“Yes, I reckon that I am,” she allowed.
“You are about to give me a grandchild,” the dowager said. “And I wish for you to know that…I regret my treatment of you earlier in your marriage to my son. I was unkind, and I am sorry for it.”
An apology?
Elizabeth blinked, wondering if she were dreaming. But no, her mother-in-law remained in her chair, regarding her seriously.
“Thank you,” she said at last, finding her tongue through her shock.
“It is I who must thank you. I have watched my son these last few months, and he is the most happy I’ve ever seen him. For so long, I feared that he was in the mold of his father, but I can see now that my fears were unfounded. He is a good man, and you are a good wife to him.”
Better than Lady Althorp’s eldest daughter? Elizabeth wanted to ask, but didn’t dare push the dowager any further than she had already been willing to come.
“I am happy you think so,” she told her. “I love your son very much.”
“As do I,” the dowager said.
Elizabeth would have responded, but in the next moment, a great rush of fluid came from her, and the persistent aching in her back all morning made perfect sense. “Oh dear.”
The dowager was on her feet, looking concerned. “What is it, my dear?”
Elizabeth cradled her belly, wonder filling her. “I believe it is time.”
* * *
“What the bloodyhell is taking so long?” Torrie demanded as he paced the Aubusson for what must have been the hundredth time.
It was a miracle he hadn’t yet worn a hole in it.
“God’s fichu, sit down before you fall,” Monty said. “You’ve been stalking across the room without cease for the better part of three hours.”
He spun on his heel and pinned his friend with a glare. “How can you be so calm?”
“Because I have two beautiful, healthy children with my incredibly lovely wife,” Monty said, grinning. “I’ve ridden down this particular road twice before, and I know it well. It’s bumpy and terrifying, and it’s the worst ride of your life. But then, your bairn is born and you hold your child in your arms, and everything is suddenly right in your world again.”
His friend’s Scottish roots were showing, a sure sign that he wasn’t quite as unaffected as he pretended. Likely, he was putting on a calm façade for Torrie’s sake.
“I’m worried about her,” he explained, feeling like a fool and terrified nonetheless. “I’m worried about the babe, too. It feels as if an eternity has passed.”
“The doctor is with her and so is Hattie,” Monty reminded him, offering a consoling pat on his shoulder. “All will be well, old friend.”
Hattie, whose second child with Monty had been born mere months before, was attending Bess. He was damned glad that his sister was here. That Monty was here. But he was still out of his mind with worry.
Bess’s labor had begun this morning, and it was now nearly half past nine in the evening.
“I pray you’re right,” he said hoarsely, trying not to think of what would happen if Monty was wrong.
If everything was not well.
He resumed pacing, running his hands through his hair. Wishing he had whisky, even if he knew better than to drink in the presence of his friend, who no longer touched spirits.
“Hattie, my love,” Monty greeted at his back.
Torrie whipped around to find his sister, smiling at the threshold, looking exhausted but happy. Surely a good sign?
“How is she?” he blurted.
“Bess is well,” his sister told him. “You have a daughter.”
