The Earl Takes All (11 page)

Chapter 11

H
ow
could she not believe him when he sounded so certain? A calm settled over her as she watched him yank on the bellpull that would summon her maid.

“Do you think it's because of what we did last night?” she asked.

He looked at her, conviction mirrored in her eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“How do you know?”

“I should think this would have happened last night.”

She wanted to believe him, so at least she could sweep away the guilt. “He's coming a month early.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, took her hand. “Maybe not quite. How can a physician accurately determine the date of delivery when he doesn't know the exact moment of conception?”

“I suppose you have a point.”

“Trust me, Jules, you're not going to lose this one.”

Wanting to believe him with every fiber of her being, she nodded. “Yes, all right.” Another contraction hit her, and she squeezed his hand, almost certain she heard bones crack, although since he didn't yelp, but only folded his other hand over her shoulder, she had to be mistaken.

The pain receded, she breathed deeply. The door opened and Torrie stepped in.

“Have someone ride into the village to fetch the physician,” Albert barked.

“In this weather?”

“In this weather. Find a servant who knows something about delivering babies. Then get yourself back up here to help your lady change.”

Torrie pressed her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my dear lord. Is she—­”

“Yes, now go tend to matters.”

Torrie ran from the room, her pounding footsteps echoing up the stairs.

“I do so love it when you're forceful,” Julia said.

Laughing, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Later, we'll discuss less dramatic ways for you to encourage me to be forceful. For now, let's see about getting you into your nightdress, shall we?”

By the time Torrie returned, he had all the fastenings undone on her dress. Stepping aside, leaving Torrie to help her with the final stages of getting into her nightdress, he went to the fireplace and stoked the fire.

As Julia was settling beneath the covers, Mrs. Bedell, the housekeeper, walked in. “It's been a good many years since I helped me mum deliver her last bairn, but I was young enough that it made an impression.” She turned to Albert. “You go on now, your lordship. We'll see to Lady Greyling and the little one.”

“Not bloody likely,” her husband said as he shoved a chair nearer to the other side of the bed, then dropped down into it and took Julia's hand.

“It's not proper for you to be here, m'lord.”

“It's proper for a husband to get his wife with child but not to be in attendance as the child is born? That's rubbish.” Reaching up, he stroked the hair back from her face. “Unless you want me to go.”

He hadn't been with her when she'd lost the other three. She didn't know what to expect here, what he might witness, but she needed his determination, his sureness. “No, I want you to stay. You're my strength.”

He pressed his mouth against her knuckles. “We'll get through this.”

Sometime later she realized those words were extremely easy for him to say when he wasn't the one with pain ratcheting through his body. But bless him, he never flinched, no matter how hard she squeezed his hand. He merely cooed encouraging words and wiped a cool cloth over her brow. And he told her stories, about his childhood, his travels. He made her laugh when she'd thought the act impossible, made her believe that before the day was done, she'd be holding a squalling babe in her arms.

Beyond the window it began to grow dark. “Where's the doctor?” she asked.

“He's no doubt delayed by the storm,” her husband told her. “You don't have to wait for him.”

She forced a laugh. “As though I could.”

He brushed back her hair. “You're being so brave.”

“Only because you're here. I don't mean to be awful, but I'm so glad it wasn't you who died in Africa. I don't know how I would manage to get through this if not for you.”

“You're not awful. You couldn't be awful if you tried. The first time I laid eyes on you I knew you were special.”

“I fell in love with you almost immediately.”

“Almost immediately? Why the delay?”

“It was only a few minutes. From the moment we were introduced until we had our first dance. You were so serious. I thought, ‘He won't be any fun at all.' And then you smiled at me, and I was lost.”

“So you were won over by something as simple as a smile.”

“You have a most charming smile. I hope your son has your smile.”

“I hope he has your strength of character.”

Another pain ratcheted through her. He was standing now, hovering over her. She was growing so tired, so weary.

