Chapter Six

R oss paced the length and width of the bedchamber. He had never been so gripped by fear and dread in his entire life. With every pass, he glowered at the connecting door that led to what had once been Harmony's bedroom, wishing he could see through the solid oak barrier. "Miss Nettie—go in there and check on her. Please. I beg you."

Nettie floated even farther away from the door. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but I must refuse. Her Grace was most adamant that it would be ill luck indeed for the departed to be present while she brought new life into the world."

"Her Grace asked that we stay with you," Edgar told him, materializing enough to offer Ross a sparingly poured glass of whisky.

Ross held up the glass and eyed the depth of the golden liquid. "Rather a stingy pour, old man."

"One must keep one's wits about oneself at a time like this," Edgar advised.

"I suppose." Ross downed the drink, thumped the glass onto the dresser, then raked both hands through his hair. "If anything goes wrong—"

"Your Grace!" Nettie snapped. "Remember what Her Grace told you. Do not invite the bad into your presence by speaking or thinking of it. Concentrate on the good only. She is a wise woman, the duchess. Even the villagers feel she has put the Ramthwaite Curse to rest and brought the lands long-awaited joy."

"She is my heart." Ross went to the connecting door, placed his hand upon it, and bowed his head. "Protect her and the babe, I beg you," he prayed.

Leopold joined him, purring so loudly that the air almost vibrated with the sound.

A baby's enraged cry pealed through the rooms like the ringing of a joyous bell. Ross's heart leapt, and he whirled to face Edgar and Nettie. "A strong cry. Hear it? A strong, healthy cry."

Both the ghosts glowed a brighter white, joined hands, and spun in a circle.

"Congratulations, Your Grace," Edgar called out.

"I wonder if we have a little lord or a little lady?" Nettie said while still bouncing a happy jig.

"I must see them." Ross started for the door, but Leopold puffed up and hissed, blocking his way. "What the devil is wrong with you, old boy?" he asked the cat.

"You must wait, Your Grace," Nettie said as she swooped in to join the cat in front of the door. "They will come and get you once they get Her Grace and the baby settled."

Something about the shift in the color of Nettie's ghostly form sparked a return of Ross's fear and dread. "Are you saying something is wrong? This is what my grandfather went through when my father was born, wasn't it? Is history repeating itself? Is it?"

"Your Grace." Edgar stepped in, bumping Nettie aside with an apologetic tip of his head. "Only think of the good, remember? When you were born, it took some time for your mother to be ready to see your father. Bringing life into this world is no easy matter. A woman's strength is most admirable and much greater than they are given credit for."

"Why has the babe stopped crying?" Ross stepped through Nettie and the cat and pressed both hands on the door, battling the urge to kick it down and barge in to see about his wife and child.

"They do not cry constantly, Your Grace," Edgar said, hovering closer. "Do they, Nettie?" The uncertainty in the butler's voice was not consoling.

"Of course not." Nettie bumped him aside and materialized enough to rest her hand on Ross's, sending an eerie chill through him. "If they have swaddled the mite and tucked it in close to Her Grace, the child will be most happy and not cry."

The door opened, and Ross nearly fell forward and crashed into Effie.

She laughed as she caught hold of his arm and steadied him. "Have a care, Yer Grace. Dinna fall and hurt yerself. Yer wife and wee lassie are eager to see ye."

"Wee lassie," he repeated, rushing into the room to find Harmony propped among a multitude of pillows with a tiny bundle in her arms. Relief, joy, and an overwhelming sense of awe battled for control of him as he reached the side of the bed and gazed down at the little wonder peering up at him.

"We have a daughter?" he asked with quiet reverence.

"Aye, my love," Harmony answered, sounding weary but happy. She patted the spot beside her. "Sit with us. I am sure she is anxious to meet her da. After all, ye have sung to her all these many months."

"I do not wish to cause you pain by jostling you." He touched her cheek and lost himself in her blue-eyed gaze. "I was so afraid for you. So afraid—"

"Shh…" She pressed a finger across his lips. "I am fine, and so is our daughter. Be thankful and joyous and sit with us." She arched a brow. "Ye willna cause me near the pain wee Elizabeth did—I grant ye that."

He settled next to her. An overwhelming thankfulness filled him as he touched the babe's velvety cheek. "Elizabeth. I like that." He cupped her tiny head in his palm. "So small yet so perfect. And she has your blue eyes."

"Most new ones have eyes that shade. We shall see if they change." Harmony handed him his daughter. "Mind her head and neck. Dinna let her bobble."

The infant squirmed and grunted, making him hold her as gingerly as if she were made of the most fragile porcelain.

Harmony laughed and nudged him. "Relax and cradle her close. She needs to feel yer warmth and get a good whiff of her da's scent. Bairns are like wee beasties, getting to know us first by our smell."

"How do you know so much about babies?" he whispered as he kissed his daughter's forehead.

"I come from a large family, remember?" She leaned back, nestling deeper into the pillows. "Ye are not disappointed, are ye?"

Her question shocked him. "Disappointed? Why on earth would I be disappointed?" He shook his head in wonderment, unable to take his eyes off his precious daughter. "The love of my life is alive and well and just gifted me with a priceless treasure—a perfect, healthy child."

"Aye, but I know ye wanted a son."

He leaned over and kissed her. "I have the two of you. To be disappointed would be rude, ungrateful, and terribly wrong. I love you, my precious Scot—more than anything. And you could never disappoint me. Not ever."

She smiled at him with so much love and contentment that his heart swelled into his throat.

"I love you, my Englishman," she said, "more than ye will ever know."