Epilogue #2
Dinner arrived in courses—consommé, roasted duck with chestnut stuffing, winter vegetables glazed in butter.
But a sudden swell of nausea and the gnawing pain in her back stole Grace’s appetite entirely.
She pushed food around her plate, attempting to look engaged while her stomach staged a quiet rebellion of the oddest kind.
Perhaps it was the duck. She’d never been very fond of eating one.
They seemed too cute to eat.
When Frederick commented on her full plate, she merely grinned. “I can’t imagine trying to fit anything else in my stomach right now. It’s crowded enough as it is. I’m fairly certain the baby is using my stomach as a footstool.”
The room laughed—well, except Frederick, who tilted his head with those perceptive eyes of his and studied her with growing concern. “Perhaps we should retire for the evening?”
“Of course not.” She shook her head firmly. “I’m fine. And I absolutely must hear the caroling. They’ve worked so hard, and Lieutenant Ashford has been practicing a solo for three weeks. I cannot miss it.”
Another pain twisted through her back, but she maintained her smile. The books she’d read relayed how she’d become increasingly uncomfortable the closer the time came for the baby. Aches. Odd pains. A little swelling.
She looked down at her stomach and grinned. Or a lot of swelling.
It was remarkable that the baby didn’t just burst right through her abdomen as much as he moved around and as tight as her skin was. Truly a miraculous creation. And if she felt this uncomfortable now, what would it be like in January?
Brandon moved to draw out her chair, and as she stood, the oddest thing happened.
Some strange, inexplicable pop sounded from somewhere inside her body.
Not so much heard as … felt. Like a cork releasing from a champagne bottle, except the champagne bottle was apparently located somewhere in her midsection.
She looked over at Frederick, then Blake and Evie, then the girls, to see if they’d heard it too.
But no one seemed aware at all.
She frowned, placing her hand against her stomach as if that would provide answers.
How could the sound of a cork suddenly transfer to the inside of one’s body? She’d read about many strange pregnancy symptoms, but internal champagne cork noises hadn’t been among them.
And then a rush of warmth began moving down her legs.
“Oh!” She gasped, hands tightening on her stomach. Her wide gaze flashed to Frederick, who was already rising, his smile falling away.
“What?” He was already in motion.
“I … I …” She’d read about this part. Not the cork part, but the breaking of waters. It meant … She shook her head, suddenly panicking. “But … but it’s not even Christmas yet! We still have over a week of December! I haven’t finished wrapping presents!”
Blake was standing now, followed by Evie, but Frederick was already halfway to her from his side of the table.
“Is it …” Blake started, his eyes widening.
“Grace?” Frederick’s arm was instantly around her waist, steadying her. “Darling?”
She looked up at him, attempting to maintain some semblance of rationality even as her carefully laid plans crumbled around her.
“Dr. Ross said he felt certain I had at least two more weeks. I made a schedule. I have a list of things to accomplish before the baby arrives, and I’ve only completed half of them.
There are at least seven books I haven’t read yet about infant care, and I was going to reorganize the nursery, and—”
“Darling.” Something sweet and incredibly gentle moved over Frederick’s features, cutting off her spiral. “I don’t believe you have a choice in this matter.”
Her stomach gave a sharp twinge as if in emphatic agreement with Frederick’s words.
Already the baby was taking sides!
“And I rather doubt the baby is aware of Dr. Ross’ schedule,” Blake offered with an encouraging wink. “Or your list.”
She sent Blake a frown.
“Brandon, please call for Dr. Ross,” Frederick called, steering Grace toward the door.
“The snow may prevent him, my lord.”
Frederick paused and turned back to the man, blinking and probably attempting to come up with another option. “Dr. Shaw, is he at the hospital this evening?”
“Not yet, my lord. He’s expected in a few hours, but the snow …” Even Brandon’s voice quavered a little, but he firmed his expression. “I will find a way to locate Dr. Ross, sir.”
“Good man.” Frederick nodded, then hesitated as he and Grace made it to the dining room doorway. “And … and … send Mrs. Powell.”
“At once, my lord.”