“If I die—­”

“You're not going to die,” he insisted.

“But if I do, you must promise me that you won't abandon our child the way Marsden abandoned his. You won't blame this child for my death.”

“Julia—­”

“Promise me.”

“I promise that the child you carry shall never know what it is not to be loved.”

Nodding, she knew she couldn't yet give in to her need to rest. Not until their son entered the world, not until she gave Albert his heir.

“I think he's almost here, m'lady,” Mrs. Bedell said encouragingly. “I can see the top of his head. Black hair he has.”

She smiled at her husband. “Black hair.”

Tenderly, he pressed the cool cloth to her temple. “He's going to look like you.”

Wearily, she shook her head. “No, he's going to look like you. Only with black hair. Will that please you?”

“Any child you deliver will please me.”

“I think you're going to want to push the next time the pains start up, m'lady,” Mrs. Bedell said.

“Yes, all right.”

The pounding of footsteps on the stairs caught her attention, and suddenly Dr. Warren was rushing into the room. “Apologies for the delay,” he announced. “Weather's atrocious. Let's see what we have here.”

The servants scurried back. She couldn't have been more grateful that Albert stayed as he was, serving as her sentinel. Dr. Warren began to lift the hem of her nightdress. “You should leave, my lord.”

Albert sighed deeply, irritation shimmering off him. “I've already been through this with the servants. I'm not leaving.”

“It's best if some things between a husband and wife remain a mystery.”

“And it's best if a man I can flatten with one punch concentrates his attention on my wife and child.”

“Yes, of course. M'lady, you're going to need to push—­”

He didn't have to tell her. Her body was doing a marvelous job of that. Mrs. Bedell and Albert both lifted her shoulders so she'd have better leverage as the pain made its way through her. She couldn't stop herself from crying out but at least she didn't scream at the top of her lungs, even though she dearly wanted to.

“My brave, brave girl,” Albert cooed near her ear, standing, still holding her hand.

“We're almost there,” Dr. Warren said. “Next one should push the shoulders out and we'll be done.”

Setting her jaw, grunting a little louder, squeezing her husband's hand, she pushed as hard as she could.

“That's it,” Dr. Warren encouraged. “She's here.”

Dropping back down, breathing heavily, Julia asked, “She?”

“You have a daughter.”

A daughter? But she was supposed to be a boy, the heir to Greyling. And yet strangely, she experienced no disappointment, no regret. She looked at Albert, certain she'd never seen more love reflected in his eyes. “He's a girl.”

“So he is.”

“Can you see her?”

“Right now all I see is you. You're so beautiful, Jules.”

She didn't see how she could be. “Why isn't she crying?” she demanded of Albert, as though he were the one in charge of life and death. “She should be crying.”

Then the wailing started, and Julia had never heard a more beautiful sound in her entire life. She began laughing and weeping with joy and gratitude and love. This tiny creature was making a powerful statement. “I want to see her.”

“Here she is,” Mrs. Bedell said, placing the child, wrapped in swaddling, in Albert's arms.

He leaned over so she could see her daughter, her child screaming her lungs out. She met Albert's gaze. “I'm sorry I didn't give you your heir.”

A veil of tears glistened in his eyes as he touched the babe's fist. Their daughter unfurled her hand and took hold of his finger. “I promise you, Julia, your husband could not be more pleased. She looks just like you. What father would find fault with that?”

A
girl.
His brother's wife had given birth to a daughter. Not a son. Not an heir. Which meant the title came to Edward. The role he'd been playing for weeks now was no role at all, but was the unvarnished truth, his reality. He was and would remain the Earl of Greyling.

Grabbing a bottle of scotch, not bothering with a coat, hat, or muffler, he strode out through the library terrace door into the snow, wind, and sleet. Into the blistering cold. But he barely noticed the frigid ice pattering his skin or the flakes gathering on his lashes.

He was the earl. It was not what he wanted, not what he'd ever wanted.

