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Until now.
Because now, Aurora was in pain—and there wasn't a bloody thing he could do to stop it.
"Soon, Julian," Mr. Scollard comforted, invariably reading his mind. "Very soon. In fact—" The lighthouse keeper pressed his lips together, glancing overhead as if he could see through the ceiling to the second floor. "I'll give Courtney another quarter hour. Then I'd best go up. Shortly after that, Rory will be asking for you."
"The pain will become more severe?" Julian felt a knife twist in his gut.
"No. The pain will be rewarded with one of life's greatest blessings."
"I doubt I'll last."
"You will." Mr. Scollard smiled. "You and Rory have a long and wonderful life ahead. Filled with happiness, children, and—of course—adventure."
Julian groaned. "Don't even say that word. After this experience, I want nothing but a lifetime of complacency. Hell, even a London Season would look good about now."
"Which reminds me," Slayde interceded, "I learned something interesting while I was in Devonshire. Evidently the Prince Regent intends to give a ball in honor of Geoffrey and James—and you and Aurora for fulfilling their final and most vital mission. The ball will be held at Carlton House in June—giving Aurora more than ample time to recover from childbirth and feel strong enough to travel to London. I received a letter to that effect when I stopped at Pembourne. Siebert advised me that the Prince Regent's letter and invitation to you are on their way. I probably sped past his messenger on the road. In any case, it seems the ball will be the culmination of the Season, with hundreds in attendance to acknowledge our great-grandfathers and you and Aurora. The entire ton is already buzzing with the news." Slayde assessed Julian's glazed expression, and his lips twitched. "You look distinctly unimpressed by the prospect of this ball. I can assure you after twenty years of living with her, that Aurora will not share your lack of enthusiasm. She's spent more than a decade dreaming of taking part in a glittering London Season. And this will give her the opportunity not only to attend the grandest of balls, but to be at its very core. At last my sister is getting her wish—the ton is opening its arms in welcome, heralding you both, in fact, as heroes. As is all of England and much of the world."
"The privateers are none too happy with us," Julian amended, rubbing his bristled jaw. "We've deprived them of one of their most coveted prizes. With the black diamond safely ensconced in the temple from which it was stolen, they'll have to set their sights on a new, equally fascinating treasure." His gaze softened, shifted toward the stairs. "As for me, if Aurora will only endure this ordeal, I'll take her to every bloody ball in England—hell, we can even give one of our own, invite the entire fashionable world."
"Does that mean I'll 'ave to serve?" Gin asked, looking even paler than he'd been a moment ago.
"No. For that, I'll send for Thayer. He has little to do at Morland Manor these days, anyway—other than showing interested spectators around. He and the rest of the staff will leap at the opportunity to assume more traditional roles."
"Thank 'eavens." Gin sagged with relief. "It'll be bad enough 'avin' all those blue-bloods millin' around the louse without 'avin' to wait on 'em." He scowled at the bottle in his hand as if arriving at some momentous self-sacrificing decision. "If it'll make Mrs. Merlin 'appy, I'll clean up a little and put on a uniform," he blurted out before he could reconsider and change his mind. "But I'm tellin' ye now, I'm not learnin' 'ow to bow or dance. And I sure as 'ell won't share my gin. Those blue-bloods can drink yer sherry and some of that pitiful punch that's got more fruit in it than spirits." With that, Gin snatched up a second bottle for himself and marched off to give the partially empty one to Daniels.
"I'm overwhelmed," Slayde chuckled. "For Gin to be willing to don a uniform? Aurora must have worked miracles."
"She has—with all of us." Julian resumed pacing, his brow furrowed with worry. "I wish Courtney would come down and tell us how Aurora is faring so I'd know…" He halted, having caught sight of Mr. Scollard heading for the stairs. "You're going to Aurora?"
"Yes." The lighthouse keeper never paused, his words trailing behind him as he ascended the staircase. "I'll be only five minutes. After that, I'll rejoin you. We'll have time for one brandy each. By that time, Courtney will be sending for you."
"Oh, God." Julian turned away, feeling as if someone had punched him in the gut.
"On second thought," Scollard called down from the landing, "you and Slayde begin without me. You'll toss off your first brandy in a few necessary gulps. I'll join you for your second."
"Come on," Slayde urged Julian, sitting Tyler atop his shoulders and gesturing toward the sitting room. "We've just been instructed to have a drink."
Julian followed, watching Tyler squeal with delight and cling to his father's neck, hearing Slayde's quiet chuckle as he knelt before the sofa and tumbled Tyler over his head and onto the soft velvet cushions.
A never-before-experienced lump formed in Julian's throat. "I remember how ornery and irrational you were during those long hours before Tyler was born," he commented, pouring two goblets of brandy and handing one to Slayde—after which, as Mr. Scollard had predicted, he downed his own drink in a few purposeful swallows. "Never having gone through what you did, I hadn't a clue as to the emotions you were feeling, the level of pain Courtney was enduring."
"The last was the hardest part," Slayde admitted, giving Tyler a plaything to amuse him. "Knowing how much Courtney was suffering nearly did me in. But afterward—seeing Tyler in her arms, knowing we'd created him together—" He broke off. "You'll see what I mean soon enough."
Julian nodded. "I hope so. I just keep telling myself that Scollard would know if anything were wrong." He shot Slayde a look of utter amazement. "Listen to me. Who would have ever thought I'd believe in a visionary, much less put all my faith in one?"
A grin tugged at Slayde's lips. "Face it, my friend. Your fundamental approach to life became a thing of the past the day you met Aurora. Trust me, I know. I'm married to her best friend, a woman who within a matter of weeks managed to convince me that the impossible is possible—and has kept me believing it ever since."
"We're very lucky men."
"Indeed we are."
"I concur wholeheartedly," Mr. Scollard declared, entering the sitting room. "In fact, I believe we should toast to that."
Julian jumped so high his glass nearly flew from his hand. "Is she all right?"
A proud smile touched Mr. Scollard's lips. "She's tired. But she's Rory—excited, courageous, and impatient. Therefore, weary or not, she's relieved that her impatience is about to come to an end."
"Dammit." A muscle worked in Julian's jaw. "I want to help her."
