“In what way?”
“I cannot betray his confidence.”
“For goodness’ sake, Miss Jenner. I am his employer.”
She turned to look at him, her lovely eyes questioning. “Would you or Williams not have asked those questions when he applied for the position?”
“We direly needed a cook. And to his credit, he’s proved a more than capable one.”
She crossed her arms over the basket. “Then surely, there is no more to be said.”
Recognizing the obstinate set of her chin, Dominic turned his attention to guiding the horses through the gate. “You are an infuriating woman,” he observed, bringing the curricle to a stop before the house.
She merely arched her brows.
Hmm. Innocent, he thought darkly. But loyal, he had to admit, as he jumped down and went to assist her. He took the basket and bag from her, Graves anxiously waiting on the small porch.
“Miss Jenner, thank you for coming.” Graves led them inside. “Mary will be so pleased to see you.” He shrugged. “A man feels so helpless in these matters.”
“Try not to worry, Mr. Graves.” She disappeared into the bedchamber with Graves, where his wife moaned in pain.
The distressing sound sent a chill through Dominic. Women died in childbirth, even those from the wealthiest families. Even Princess Charlotte, the Prince of Wales’s daughter.
“The doctor will be on his way,” he reassured Graves when he came out again.
Dominic left the house and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the curricle. He held it up for Graves’s approval. “A shot will give you much needed energy.”
“Kind of you, milord. I’ll get some glasses.”
Graves returned and held them out with a shaky hand. Dominic poured three fingers full and handed it to him. The farmer tossed it down and coughed.
The jingle of the trap heralded the doctor’s arrival. Doctor Manners strode in with his bag.
“I want to make it clear, Doctor. Mary must survive if it comes to a choice,” Graves said in an anguished voice.
Manners put a hand on his arm. “I’ll do my best to save them both.” He disappeared into the bedchamber and shut the door.
Graves continued pacing.
The murmuring voices and Mary’s sharp cries continued as the sun moved high in the sky.
The midwife, Mrs. Crandle, emerged, her face creased with worry. “I did my best, Mr. Graves. I can do no more.”
Graves halted in his restless stride. He dug some coins out of a jar and handed them to her. “I know you did. Mary and I are grateful.”
Surprised to see the woman go, Dominic wondered if Manners preferred Olivia to assist him. An hour passed; Dominic suggested leaving, but Graves begged him to stay. Graves gave up pacing and threw himself into a chair. When Mary’s cries grew more frantic, he hid his face in his hands.
It didn’t surprise Dominic Graves loved his wife or that she meant everything to him. It had been that way with his parents. But sometimes, in the world he came from, with an heir being of such importance, a baby’s life took precedence over the mother’s. It shamed him to think of it. Rattled, he wished he could do more.
A baby’s cry brought Graves to his feet.
He stared at Dominic, not really seeing him, joy mixed with anxiety in his watery blue eyes.
Several tense minutes passed until the door opened. Olivia carried a bundle Dominic thought at first was linen until it howled. “Mary needs you, Mr. Graves. But first, you must see your son.”
Graves gasped as he pulled back the swaddling blanket to view what Dominic considered a tiny wizened face like a red turnip. Judging by his lusty cry, the babe seemed none the worse for his prolonged birth.
Graves was unashamedly sobbing as he hurried into the bedchamber.
