Chapter 6
Six
Dear Cousin,
It was good to hear that you are well, especially after encountering Napoleon’s men on a mission of revenge.
I am familiar with the Earl of Astley, and although I knew him to be intelligent, I believed his ruse of being a complete and utter wastrel and rogue.
It’s fascinating how wrong one can be, although I believe he will always qualify as a rogue.
I have never met the Countess of Astley, however, a client of mine is acquainted with her and I will request she accompany me to notify the countess of her son’s predicament.
My client is very kind-hearted and I have no doubt she will assist the countess through this difficult time.
By the time you receive this missive, I will have met with the countess and hopefully the earl will have been returned to his family.
Journey safely, and may this war end quickly so that I may see you once again,
Joshua
—A letter to American Captain Miles Gallagher of the Fairhaven merchant ship from Joshua Forrester, Esquire, London, England, in reference to the capture of Simon Clark, Earl of Astley, December 1811
Prior to their return, Joshua had told Phoebe to stay in the sleigh until he lifted her out. The lad from the stable met them at the gate and took the reins to the horse.
“The price of exposing a lady to the Scottish winters,” Joshua confessed to the two footmen standing guard.
“Yes, sir,” one replied as he opened the gate. “The English do have difficulty adjusting to the brisk Scottish air.”
“Nothing a hot bath won’t cure,” he said over his shoulder.
Phoebe’s shoulders shivered, but he knew it wasn’t from the cold.
She was desperately attempting to hold back a nervous laugh.
If the footmen snickered or rose an eyebrow at his statement, he didn’t notice and Phoebe certainly couldn’t see from beneath the fur.
Her face was buried too deeply into the lapel of his coat to see any of the guards.
He carried his bride-to-be over the threshold of Caerlaverock Castle not caring what the footmen at the gate thought about the spectacle he was creating. They entered the grand hall just as the Duchess of Nithesdale came out of the breakfast room.
The duchess’s eyes grew wide. The pure horror of her expression sending a frisson of fear through his body. Then he realized how they would look to anyone who had not seen him lift Phoebe from the sleigh.
“Lady Phoebe is fine, Your Grace. Just a bit too much snow and cold for one day. I will take her upstairs to her room where the servants may prepare a hot bath and restore her to her spirited self.” He pinched Phoebe’s lush, round bottom beneath the furs where his hand wasn’t visible and she squeaked in response.
He thought the duchess would have found humor in Phoebe’s reaction, but she continued to gape at him with a look of chilly panic crossing her face. He stopped at the bottom of the steps.
“Is something wrong, Your Grace?”
Phoebe pushed her head from the furs and his gaze got caught on the enticing view of her mussed hair and rosy cheeks. She was sexy as hell in her current state, but she only had eyes for the duchess.
“Joshua, put me down,” she instructed, her tone that of an employer and his heart nearly skidded to a stop.
When he did not react, she repeated, “Joshua, put me down.” The authority in her voice unmistakable and his heart sank with her decision.
The duchess’s shock at seeing them together must have made her realize her mistake.
He’d known he was not of her station, but he had truly believed she didn’t care. He’d apparently been wrong.
He immediately put her down on the first step. “My apologies, Lady Drake.”
She glanced at him and the moment she saw the expression on his face, she rolled her eyes. “The duchess needs me.”
“I don’t know what to say. This is most embarrassing,” the duchess interrupted.
Why was she embarrassed? He was the one to make a fool of himself. The one who had reached beyond his scope.
“I think we need to get you upstairs and get you comfortable so that you are prepared,” Phoebe said.
The sound of water trickling onto the floor from beneath the duchess’s gown changed everything.
He suddenly understood her look of shock and horror, the red blotches of mortification appearing high on her cheeks.
He was at her side in an instant, bending to put his arm under her legs.
The duchess began to step away until a stab of pain rounded her shoulders forward over her protruding belly.
She began breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling at a rapid pace, and a scream was torn from her lips.
It was the most horrifying noise Joshua had ever heard in his life.
Without further hesitation, he put one arm underneath her knees and the other behind her back.
He lifted the duchess into his arms and headed for the stairs.
