Page 1 of The Wolf and the Wildflower
Prologue
Sheffield, 1860
The heat in the bedroom was stifling, the pain twisting through Mrs. Miranda Southby’s more brutal than the last few times she’d been in the childbed. Despair hitched through her, burying the pain in her body but rousing the one in her heart.
Despite her long and fervent prayers for a healthy babe, yet again, this one had come early. A scream clawed its way up her throat as pain scythed through her and terror filled her heart. She writhed atop the sweat-soaked bedding, twisting the sheets beneath her with such strength that it was indeed a miracle she did not rip them to shreds.
She heard the echoes of her husband’s frantic pacing. Clearly, he waited to see if this child would be alive and, most importantly, if it would be a boy. They did have a lovely daughter who had reached her second year only yesterday, but it did not matter to her husband they already had that wonderful blessing. Heneededa male child to carry on his legacy. The desire was so strong in him that he had ignored the doctor’s orders after Sarah’s birth.
I do not recommend Mrs. Southby to fall with child again. This birth was difficult, and she bled a lot. I fear the next time, the outcome might not be so favorable.
Her husband had stared silently at the doctor, eventually seeking other opinions. Only a few months had passed before he climbed back into her bed to exercise his husbandly rights. Miranda had tried to protest, saying she had still not recovered from the last ordeal, but he had been seductively persistent, and she hadn’t been able to keep refusing her duty or deny her love for him.
Now, not only pain cleaved her body in two, but a ripe fear sat heavy in her belly and coated her tongue with bitterness. She was only six and twenty, and she might die today. A swell of resentment rose inside for the man she loved with her whole heart.
“One more push, Mrs. Southby,” the midwife muttered, wiping the sweat from her brows. “I can see the head.”
Hope burst inside her chest like fireworks. “Truly?”
The midwife’s eyes crinkled at the corner. “Yes, ma’am. Only one more push and the babe will be here.”
Miranda nodded weakly and pushed with all her strength.Please let this babe be a boy.
“Come, ma’am, you need to push; it is not out yet!”
She started to cry, and even that came out as a weak, pitiful whimper. “I can…cannot. I…I am sotired. Perhaps I might rest for a few minutes, and then we can start again?”
Determination flashed in the midwife’s eyes. “I know you are tired, ma’am, but I also know your strength. This babe needs you, so please,push!”
Sitting up on her elbows, Miranda inhaled deeply and bore down with all the strength left inside. It felt as if something tore her open, and she screamed.
A wet rag pressed against her brow. “You are an extraordinarily strong lady. You can do it, ma’am!”
Her entire body shaking, Miranda squeezed her eyes and pushed with the little remaining strength she owned, knowing she could do no more. A great pressure seemed to expand through Miranda’s entire body, and then it was as if she floated on air.
A thin wail sliced through the room. A burst of joy filled her heart, and she struggled to rise. The child lived and had a healthy pair of lungs, too. She started to laugh and cry and was barely aware as the after birth eased from her body, and the midwife and her assistant hurriedly cleaned her.
“Is it a boy?” her husband yelled through the door, hope and excitement vibrating in his tone.
She could feel his impatience, but his gentlemanly honor would not see him barging through that door.
“It is a fine, healthy child,” the midwife said.
“Let me see him,” Miranda said hoarsely, unable to stop crying with her joy and relief. “Let me hold my son.”
Miranda was propped on a pillow, and a swaddled bundle was placed in her arms. “Oh, my little love, you are so beautiful.”
“I have a son!”
She snapped her head up at that joyous shout. Miranda hadn’t realized her husband had come inside. Charles hurried to her bedside and sank onto one of his knees. His beautiful blond hair was mussed, a testimony to how often he must have raked his fingers through the strands. Even his glasses seemed perched on his long nose haphazardly. His lashes were damp as he peered at the babe in her arms.
“We have a boy,” he said gruffly, reaching out to touch the baby’s cheek. Charles looked at her, love and gratitude naked in his dark green eyes. “I shall teach him so much. Thank you, my dearest,thankyou!”
Her husband leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. Miranda sobbed, the relief in her heart too profound for her to restrain her emotions.
Dear Lord, thank you.
“No more after this one,” she whispered. “We have two beautiful blessings, and I implore that they will be a sufficient joy to our lives. Wemusttake precautions to ensure there are no more children. I simply cannot do this again, Charles.”
