her hands at Royal.
“I’m going,” he said reluctantly.
Ainsley suspected he’d rather stay with her, and part of her desperately wished him to. But that would be scandalous and ultimately embarrassing when she started shrieking like a bloody fishwife.
Which would be happening any moment now.
“Do not
let anything happen to her,” Royal added in a firm tone to the midwife as he backed out of the room.
“Men,” Mrs. Peters said, after the door shut behind him. “A bloody nuisance at a time like this.”
“Only guid for one thing,” Betty said, giving the midwife a saucy wink.
In Ainsley’s case, there’d been nothing good about it at all.
“Mind yer tongue, lass,” the midwife said sharply. Then she smiled at Ainsley. “Now, my lady, let’s have a look. If ye’re ready, we’ll move ye to the birthin’ stool.”
Ainsley peered at the uncomfortable looking contraption by the fireplace and took a deep breath. “All right, Mrs. Peters. Do your worst.”
When the next contraction hit, she realized that the worst was just getting started.