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“I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss,” groused Arabella as Harriett oversaw her transition. “It’s only a bit of cramping. Elizabeth once told me her back bothered her for a whole month before she gave birth.”
“Yes, but she wasn’t walking about in the chill air, was she?” Harriett countered, holding open the garden gate. “No. She stayed where she ought to have been and where you should be now—in bed. Your recent activity may very well cause the early arrival of your babe.”
Arabella did not argue, which surprised Harriett. She looked to see her sister’s face full of sadness. “I’m sorry, Bella,” she said as they brought her inside. “I don’t mean to be so harsh. I just want what is best for you.”
Together the three of them carefully helped Arabella mount the stairs.
“I suppose an ea
rly arrival would be a blessing in a way,” said her sister. “Less time for me to become attached.” Her hand again covered her gravid belly as she was eased onto the bed. “I—I’ve been feeling it move,” she confessed once the men were gone. “And I’ve been having dreams. Dreams of raising it. Impossible dreams.” Tears slid down her cheeks.
Harriett put her arms around her. “Shh. I know, love. It will be difficult, but I promise I will do everything in my power to see your child is well cared for and safely placed in a loving home. But first we must concentrate on what is happening now. We’ll worry about the rest as it comes. Now, lie back. Mrs. Whipple should be along any moment to have a look at you.”
The cramping grew worse over the next several hours, increasing in intensity until Arabella lay moaning on the bed, her fists knotting the coverlet. Harriett read to her from her favorite book, talked of the goings on at home, anything to distract her. The minutes dragged interminably, and still there was no sense of urgency on the part of the midwife.
“You’ll worry yourself for no cause,” said the woman with infuriating calm. “It’ll come when it comes. There’s no rushing these things.”
It was nearly time for supper when Katie came in, panic written on her face. “M’lady, there is a gentleman here to see you, a Lord Manchester. He says he must speak with you at once.”
Harriett’s heart began to pound. “Merciful God. Tell His Grace I am indisposed and—and that he must leave at once. I don’t care what you tell him, just get him out of this house.”
“I already tried, m’lady, but he wouldn’t listen,” wailed the little maid. “He came in anyway and sent me up with this.” She proffered an envelope bearing Harriett’s name on it, written in her father’s hand.
Snatching it, Harriett opened it and read. The blood drained from her face, leaving it numb. Turning to her sister, she forced an encouraging smile to her lips. “I will be back in a moment, Bella.”
“Harriett, why is he here?” asked her sister, breathing hard after having just endured another long pain.
“There is a matter I must resolve,” Harriett told her, pushing a limp hank of hair off her sister’s sweaty brow. “I will not be gone long. Just listen to Mrs. Whipple and do as she says. I’ll be right back.” Despite her upset, she forced her legs to move at a stately, calm pace. There at the foot of the stairs he stood, waiting for her.
Twenty Two
Roland had trouble containing his impatience. Five minutes passed. Would she greet him with warmth or spite? Would she curse him, or could he dare to hope she might repeat the words he so wanted to hear?
In his pocket burned the special license he’d secured last night. He and Dunhaven had gone to the rectory at St. James’s and awakened the bishop. Such an inconvenience had come with much grumbling and at an exorbitant price. Still, he had it, and that was all that mattered. Any man of the cloth in Berkshire could perform the ceremony.
Ten minutes. Still she had not appeared.
Though he’d been wakened at an even later hour than the bishop, Mr. Blume had been much more amenable. Roland knew not how long he might be gone from London and he didn’t want the other governors thinking he’d abandoned his duties at the Hospital, especially with Harriett gone as well. As Mr. Blume had been heavily involved with the Hospital’s finances, he’d appointed him temporary administrator until his return. Upon hearing of his intent to marry Lady Harriett, the solicitor had, to his surprise, offered heartfelt congratulations. Roland found his opinion of the man much improved.
Fifteen minutes. What the bloody hell is taking so long?
He strode to the staircase, determined to hunt her down if she would not come of her own volition. A noise above drew his attention. Harriett stood there, staring at him from half a dozen steps up, her hazel eyes wide in a face as white as tallow.
Seeing her, his fears melted away. She wasn’t angry. She was terrified.
“Your Grace, I must apologize, but I am in no position to receive guests at this time,” she said, coming down. “You may return tomorrow evening, at which time we will discuss matters between us.”
“And give you an opportunity to run away again? I think not. No. We shall discuss it now. Your father has given his blessing, and I have no desire to delay.”
“Yes, I am aware,” she told him, holding up the letter. Her hand shook violently. “And I will be happy to talk about it with you at length—but not just now. Please, I beg you to return tomorrow. I promise you I shall be here.” Her gaze, like that of the little maid who’d let him in, kept flicking back toward the top of the staircase.
“Harriett, what is going on? Is something the matter?”
“It is my sister,” she answered, her voice quavering. “She is very, very ill.”
“Your father told me about the child.”
Her eyes widened.
