“You don’t believe so?”
“No, it’s probably a sign of indigestion. Perhaps you should chew a piece of ginger root.”
Balfour laughed and then sobered, placing a hand on Hippocrates’s neck. “There was another baby who died. In Fullbourne. The mother lived.”
Ned knew the Fullbourne midwife, a competent woman named Liza Dearman. If she wasn’t so far away, he would have recommended Mrs. Dearman for Kate.
“Is this what was wrong with Kate tonight?”
“The news weighs on both of us. Kate is concerned her body is too old. She doesn’t want to fail the baby. But here is the truth, Thurlowe. If it comes down to choosing between my wife or this child, save my wife. I can’t live without Kate. Ifthere is a choice to be made, I wish you to make the right one. Do you understand me?”
He did. He also knew that if that moment of decision came, so little would be in his hands. “Stop fearing the worst. Have faith, man.”
“I don’t let Kate see my concerns. Unless I’m dreaming.”
Or so he thought.
Ned was now convinced that the secret worries the Balfours were keeping from each other explained Kate’s paleness and lack of appetite.
“Childbirth is not easy,” Ned cautioned his friend. “However, I will do everything in my power to seebothmother and babe through. You have my word.”
It was a promise Ned had made to Balfour many times before, and one he knew he might not be able to keep.
Fortunately, his friend was mollified. “Thank you. I know you will do everything in your power. Still, I needed you to know how I feel.”
“Duly noted,” Ned answered, taking the reins and mounting. “I’ll see you on the morrow. And thank you for the good hospitality tonight. I needed it.” With a wave, he and Hippocrates were off.
As he rode home in the dark, the horse knowing the way, Ned mulled over the weight of what he’d promised his friend. Humans were surprisingly fragile creatures, especially in childbirth. He was sorry that the Balfours had heard of thedeaths in Thorpton and Fullbourne. The mothers had been young. He understood why Kate was nervous.
And there was no escaping the fact that Balfour would blame Ned if something happened, even if he did all he could.
Ned tried to imagine himself in such a fevered state over a woman, and failed. He tried to personalize the image and picture himself beside Clarissa Taylor. He couldn’t. He never could—
Until... A childhood memory, one he hadn’t realized was closeted in his mind, flew to the forefront.
Therehad beena woman he had cared for so deeply he’d been inconsolable when she’d died.
He’d been about four. Her death was the reason his father finally came for him.
Ned couldn’t remember her name but she’d been important to him. He could also recall her consumptive cough. That rattling, hacking sound had been common in the back rooms of the brothel where he’d been raised up to that date.
The girl had not been his mother. Sarah Middleton was alive and quite well in London, fleecing her lovers.
No, this girl might have been a scullery maid. She’d given him food and at night, he’d shared her pallet. He’d listened to her when she’d scolded him and he had trusted her.
In the dark shadows of the road, he could recall the sounds of adults talking over his head. Their voices echoed in his mind, and then his father, aman he’d never seen before, had appeared. He’d picked Ned up by one arm and dragged him out of the house. He’d taken Ned to his big home and given him a bed to sleep in and the praying nurse to watch over him. She was the first of several until he was sent off to school a year or two later.
However, no one had ever cared for him like the nameless girl.
Certainly, his mother had never given two thoughts toward him.
And it was good Ned had been taken away. His father had seen to his education and had corresponded with him from time to time. What more could a father do for a bastard child? Ned had learned not to mind.
After all, his background was somewhat unusual but hardly unconventional. Besides, he had standing in a community and was to marry a lovely woman, even if he couldn’t picture himself beside her or her carrying his child.
They had reached the village. All was dark and at peace.
In a few minutes they would be home. Hippocrates had already picked up his pace. He knew better than to start trotting, except tonight Ned found himself ready to be home, as well. He might let the horse continue to have his head—