“But … but …” Grace gasped as a sudden sharp pain wrapped around her entire middle like an iron band. Frederick was already moving her into the hallway. “But I haven’t finished my reading list for delivery yet! There’s an entire chapter on breathing techniques I meant to review!”
“I don’t think the baby received that schedule either,” Blake called from behind them, his voice full of barely suppressed laughter.
He really was no help at all.
The pain nearly wilted her to the floor, but Frederick caught her, gathering her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked up at him, slightly breathless.
“Frederick, Aunt Lavinia was supposed to be here for the baby. She promised she’d come help, but she’s away with her daughter for Christmas until next week.
And Mrs. Powell has never attended a birth, and Dr. Ross is all the way in Ednesbury during a snowstorm—” She shook her head frantically. “This isn’t convenient at all.”
He took quick steps toward the stairs, his strong arms holding her securely. “Darling, I think this is the beginning of a great many inconveniences.”
“That’s not very encouraging,” she managed to say between pains.
“But”—his smile was sweeter still as he navigated the first step—”I also think it’s going to be the most wonderful inconvenience we’ve ever experienced.”
Another pain seized her, and Grace buried her face in Frederick’s shoulder. “I’m not ready,” she whispered, a wave of fear stealing her breath. “What if I do it wrong?”
“Grace.” Frederick paused on the landing, his arms tightening around her.
She looked up to find him gazing down at her with such love, such certainty, that her panic quieted for just a moment.
“You’ve solved mysteries across three countries.
You’ve survived sand traps and collapsing tunnels and being held at gunpoint more times than I care to count.
You are the bravest, most capable woman I know. ”
“But those were mysteries I could solve,” she protested. “With clues and logic and—”
“And this,” he continued, his voice warm and gentle as he continued the climb up the steps, “is simply the next great adventure for us. One we’ve been praying for.”
She stared up at him, another pain building, and realized he was absolutely right.
They had been hoping and praying and waiting in glorious expectation for this moment. This gift. Her eyes watered a little, and for some reason, she couldn’t help thinking that all of those feelings matched Christmas incredibly well.
“And while I freely admit I’m of limited use in the actual delivery department”—he pressed a kiss to her forehead as he carried her into a guest bedroom they’d intended to use for this purpose—”I promise to do all that I can to let you know I am with you.
” He gently laid her on the bed as servants rushed about preparing hot water and linens.
As another pain reminded her that this baby had its own timeline regardless of her carefully constructed plans, Grace looked up at her husband and realized something quite profound.
Over the past two years, God had used experiences even more than books to teach her the deepest, most beautiful, and most life-changing things about Him and about life.
Even—or perhaps especially—the terrifying, wonderful, utterly inconvenient ones.
“Frederick?” she gasped between pains. “I am so grateful I get to experience this adventure with you.”
His entire face warmed with a smile, and he brushed back her hair from her face. “There is no one else in all the world I would rather have any adventure with than you.” He offered her a wink. “Now, let’s get ready to meet our baby.”
Frederick had faced artillery fire.
Chlorine gas.
Blindness.
Not to mention the myriad life-threatening scenes in his life since being married to Grace.
But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for watching his wife in labor.
She’d struggled for an hour, the pains growing increasingly worse, and she’d refused to release his hand. Her gaze pleading with him, almost begging for his strength.
So how was he supposed to just leave her?
“I must ask you to leave, my lord,” Mrs. Powell said from the end of the bed. “It’s only right. Her pains have gotten closer, and the time must be soon, sir.”
Grace’s eyes grew wide, and her hand tightened around his with surprising force. “No, please.” She searched his face. “Don’t leave me.”
His heart nearly broke in two. He looked back over at Mrs. Powell, whose expression brooked no refusal, and then gazed back at his wife. “Darling, I’m certain you are in good hands with Mrs. Powell, and I’ll be right outside the door.”
“Frederick.” She squeezed his name through a groan. Another contraction seized her, and she gasped, her entire body tensing.
He smoothed the damp hair back from her forehead, his other hand trapped in her grip. Dear God, please. Help her.
Because Frederick was utterly helpless.