Page 50 of The Nabob's Designing Daughter
Sweating and panting, the lady fell back, and the duke, his face ashen cried “Oh, my darling, Fil.”
“Duke,” Ann said firmly, “You must promise not to faint. And you mustn’t interfere with Dr. Robillard. He needs to do more than check for a fever or a racing pulse. He needs to look at her… her opening and see if it’s time to push, or if she must labor longer. Isn’t that right, Errol?”
“She’s right,” the duchess croaked. “Andrew, do move out of Dr. Robillard’s way.”
Ann rose and came around to touch the duke’s arm, leaning close and whispering something.
He leaned over his duchess, told her he loved her, and bestowed a kiss on her forehead.
The tender scene sent a bead of sweat trickling down the back of Errol’s neck.
When he glanced at Ann, she sent him a shiny-eyed smile, and his confidence lifted.
“I’ll be nearby,” the duke said.
“Don’t worry,” Errol said. “All will be well,” he added, praying that was true.
He glanced back and saw Ann escorting the duke out.
AN ARRIVAL, A FISTFIGHT, AND A BITTERSWEET FAREWELL
Hours later, Errol exchanged grins with Ann and handed her the squalling newborn.
Outside, the light was growing to a fine Christmas eve afternoon, snow brightening the landscape. As he delivered the afterbirth and tended to the exhausted mother, he could hear Ann murmuring as she cleaned the bairn.
Edme entered with an armful of linens. Another maid followed with more hot water. Ann held the swaddled child for the women to see.
“Is all well?” the duchess croaked.
“Perfect,” Ann called. “We’ll let Dr. Robillard have a closer look, to reassure the duke.” She was as radiant as the painting of the Madonna at St. Mary’s in Edinburgh. He shook off his need to touch her and reached for the babe.
Their hands brushed as she passed him the newborn, and color rose in her already rosy cheeks. Her eyes filled with… a poet might call it wonder.
She was beautiful. Their wedding night had been glorious. In fact, he could hardly wait to get her back to whatever room the duke would allow them, because there was no going back to Mounth Tower in this snow. And her help with the birth had been a godsend, her composure easing his one or two worries.
She smiled and went to assist Edme and the housekeeper with changing the linens and freshening the duchess. He turned away and opened the loose swaddling. The shock of cool air roused an outraged wail.
“Well, doctor?” the duchess called.
“Healthy lungs,” he said. “Ten fingers and ten toes, and all the rest of the apparatus looks to be in good working order.” He rearranged the swaddle.
The door opened a crack, and the duke poked his head in.
“One moment,” Ann handed Edme a brush. “Tidy her hair.” She caught Errol’s eye, beamed him a smile, and hurried to the door.
The new father neededhishair tidied and his neckcloth retied. One glance, though, at his smiling wife at least restored his color.
“Dr. Robillard,” the duchess called, in a surprisingly strong voice, “let the duke hold his son.”
Mrs. MacDonal swept in then with fresh caudle, and a servant arrived with a tray of food.
Ann came to stand by him. . “I’m so happy for them,” she said.
“As am I.” He took in a breath. The scene unfolding sent his insides tumbling and the need to be alone with Ann was almost overwhelming.
Errol rolled down his sleeves and donned his coat, nodding to Mrs. MacDonal.
“He’ll be hungry soon enough.” The duchess had proclaimed she would nurse him herself. “Put him to the breast as soon as he fusses. If there’s a problem, call me.”
