"How did you know?" he asked, and his mother smiled.
"I would say a mother always knows, but my maternal instinct doesn’t quite tell me when your wife is in labour. Soames sent a note."
"I should have done that," Ezra whispered.
"Your mind is not on such things, of course it isn’t. Come, you can pour me a glass of port, and we will wait it out together."
He nodded, but as he poured the ruby liquid, his hand visibly shook.
"What if she doesn’t survive?" he said, his voice trembling too. "What if it happens again?"
"Your wife is healthy and strong, and doing what her body was designed for. She and your child will come through this. But while we wait, we can pray – and look forward to toasting the arrival of your son or daughter."
???
"The Countess is tiring," the doctor said to Charity, and Constance wanted to shout that of course she was tiring – it was called labour for a reason – but she did not have the energy to do so.
The next thing she knew, her sister was by her side, gripping her hand and speaking to her in that way only she could.
"You can do this, Constance. You have always been able to do anything you set your mind to, and you will bring this child safely into the world – I know it. But they need you to give it everything you’ve got now, and then you can rest. Understand?"
She didn’t have the energy to form words, but she did nod, and when the doctor told her to push on the next pain, she did as he said – putting every ounce of energy she could possibly summon into bringing this baby, hers and Ezra’s child, born of so much love, into the world.
"Congratulations!" she heard – at the same time as that most beautiful sound of all: the cry from her baby’s lungs.
???
He heard the cry and jumped to his feet, his eyes wide. Before his hand could turn the doorknob, his mother stopped him.
"They’ll come for you, my dear. Let them do their work – do not interrupt. I am thrilled to hear such a lusty cry, and I know you cannot wait to see the babe."
"And Constance…" Ezra said, for as much as he wanted a child, and knew that a child was imperative for his line to continue, nothing was as important as Constance surviving this. Nothing at all.
"I cannot… I cannot just wait," Ezra said in desperation.
"It will not be long. They know you are impatient – of course you are. Just let them come."
And then there was a knock on the door, and Ezra flung it open to find a shocked-looking Soames on the other side, who had clearly not expected such a welcome.
"The doctor asks that you go to the Countess’s chamber, my lord," Soames said, bowing his head.
"Is Constance well?"
"All is well, my lord," Soames said, a rare smile lighting his normally serious face. "Lady Gracewood and your son are both very well indeed."
Ezra’s heart felt like it might explode as he walked into the room and was greeted by an exhausted but smiling Constance. In her arms, she held a bundle of joy – but at first, he could only focus on her: the healthy rosiness in her cheeks, the simple, overwhelming fact that she had made it through.
He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her lips – muttering a prayer and holding her tightly to him.
"You are well?" he asked, when he could finally speak.
She smiled up at him. "I am well. Tired, in no hurry to do that again – but well."
He gave a rough laugh. "I’m not sure I can ever live through that again, either."
His beautiful wife looked up at him, a smile on her face, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and said, "Meet our son, Ezra."
A son. He had given up hoping to ever have one, and here he was – wrapped up, safe and warm in his mother’s arms, his son. And they were both, the doctor reassured him, perfectly healthy.
