Too afraid.
She turned to make her way out of the shop—and stopped.
A sudden warmth spread down her legs.
She gasped, her hand flying to her belly just as a deep, pulling pain clenched her from within.
“Oh—oh dear.”
Jacob Lucas looked up sharply. He was at her side in an instant, taking her elbow with surprising gentleness. “Ah. I see. It’s time, then.”
“I—it cannot be,” Maria whispered. “It’s too soon.”
The shopkeeper only chuckled, his voice rough with good humor. “My Jenny came two weeks early, and she’s been earlyfor everything since. You’ll be fine, Mrs. Bennet. Here, take my arm, and I can help you to your carriage.”
She looked down at the mess on the floor, her cheeks crimson in her horror. “Oh no. I—I am so sorry, Mr. Lucas, I—how embarrassing…”
Jacob Lucas merely laughed, waving off her panic as he reached for her elbow. “Nonsense, Mrs. Bennet. Only you upper-class ladies fret over what every woman endures. I have six children of my own, and I have seen far worse. Now, let’s get you home where you belong.”
Mortified, Maria could only nod. She tried not to cry as the pains came faster, sharper. Lucas guided her to the door and called out for his daughter.
“Sally! Come ride with Mrs. Bennet to Longbourn. Just in case.”
A few minutes later, with Sally beside her and the horses urged into a quick trot, Maria clutched the edge of the seat with white-knuckled fingers. She tried not to moan. She tried to breathe, as the midwife had taught her. She tried not to scream when the next wave struck.
She failed at all three.
By the time they reached Longbourn, Jenny Hill—the housekeeper and her dearest companion—was at the door, calling orders like a general.
“Boil water! Bring linen! Fetch the midwife!” Jenny shouted, waving Sally off as she helped Maria inside. “There, there, lamb. We’ve got you.”
Maria was barely aware of being undressed and eased into bed. The pain had her now—gripping, tearing. Jenny mopped her brow with a cool cloth, whispered soothing words, and held her hand through each crushing contraction.
The midwife arrived not long after, smelling of rosemary and pipe smoke. She huffed a bit about being pulled from her dinner, but her hands were sure, her voice firm.
“It’s coming fast,” she said. “That’s good. First ones usually take longer.”
Maria wanted to believe her. She wanted to think the worst would be over soon.
It was not.
Hours passed in a haze of agony. Then, at last, the midwife sat up straight. “One more push, madam. One more. I see him!”
Maria pushed with everything she had—and then, the sharpness broke. A cry rose. A baby’s cry.
“A boy!” the midwife announced. “A fine, strong lad.”
An heir. Maria felt nothing but relief course through her. Her husband’s grandfather had seen fit to entail the estate away from females, and Maria felt the internal pressure in providing a son for her husband.
“Theodore,” she whispered, tears blurring her vision. “His name is Theodore.”
Jenny opened the door, and Timothy entered, face pale but lit with wonder. He came to her side, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and stared in awe at the red-faced infant now squalling indignantly.
But before Maria could even enjoy the relief, a new pain twisted through her. Her breath caught.
The midwife blinked. “Oh. Oh, saints preserve us—there’s another!”
Timothy looked startled. “Another what?”
