His wife’s scream rent the air sending his pulse into a breakneck speed. He could scarcely stand the waiting—the not knowing. Marcus peered at the clock. Every minute seemed like an hour as he paced back and forth waiting for news. Good God, how long did these things take?
One, two, three… Marcus paced across the drawing room. What if something went wrong? Four, five, six… What if he lost them both? Seven, eight, nine…
“Do stop your fretting.” Natalie flicked her wrist, closing her silk fan. She stood from the velvet bench she’d been sitting on and approved him. “Women give birth all the time.”
Marcus scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “They could die.”
“They won’t.” Natalie shook her head. “Daphne is strong. You have no cause to worry.”
Another scream split the air around them and Marcus’s heart leaped into his throat. He could stand it no longer. Pivoting, he marched toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Natalie raced to catch up.
Marcus peered over his shoulder but did not stop. “My wife needs me.”
Natalie reached for his forearm. Shaking her off, he continued on his way. Nothing would prevent him from reaching Daphne. He should be at her side; after all, he was responsible for her suffering. Without his participation, there’d be no babe. Not that he wished for that. He was very much looking forward to being a father.
He and Daphne had spent the first year of their marriage avoiding such an outcome. He’d been selfish and wanted time with only the two of them before starting a family. She’d agreed and they had enjoyed a wonderful first year. When the time was right, they’d worked fervently to get her with child.
Now he dreamed of what their babe would look and act like. He imagined a little girl with a cherub face and her mother’s golden locks over bright blue eyes. Of course, the girl would be a minx—how could she be anything else with him for a father. True, most lords wanted heirs and spares before daughters, but it mattered not to him. There would be time for boys later.
Of course, he’d welcome a son as much as a daughter, but in his imaginings, the babe Daphne carried was always a girl. She believed it to be so as well. In fact, they’d even choose a name for their daughter.
Reaching the top of the stairs, Marcus turned toward their chamber and hurried his pace. Daphne screamed out again, an ear-shattering tone that ripped at his heart. He burst into a full run. His hand shook as he gripped the doorknob and pulled it open.
He hesitated for a heartbeat at the sight of his beloved wife laying on the bed, sweat coating her brow and a pained grimace tugging at her full lips. In another moment he was halfway across the room. “Darling, I’m here.”
“Marcus,” she said, her voice weak.
He lowered himself to the side of the mattress and took her hand in his.
The midwife peered at him. “You cannot be in here. It’s simply not done.”
“I’m afraid she’s right, My Lord. It isn’t proper at all.” The doctor raised one bushy eyebrow. “Please wait in the hall.”
Marcus turned the sternest glare he could muster on the pair. “Do not speak to me of propriety when my wife is suffering. Do what I am paying you to do and let me worry over the rest.” He turned back to Daphne and smoothed a hand through her tangled curls. “I won’t leave you.”
She gave a weak nod, then squeezed his hand as she closed her eyes together.
“Push,” the midwife instructed.
Marcus had hired both the midwife and doctor for extra measure. He wanted to ensure that whatever might happen, Daphne and his child would receive the best care. They were his world and he’d always do everything in his power to protect them.
Daphne’s grip on his hand loosened. Her breaths coming in pants, she dropped her head back to the pillow. “I’m tired. So, so tired.”
Marcus stroked his thumb over her cheek. “I’m sorry, Darling. Soon you can rest.” He leaned closer to her, bringing his mouth near her ear. “Be strong my love.”
The midwife poked her head up. “The babe is crowning. On the next pain, you push with all your might.”
“I can’t. I’m too weak.” Daphne’s voice whispered.
“Look at me," Marcus demanded as he nudged Daphne’s jaw. When her gaze met his, he smiled. “You can do this. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.” He kissed her forehead. “Do it for me.”
Daphne gnashed her teeth together and clutched his hand, a low pitched scream emanating from her lips as she gave a final push. Her face flamed with the effort, her shoulder’s shaking until she dropped back on the pillows.
“It’s a girl. Congratulations Lord and Lady Clarendon, you have a daughter.” The midwife hoisted the crying babe into the air.
The doctor rushed over to cut the babies cord. “Yes, congratulations.”
