“Good,” Bridget said. “Look for the doctor. Once he arrives, bring him here with all haste.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
The butler retreated, and Bridget went to the pile of cloth again. She took one and wet it from the nearby pitcher. Bridget wrung it out over the basin and climbed into bed beside her sister. Dorothy tossed her head back, her eyes darting to Bridget’s face.
“God, it hurts.” Dorothy’s words were ragged and uneven, as though it cost her all the air in the world to speak.
Bridget gently dabbed the cloth along her sister’s brow. “I know,” she said. “I know.”
Dorothy winced as sobs tore from her.
“My dear,” Gerard murmured, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. “The doctor is coming. Everything will be fine. I promise.”
Bridget continued wiping her sister’s brow. A lump rose in her throat. Panic clawed at her chest, threatening to pull her under once more. She had never seen Dorothy look so distraught before. For Bridget’s entire life, Dorothy had been a pillar of stability.
Bridget inhaled deeply and forced the thoughts back. It was almost a pity that Lewis was not there. He would have been pleased to see her acting like a proper duchess, like someone who knew the right thing to do.
“You are finally going to be a mother,” Bridget said, “like you have always wanted.”
“Yes,” Dorothy said. “Yes, finally.”
“Take deep breaths,” Bridget said. “I will count for you. Breathe in and hold. One, two, three.”
Dorothy inhaled, and Bridget heard the effort that it took to hold the breath.
One, two, three.
“And out,” Bridget said. “Nicely done. Again.”
They continued that way for some time, with Bridget counting the breaths and Dorothy struggling to do as she was asked. Then, Dorothy screamed, her back arching from the bed.
“Dorothy!” Gerard exclaimed.
Footsteps thundered on the floor, and the doctor burst into the room. His face was calm, and he swept to Dorothy’s side with practiced ease. “Your Grace,” he said, his eyes fixed on Gerard. “It is time for you to leave. I shall tend to the duchess.”
Gerard rose slowly. All the color had drained from his face. There was a new tension in his limbs, like a phantom of some long-felt emotion. Bridget did not understand why he reacted that way, but she sensed that he wanted to argue.
“Gerard,” Bridget said. “I will stay with her.”
He took a shuddering breath. “Take care of her, Bridget.”
“I will.”
He gave Dorothy’s hand a final squeeze and left hurriedly, as though he did not trust himself to depart unless he did so as quickly as possible.
“Now,” the doctor said. “Let me see how things are going.”
CHAPTER 35
Lewis sat in his grandmother’s drawing room, noting with a twinge of guilt that there were flowers everywhere. The flowers reminded him of Bridget’s handiwork, which in turn made him think of her innocuous request. She had only wanted him to stay with her throughout the night.
“Is Bridget going to join us?” his grandmother asked, clasping her hands in her lap.
Lewis took a sip of tea to delay his answer. He had dreaded her asking. Would a fit follow when he finally told her that he did not know? A familiar wave of frustration swept over him, made worse when he remembered Bridget’s soft insistence that he should not feel guilty for being frustrated by his grandmother’s behavior.
“I do not know,” Lewis conceded. “She left early this morning, and I have not seen her since then.”
His grandmother frowned. “And you have no notion of where she went?”