Yet how could he resent his newfound position when that delicate bundle of new life had wrapped her tiny hand around his finger? With her black hair, her chubby cheeks, and her face scrunched up as she squalled? How could a creature so tiny, so innocent, capture his heart with such ease?

Trudging through the blanket of snow, he took a swig of the scotch, welcoming its warmth spreading through his chest, a warmth that paled when compared with what he'd felt as he held his brother's daughter in his arms. Julia's daughter.

He hadn't bothered with a lamp, but nearly three-­quarters of a moon was brightening the sky. In spite of it being near midnight, the snow reflected the light and illuminated his path. It could almost be day for how well he was able to see. The howling wind pushed against him, but he pushed back. Nothing was going to prevent him from reaching his destination. Julia and the babe were both sleeping. They needed their rest, while he needed to be elsewhere.

The mausoleum came into view, an ominous scepter in the night. Shoving open the heavy door, he pushed his way inside, welcoming the muted screeching of the wind when the heavy wood banged back into place. A lantern, burning eternally, lit his way as he crossed over to the newest burial vault, placed his back against the cold marble tomb and slid down to the floor.

“She's beautiful, Albert, your daughter and your wife.” He held the bottle aloft. “Well done on both counts, brother.” He took a long swig, banged his head against the marble. “God, Albert, I wish you'd been here to see her. A bit nervous to start, but so courageous, so strong when it mattered. I can understand why you loved her as you did.”

He indulged in another long swallow of amber. “The two of you created a marvel. We're naming her Alberta, after you.” He squeezed his eyes shut.
We
sounded as though they were together, as though Julia belonged with him—­when she never would, never could. English law would see to that. “Your daughter has the blackest hair, the bluest eyes, the fattest cheeks. She resembles her mother but I can see some of you in her.”

Which meant he could see some of himself as well. Why did that cause an ache in his chest, make him wish he were the one who had planted the seed? He would be as a father to her, even though that privilege rightfully belonged to his brother. “You'd be busting the buttons on your waistcoat if you were here. I've no doubt. Raising a toast as well, to their health and happiness.”

While he would be doing what he was doing now. Striving to drink himself into oblivion so he could forget they weren't his. That all the emotions churning in his chest—­the pride, the affection, the joy—­should be tempered by the fact that he was a brother by marriage and an uncle. Not the husband, not the father.

But damn it all to hell, he'd felt like both as Julia had squeezed his hand when the pain became too much, as the housekeeper laid the babe in his arms and he had presented her to Julia, placed her on her mother's bosom. Actions he'd never thought to experience.

They had touched him so deeply, so profoundly.

He had kept his promise, honored his vow, ensured that Julia delivered her baby. No more reason for secrets existed.

But a thousand reasons existed for getting drunk.

“Cheers, brother!”

And he gulped down the contents of the bottle until there was no more, until he could forget why he was here, until he managed to convince himself that he shouldn't tell Julia the truth until she'd recovered fully from the ordeal of childbirth.

H
e
awoke cold, aching, and stiff, his head heavy and pounding. At least he'd managed to make it back to the library before collapsing; otherwise he might have been joining his brother, although Albert was in heaven, while he would no doubt be heading in the opposite direction. He wished he'd at least made it to the sofa instead of settling for the floor. Shoving himself to his feet, he cursed soundly as his skull protested.

It was difficult to believe that it had once been his morning ritual to begin his day feeling utterly and completely awful, with his stomach roiling and his surroundings spinning. What an idiot he'd been, although at the time it made perfect sense, as he'd seen no alternative.

It hadn't been the answer then, it wasn't the answer now, although now it wasn't only he who suffered. He had to remember that.

He hadn't meant to completely abandon Julia, although he suspected she'd sleep for a week following her ordeal. Her daughter less likely to sleep as long. Not that he knew anything about a baby's sleeping habits. He'd managed to avoid them until now.