Epilogue #2
He’d always taken the older woman as flighty and scattered. Seeing his mother-in-law steady, directing her daughter in what to do, while Linnie—her cheeks flushed—labored, would forever change how he saw Mrs. Smith.
The midwife paused what she was saying to Linnie and put a frown on Tremaine. “You shouldn’t be here, Lord Tremaine.”
“Try and make me leave,” he said with a frosty calm he far from felt.
The white-haired midwife who’d delivered most of the McQuoid-Smiths grunted, clearly recognizing a husband who had zero intention of leaving his wife’s side—tradition or not.
With a visible effort, Linnie struggled to open her eyes. The moment she did, her gaze collided from across the room with Tremaine’s. Through the misery, somehow love and happiness still glittered in those mesmerizing eyes.
“Jeremy,” she whispered, her voice so threadbare it nearly brought him to his knees.
He was already at her side.
Myrtle immediately gave up her spot, and Tremaine had an arm around his wife, providing her body with the support Linnie no longer could manage on her own.
In his spare hand, he took his wife’s. “God, I love you, Linnie,” he rasped. A fresh sweat broke out on his brow. “Don’t you dare tell me to leave. God himself couldn’t drag me from your side.” He placed a fierce kiss against her damp forehead.
“I don’t want you to leave,” she panted. “I don’t care about traditions. I only care about you.”
His throat wobbled. “And I you, love. I love you so damned much.” Tears burnt his eyes, and he didn’t even care. Forget tears, he’d shed his soul for Linnie’s well-being and happiness.
“I love . . . ahhhhhh.” Linnie screamed and writhed as another contraction took hold of her frame.
“That’s it, Linnie,” Cassia encouraged, glancing down at the older women at the foot of the bed.
The marchioness’s cheeks paled, and the sight of the young woman’s fear unleashed a fresh set of panic inside him.
Desperation took a firmer hold upon him, and he glared at the midwife. “Would you bloody do something?” Tremaine simultaneously ordered and pleaded.
“That is what we are doing, Jeremy,” the countess explained with a calm he needed. The midwife continued explaining something to Linnie’s mother. “The babe was feet first but shifted enough that she’ll need to perform the Mauriceau-Smellie-Veit procedure.”
He stared at her dumbly.
“Midwife Holly will need to insert a hand inside on the babe’s cheekbones,” the countess explained.
“With her other she’ll apply pressure on the babe’s back to flex the head downward.
I did not need such a procedure during any of my children’s birthings, but Linnie’s mother has.
As such, they are deciding together on the best approach for Linnie’s condition. ”
Tremaine struggled to absorb all that—and failed.
Linnie gasped, her eyes flying open, and she pushed herself forward.
“Not yet, Linnie-Lou,” his mother-in-law crooned, like a small girl had asked for dessert.
Linnie gave her head a jerky, uneven nod.
Somehow that grounded him more than incensed him—Mrs. Smith’s casualness, coupled with Linnie’s natural response.
His eyes slid shut.
“Jeremy, we need you to be strong for Linnie.”
Drowning, upside down, and underwater, he nodded unevenly and fought to pull himself together.
Linnie sucked a breath in and dug her fingernails into his hand, leaving crescent marks upon his skin. Tremaine dimly noted the blood mingled with sweat on his hand and welcomed the pain. He wished for more of it. To suffer completely in penance for what he’d done here.
Tremaine placed a gentler kiss upon his wife’s temple. “I’m so sorry, my love,” he croaked.
Linnie tugged his hand and gazed up at him with tired, ravaged eyes. “P-please don’t b-be sad. I-I want our babe.”
He bit his cheek to keep from telling Linnie he needed only a world with him and her in it. “Me too, love. I want to hold my precious daughter, who’s as damned spirited and troublesome as her mother.”
Linnie’s lips trembled into a pained smile.
“All right, my dear,” Midwife Holly called up. “I’ve got the babe positioned. When I tell you to push, you are to bear down with all you have left.”
Tremaine tightened his hold about her shoulders, and held her, willing his own strength into her delicate frame.
“Now, push, Linnie!” the midwife ordered like a naval captain.
Gritting her teeth, Linnie borrowed support from Tremaine and the marchioness and bore down. “I caaan’t!” she screamed and sobbed, ripping a hole inside his heart.
There was nothing natural about this.
“You can, sweet cousin,” Cassia cried to be heard over Linnie’s wails. “You’re doing it.”
“You are doing beautifully, Linnie,” the duchess cheered. “Push, Linnie!”
Screaming, Linnie pushed.
“Take a break, Linnie,” the midwife commanded.
Linnie’s head lolled backward.
