Even when she’d opened her front door and saw him standing there, her blood had run cold but her heart rate had quickened. And a heart that was still beating could not be pronounced dead.
A flicker of movement drew her attention back to the window, and she clasped her hands together in relief when she saw the black carriage making its way up the drive. Her cats were here at last! Companions that meant more to her than some children did to their parents. But when she rushed out of the parlor and through the house to the front hall (committing only one wrong turn), it wasn’t the Earl of Lancaster that awaited her.
“Abigail!” Mara exclaimed, her belly leading the way as she shrugged off her husband’s protective arm and crossed the hall in what could only be politely described as a waddle. “You’re alive! I’ve been so very concerned ever since receiving yourletter. I insisted to Ambrose that we stop here on our way to Southwick Castle.”
“She wasmostinsistent,” the Duke of Southwick said dryly, folding his arms.
“I... I am alive.” Bemused, Abigail looked at the door and then back at Mara. “Was there reason to believe I wouldn’t be?”
“Well, after everything you told me,” Mara said in a hushed tone, “I couldn’t be sure. I needed to see for myself. Where is he? Lord Lancaster. Is he here? I should like to meet him if he is.”
“He went to London to retrieve my cats.”
“Your cats? But Jack is taking care of them as you requested and—oh,” she gasped suddenly, clutching at her abdomen.
“Mara!” The Duke of Southwick was at his wife’s side in an instant. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“The—the baby. Something . . . with the baby.”
“We need to bring the duchess into the parlor,” Abigail said briskly. “Follow me.”
While Mrs. Robbins and a half dozen other servants trailed behind in muted concern, she retraced her footsteps, intentionally slowing her pace so that Mara and Ambrose could keep up. Ushering them into the sedate room with its beige striped walls, leather furniture, and glowing hearth, she directed Mara to a long Chesterfield sofa.
“Place a pillow beneath her head and another under her hips. Yes, like that. Mrs. Robbins, please fetch me a hot bowl of water, several clean cloths, a sheet, and a pair of scissors.”
“You heard Her Ladyship!” Mrs. Robbins barked, rounding on her staff and shooing them from where they were hovering in the doorway. “Go get what she’s asked for and be quick about it!”
“Your Grace, please sit in that chair in the corner,” Abigail ordered, pointing.
“I don’t need to sit down, I need to be with my wife!”
“There is a sheen of perspiration on your brow, your pupils are dilated, and you skin is pale. If you do not sit down, I estimate that you will collapse in less than two minutes,” she said matter-of-factly. “As I am assisting Her Grace, there will not be a doctor available to help you should you strike your head on the way down.”
“For once, Ambrose, just foronce, don’t argue.” Mara tried to prop herself up on her elbow, only to fall back onto the sofa with a groan. “It feels as if someone it hitting my belly with a board.”
“How often is the board hitting your belly?” Crouching beside the duchess, Abigail reached under her chin and placed two fingers to the throb of her pulse.
“Twice thus far. Once in the front hall, and just a few seconds ago, in here.”
“Your pulse rate is steady.”
“What does that mean?”
“I require further diagnostics to answer that question. Mrs. Robbins—”
“Here,” said the housekeeper breathlessly, dropping a basket beside the sofa with the supplies Abigail had requested. “Where should I put the water?”
“By the fire so that it stays warm. I require you and another maid to remain. Everyone else except for the duke can leave.”
“Out!” Mrs. Robbins declared. “The lot of you!”
As everyone scurried to obey, Abigail unfolded the sheet and handed one corner to Mrs. Robbins and another to a short, wide-eyed maid wearing a white mob cap. “Please hold this above the duchess’s belly to grant her some privacy while I examine her. Mara, can you raise your knees for me and spread them—yes, just like that.” She picked up the scissors. “I’m going to have to remove some of your undergarments.”
“Do whatever you need.”
Working efficiently and precisely, Abigail cut away several layers of muslin before proceeding with her examination. Once she was satisfied with her findings, she draped Mara’s skirts back over her legs and motioned that the duchess could return to a more comfortable position.
“What is it?” Ambrose asked. He’d sat down as she’d suggested, and by the way he had his head thrown back and his eyes closed, it hadn’t been a moment too soon. “How is the baby?”
