This isn’t tea, for God’s sake.
She yelled out as something excruciating began happening.
“Push, madam, push hard. Your babies are ready to be born.”
She pushed.
And pushed.
And cried.
And moaned and breathed and endured each pain. But nothing was happening. How long could this continue? Why were her babies not coming out? She was growing weary. She could hardly lift her head and her best efforts weren’t nearly as enthusiastic as they’d been before.
Abigail held her and spoke steady encouraging words near her ears. Rose held her hand, helped her to change positions, and wiped her face with a cool rag.
The room was stifling. She couldn’t seem to get enough air.
Penelope pushed and cried and then collapsed again.
“Position her on her back,” the doctor ordered Abigail. And then both Rose and Abigail assisted her to lay back on the bed. This was so very uncomfortable. Breathing became even more difficult. When she resisted, masculine hands pushed her back. “Hold her still, ladies. If necessary, we will use restraints.”
God help me!
Penelope moaned and turned her head from side to side. Abigail was there beside her, but there was a great concern in her voice now. “For the babies, love, for the babies,” she whispered.
A cold metal instrument was inserted inside of her. Penelope screamed.
Chapter 27
Hugh was forced to wait nearly thirty-six hours before the rain let up. And after that, the roads not washed out promised to be waterlogged and muddy. Entire bridges, they’d heard, had been taken out. But Hugh was growing frantic. He’d been away from home for nearly an entire month! When he announced to his hosts that he could wait no longer, Cortland nodded toward his duchess and ordered both of their horses to be readied.
Lilly stepped forward, one arm holding the child who had inspired Penelope to come to him in such a crazy, inspired, desperate move.
She was the perfect duchess for Cortland. Her platinum hair was pulled back into an elegant knot, her golden eyes glowed in encouragement. “Penelope will forgive you, Hugh. You must love her and love her and then love her some more. And then, she will be everything you ever wanted. Don’t allow pride or sorrow to take away the joy you both deserve.” Her Grace, Lilly Redmond, was not only a duchess. She was woman, mother, and friend. She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Be safe and send my husband back to me soon.”
She would not allow her husband to send his friend off alone.
* * *
As wisdom had predicted, the first few days of travel netted them barely enough miles for it to have been worth their troubles. Hugh kept waiting for Cortland to halt and announce his intent to return to Summer’s Park, but his good friend determinedly marched alongside Hugh the entire time. For the first two days were spent on foot, pulling and tugging their mounts behind them.
Hugh would not have stopped at all, at night even, if it had not been for the sheer exhaustion that set in each evening.
Cortland remained at his side.
Finally, on the afternoon of the third day, the sun shone brightly, and the roads dried up enough so that they could ride for long periods of time without putting the horses and themselves at risk. It was tempting to push the animals harder than they ought to, but Hugh knew that would serve no good purpose in the end.
But he was a man possessed as he rode toward his wife and unborn children. Or would they already have been born? And if they had been, were they well? Did they live? Did Penelope yet live? A stabbing sensation pierced his heart at such a thought. A woman’s lot was a dangerous one. And Penelope had two children to deliver into this world. What an ass he’d been! He was a bastard; a pigheaded, egotistical, arrogant fool. He chastised himself inwardly for most of the journey.
As they maneuvered through one particularly boggy area, Cortland spoke of the trials he and Lilly had gone through. It only comforted him in that he would realize that perhaps not only he, but all men, were inferior to women.
And then late on the fourth day, as they finally drew near to Land’s End, two riders met them on the road. One of them had an air about him, cool, distant, noble. The other wore livery.
The Duke of Monfort and one of his servants. If the duke had been at Morrow Point, that meant Penelope was not alone with her mother. She was with her cousin, Abigail.
Hugh swallowed hard and met the man’s eyes. He saw no judgment there, but a seriousness that could only mean one thing. “She began laboring yesterday morning,” the duke said. “She has asked for you.”
They were still maybe twenty miles away. Hugh nodded and took off at a breakneck pace. They’d only stopped to sleep for a few hours each night, at Cortland’s insistence, but Hugh was wide awake.