Frantically, he looked to the women surrounding his wife. How long could she endure this?
“I can’t do it anymore,” Linnie sobbed. “I quit.”
“You do not quit, Linnie,” Tremaine said sharply, refusing to let her give up on herself, terror-ridden at what it meant if she did. “You never quit a race on a horse or swimming; you won’t start now. Do you hear me?”
She moaned and shook her head.
Tremaine opened his mouth to issue another directive, but his mother-in-law held a hand up. “Let me try, my boy.”
Mrs. Smith took her daughter’s hand from the marchioness’s. “You must feel this, my dear,” she said happily, guiding Linnie’s palm between her legs. “Your wee bairn has hair. It is most remarkable. Now, we shan’t tell you the color. You must find out for yourself.”
For the first time since he’d entered the room, Linnie’s eyes brightened past the pain, and the pain lines tightening her features eased. She gripped Tremaine’s hand harder. “Did you h-hear that, J-Jeremy? Our babe has hair.”
“I heard, l-love.” His voice shook with emotion. “We shall find out together, just as soon as you push, Linnie.” He lowered his head and kissed her hard on the mouth.
Everything passed in a blur.
Climbing into the bed, Tremaine draped his legs on either side of Linnie. At some point, the marchioness eased away, and Tremaine alone held his wife, infusing what strength he could into her. Holding her body up when she no longer could.
Linnie’s screams and cries reverberated around the room and somehow stayed muffled and muted inside Tremaine’s mind.
And then, there came another cry, this one high and reedy.
Then multiple people cried. These, not tears of sorrow, but of elation and relief.
Me. I am one of them.
Linnie sagged against him.
“You have a son, my boy,” Mrs. Smith joyfully intoned.
Tremaine barely registered the pronouncement. Weeping with relief and joy, he cradled Linnie close. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” The litany came pouring out of him, again and again.
Linnie wore the contented smile of a cat who’d just swallowed the cream. To look at her, one would never know the war she’d just gone through.
As a maid whisked their babe over and laid him upon Linnie’s bare chest, Tremaine’s heart swelled to near bursting.
Oh, God. After what Linnie had endured, he’d believed the babe would be an afterthought.
Now he stared at Linnie as she tenderly cradled the blond-haired boy between her breasts.
My boy. His throat worked. Our boy.
Their son.
“He is perfect,” Linnie murmured dreamily.
Tremaine laid his head atop his wife’s damp curls. “You are perfect.”
Another pleased, lazy smile danced about her lips. “We are perfect.”
“Aye. Our family of thr—”
Suddenly, Linnie tensed. Her entire body jerked.
He dimly registered Myrtle rescuing the new babe from his wife and handing the child over to a waiting wet nurse.
Fear left his mouth dry.
“J-Jeremy?” Linnie’s voice shook with a fresh onslaught of pain.
What’s happening?
Was that his question or Linnie’s? Nothing made sense.
Desperate, Tremaine looked to his mother-in-law, the midwife, and the countess, and his breath caught on a swift intake. Were they bloody mad?
The trio wore matching smiles.
“I’ve news, my dear,” the countess informed. “You are about to be a family of four.”
Tremaine and Linnie both stilled.
“What?” he whispered.
“And this babe seems to be a good deal more cooperative than their brother,” Mrs. Smith chirped. “Because the second lad is already coming!”
As long as Linnie’s first delivery was, was as brief and uneventful as the second happened to be. And as the night went and the babes and Linnie were cleaned and all guests left, Tremaine and Linnie nestled against the headboard, under clean sheets.
Mother and father stared in wonderment, alternating their amazed, loving, and appreciative stares from one child to the other.
As it turned out, “the second lad” turned out to be a tiny little girl with gusty lungs and big black curls.
Tremaine rocked her gently in his arms. How was it possible that his love continued to grow?
He’d kill any bastard who ever came near his girl, and God help anyone who hurt either her or his son. While their son peacefully slumbered, his daughter lifted her long lashes and revealed glazed grey eyes.
“Jeremy?” Linnie whispered while their babies slept.
Cradling his daughter, Tremaine looked at his wife, his queen, and the reason his heart beat. “Yes, Linnie-love?”
“Do you believe my mother was right and our daughter will be the agreeable sort?”
Just then, the tiny babe wrinkled her button nose, and opening her tiny rosebud lips, she let loose a cry to bring the household down.
Their little lass’s blustering succeeded in waking up her brother, and both babes wailed.
“Not a chance, Linnie-love. Not a chance.” Tremaine flashed Linnie a crooked smile. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
His laugh blended with Linnie’s, as together they held their future in their hands.