“Mrs. Hagerty!” Phoebe yelled as Joshua took the steps two at a time and reached the top of the steps faster than he thought possible, considering the awkward way in which the duchess had her arms wrapped around his neck in what felt like a stranglehold.
He wasn’t certain either one of them would survive much more of her delivery if he didn’t get her to her bedchamber quickly.
Due to the former duke’s long illness, he was familiar with the layout of the family wing and he strode down the hall with the duchess panting in his arms, while Phoebe attempted to match his pace.
“Yes, Lady Drake?” the housekeeper said from the other end of the hallway.
“It’s time,” Phoebe said, her voice full of the same authority that had nearly scared him out of his wits moments ago.
“Time?” The housekeeper seemed confused until her gaze landed on him carrying the duchess. “Oh! Yes, my lady. I will call for the midwife immediately and make sure the maids bring in plenty of linens.”
Joshua knew the basics of childbirth, but he was starting to learn more than he ever thought he would in his lifetime. Children had not been in his thoughts of the future at all. A wife had just recently become a possibility, let alone reality.
“This is most embarrassing. I do apologize for ruining your clothing, Mr. Forrester.” The duchess attempted to straighten his cravat.
“I did that, not you,” Phoebe stated. Her voice so matter-of-fact even the duchess took a moment to process the meaning.
“Oh. Ohhhhhh.” She looked up at him.
“She has agreed to be my wife,” he explained.
The duchess smiled. A wistful look of longing crossing her features and he suddenly felt like a heel for bringing it up at a time when she would be bringing her first child into the world alone.
“My apologies, Your Grace. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
“Don’t apologize for being in love with my best friend, Forrester. I am very happy the two of you have finally acknowledged your feelings. It also explains the state of her hair and her gown.”
“Once a scandal, always a scandal,” Phoebe said as she opened the doors to the duchess’s bedchamber.
The duchess and Phoebe could have been sisters.
Both had long, coppery hair that captured a man’s attention as soon as they walked into the room.
With golden flecks glinting in the candlelight, it was as if their curls were burnished with fire.
Before the duchess had become heavy with child, her tall, lithe form and quiet demeanor gave off an air of fragility despite her inner strength.
Phoebe was the exact opposite, petite in nature, with voluptuous curves and a personality that embodied her sexuality.
Her lady’s maid, Mary, scurried into the room after them, and Phoebe directed her as if she were the lady of the castle, a role he had seen her play countless times before.
“The duchess has gone into labor. I believe we have prepared for this momentous occasion. Please start stripping the bedclothing.”
The only other man in the castle, Paddington appeared at his side. “Can I be of assistance, Your Grace?” The elderly man was more of a grandfather figure to the duchess than a servant in her employ. The concern on his face was evidence of the love they shared.
The duchess, however, was unable to respond as she stiffened and began breathing heavily in his arms.
“The midwife should be here at any moment, Iseabail,” Phoebe assured her.
“Please don’t leave me, Phoebe.” The duchess reached out for Phoebe’s hand and Joshua had to stop for the women to hold hands.
It would’ve been a touching moment, if he wasn’t scared out of his wits that he would drop the awkwardly-shaped duchess.
He needed to get her to the bed before another contraction came over her.
As if he thought the birth pang into existence, he felt the quivering of her stomach right before the duchess began yelling, “Oh my God, this child is going to kill me. Is this what it’s always like? Do all women go through this amount of pain? I can’t do this.”
Joshua felt her stomach seizing and wondered how anyone could deal with the unrelenting violence traveling through their body. If he didn’t put her down soon, he wasn’t certain he could stomach what was to come next. “You will be fine, Duchess. You are a strong woman, you can do this,” he said.
“How many…births have you attended, Mr. Forrester?” The duchess was now looking at him, and he wished he hadn’t said a word because he wasn’t certain his face didn’t show the panic seeping in.
“I have known many women who have given birth to children.”
A snort echoed through the bedchamber, and he glanced over at the source and found Phoebe openly smiling at him.
It was the first time she had shown any emotion since they’d entered the castle.
“Spoken like a true solicitor. I will take that response as meaning you have been present for exactly zero childbirths.”
“My sister has given birth to three boys.” His tone was defensive to his own ears.
“I never knew you had a sister. I just assumed you were an only child.”