Page 35 of The Inconvenient Compromise
Fiona looked down at the soft, sweet bundle in her arms. The weight of a tiny infant resting there was a feeling unlike any other. But it wasn’t her babe. Not yet. It was Penelope’s and Theo’s. He was a sweet little boy with his father’s dark hair and a bright curious gaze. Only three months old, the boy was beautiful and inquisitive, and it made her heart ache just to look at him.
“Oh, he’s magnificent,” Fiona breathed softly.
“It will not be long until you are holding your own child,” Penelope said, pointing to the large mound of Fiona’s belly. They had packed up and come to Scotland, even with a new babe of their own, just to be there when Fiona had her own lying in. “Another month?”
“Yes, perhaps. Sooner, even, I think,” Fiona replied. “And it feels like a year. My back aches constantly, My ankles look like sausages, and I’m constantly tired. I vow that I have slept more in the last two months than I have in the entire year before.”
Penelope laughed softly. “Your lack of sleep in the last year is how you wound up in your current condition.”
Fiona gasped, but it faded into laughter. “You are wicked, Penelope.”
“Isn’t it nice to have friends whom you can say wicked and shocking things with?” Penelope asked her. “I think back to how very lonely I was when I was under Charlotte’s thumb. I was surrounded by people at every turn, and yet I was always alone.”
Fiona reached out, taking Penelope’s hand in her own as she continued to snuggle the baby. “It is. And yes, I remember the weight of that loneliness very clearly. But those days are past for us now. We have friends. We have husbands who adore us, even if they are not the ones Charlotte would have seen us wed to. And yet, in some strange way, her machinations brought us here. Had she not been plotting and scheming, I would never have found myself with Lucian. If Theo had not been running away from Miss Weddington, the two of you would not be together. Fate is a funny thing, indeed.”
“So it is.”
There was a noise in the front hall. Coats were being removed. Guns deposited to be cleared away. But it wasn’t battle that had taken their husbands out for the day. They had been hunting, enjoying a bit of shooting as they all remained in the countryside to celebrate the birth of their friend’s child and to await the birth of their own.
When the door to the drawing room opened, Theo entered first and made a beeline for his wife. He kissed her far more soundly than he should have in front of company. Then he promptly scooped his son up in his arms, all but prying the baby away from Fiona.
“Not so glum, love,” Lucian whispered against her ear as he sat down next to her. His hand came to rest on her belly, rubbing slightly over the protrusion of a tiny foot that was constantly kicking. “Our own will be making their entrance into the world soon enough.”
“I cannot wait,” she said.
He leaned in and whispered against her ear. “I was told by a very reliable source that making love is an excellent way to induce labor.”
“What reliable source?” she asked, a furious blush stealing over her cheeks.
“I paid a visit to the local midwife,” he said softly enough that only she would hear. “I’ve actually asked her to come and stay at Rathmore House until after the babe is born. She will be here by supper time.”
“I think I will go and have a bit of a lie-down,” Fiona said. “I’m very tired.”
“I’ll escort you upstairs,” Lucian said, rising beside her. With a grin, he added, “They are remarkably treacherous when one cannot see their feet.”
Fiona elbowed him in the ribs. It was not exactly a gentle admonishment. “Wretch.”
“Your wretch,” he said. And then they left the drawing room, leaving Penelope and Theo to snuggle their own child and, very likely, to snuggle one another soon enough.
“Will it really cause the babe to come, or are you just making that up?” she asked once they reached their chamber.
“I cross my heart,” he said, drawing an x on his chest with his finger. “And even if it doesn’t, some activities, Fiona, are their own reward.”
That was an argument she could not refute. Of course, he’d begun to kiss her neck, and she lost all sense when he did that. After only a moment, he drew her down onto the bed, having stripped her gown from her with ease. And as she gave herself up to the pleasure he could stir within her, Fiona prayed fervently that he and the midwife were correct.
It wasn’t even the misery of being pregnant that prompted such a prayer. It was eagerness to see her child, to hold that in her arms.
* * *
The following day,just before midnight, Elizabeth Katherine Maxwell came screaming into the world. With a head full of bright red curls, she was the image of her mother.
Staring down at the crib, which rested beside their bed, Lucian was afraid to touch her. He’d never seen anything so perfect and so beautiful in his life as the daughter that Fiona had given him. At the same time, she was so tiny and so delicate that he feared breaking her if he attempted to pick her up.
“She’s not so fragile as you think,” Fiona murmured from the bed.
Lucian looked at his wife. Her face was still pale. She was still terribly weak. It had been a long and arduous birth. Yet, already, she seemed to have forgotten just how precarious the situation had been at numerous times. He had not. He likely would never forget. For his part, he’d be perfectly content if the little red-haired bundle in that crib was the only child they would ever have. His heart couldn’t withstand the torture of seeing Fiona suffer so. Never again.
“Are you speaking of her or yourself?” He asked.
