“Very well. I shall alert Dr. Preston.”
“Is there no one else who might—?”
Gibbs shook her head, “I am afraid not. Dr. Taylor has gone home.”
Charlotte sighed and returned to her room. Why must her babe come now, early in the day, with only Preston on hand to deliver her? Woe filled her at the thought of putting herself in such a vulnerable position in his harsh presence. She would prefer Dr. Taylor to attend her, although she would still be mortified to assume the birthing position—on her side, knees up, facing away from him, according to Sally’s whispered description. Was there no one else to help her? Another pain struck.Lord, please help me,she breathed.
Hat in place and newspaper tucked under his arm, Daniel locked the door to his private medical office on the street level of his townhouse on Wimpole Street. He had no idea where his father was. He had still been abed when Daniel had left early this morning to pay a house call but was not at home when Daniel returned. He hoped his father hadn’t broken down and headed out to a tavern somewhere. Hungry, but with little interest in eating alone, Daniel decided to walk down the street for a quick meal at the Red Hen before his next appointment at two.
He was startled to see Preston rounding the corner and heading toward the Red Hen as well. Wasn’t the man supposed to be on duty?
“Hello there, Preston.”
“Taylor. Hello. I’m rather surprised to see you here.”
Daniel was about to icily tell him the same, and to remind him of the office hours for which the Manor was compensating him, but the man’s next words stopped him.
“How fares Miss Smith?”
Daniel pulled a grimace. “Fine last I saw her. Why?”
“She’s delivered, has she not?”
“Has she? When?”
“Well, beg me, I am confused. Mrs. Moorling told me to head on home, that Taylor was on duty, helping Miss Smith as we spoke, or some such.”
“I haven’t been to the manor since last night.”
“Something afoul there, then. Shall I go back and sort it out?”
“No. I’ll go.”
He thrust his paper into Preston’s arms and strode quickly down the street, worry pushing aside his hunger. Had there been some misunderstanding? Had Mrs. Moorling sent Preston away, thinking Daniel had spent the night and was still above stairs when Charlotte’s time came? Had Charlotte been left alone, to deliver her child unaided? Was she suffering still? Or worse, what if complications had arisen as they had with Charlotte’s mother? Fear prodded his heart, and soon he was running down the street, over the manor lawn, and pushing through the doors. It was too quiet, deathly quiet. Was he too late? His shoes slapping against the floor echoed as he ran to Charlotte’s room. He knocked but didn’t wait for an answer as he pushed the door open and barreled inside. Charlotte looked up at him, clearly surprised at his abrupt entrance. But far from looking distressed, Charlotte smiled a wide, contented smile. Heart pounding in his ears, Daniel bent over, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He looked around the room, trying to deduce the situation. Charlotte was sitting up in bed, fresh nightdress and bedclothes around her, bundled babe asleep in her arms.
“Are you ...” He panted. “Are you well?”
Charlotte nodded, eyes bright.
“But ... how? When?”
“About an hour ago. As to the ‘how,’ I think you should know that better than I.” Again she smiled at him, a heavy-lidded, peaceful smile.
“But who delivered you? You were not alone, I trust?”
“No, thank goodness. When Gibbs did not find you at home, your father offered to come in your stead.”
“My father? Did he? But was he—That is ... was his attention ...”
“He was quite wonderful, Daniel. A godsend.”
A quick knock sounded and his father walked in, looking the part of the regimental surgeon he once was—dressed in shirtsleeves, black waistcoat and linen apron, drying clean hands on a white cloth. Only his snowy hair, standing here and there out of place, detracted from his competent appearance.
“Daniel. There you are. Have you ever seen such a stout, healthy lad?”
Daniel looked at Charlotte’s babe, which he had yet to examine. “Perhaps I should have a look at him.”
“Go on, feast your eyes if you like. But I checked him over myself, I did. A perfect specimen, if I say so myself.”
