Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

W hat was wrong with the man? Charlotte stared at Simon's absolute expression of terror. One would think he was the one about to become a father—or even the one to give birth.

Ha! She couldn't restrain the smile demanding to make an entrance.

"This is not funny!" he said through gritted teeth.

He was right, of course. "Come! We must see if we can be of use."

As she edged past him, he grasped her wrist. "Wait. You're much too put together. Take your hair down."

"What? This is not the time to think of ourselves."

"Do you want my parents to believe this sham or not? Do you even care? They are good people. Whatever your feelings for me, I'm asking you to consider them."

She wrenched her arm from his grasp. After marching back into the room, she quickly pulled the pins from her hair, letting it fall in messy waves against her back and shoulders.

"There," she said. "For your family." Still, when his gaze raked over her, her mind drifted back to the feel of his lips on her wrist, and her heart raced.

Unfettered, she strode past him and followed the sounds of excited voices. A cluster of people—footmen, maids, and Simon's father—gathered outside the ducal bedchamber in the far wing.

Memories of her mother came flooding back. The difficult birth and the death of both mother and child. "Isn't it too soon?" Charlotte asked, a wave of fear tightening her lungs. She shouldn't have been so quick to judge Simon.

Mr. Beckham took her hands in his. "Babies come when they wish. My wife said it may be due to all the excitement Her Grace has gone through these past days." His eyes held a note of apology that Charlotte's rushed wedding played a part in Honoria's distress.

Simon appeared at her side. "Did someone send for a doctor?"

Mr. Beckham nodded. "His Grace sent word for someone named Ashton. I presume he's a physician."

Simon's eyes glazed over. He swayed, and if Charlotte hadn't spent the last four hours in his presence, she would swear he was foxed. "Where's Drake?"

Inclining his head toward the closed door, Mr. Beckham said, "Inside. Although I expect your mother will throw him out at any moment."

A moan, starting low and growing in intensity, reverberated through the walls into the hallway. The door opened, and as if fulfilling Mr. Beckham's prediction, Mrs. Beckham pushed Burwood from the room.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace, but you should wait outside. You're upsetting Her Grace." She closed the door with a firm click .

Poor Drake. At the moment, she couldn't think of him as the duke. Only a man who dearly loved his wife and worried for her safety and that of his child. His eyes were haunted, like a cornered animal, wanting to fight but not knowing exactly how .

Charlotte understood that feeling. "Your Grace. Drake." She touched him on the sleeve, and his gaze lifted to hers, pleading and frantic. "May I see her?"

The weak smile he offered didn't meet his eyes. "I think she'd like that. She didn't want to bother you, all things considered." His gaze shot to Simon, and like Mr. Beckham's, it held an apology.

"Simon," she said to her husband. "Take care of him."

The dolt gave a wooden nod.

Men!

When Charlotte stepped into the room, Mrs. Beckman gazed up from where she was wiping Honoria's brow and motioned her over. "Look who's here, Your Grace."

Unlike Honoria, Charlotte wasn't adept at providing soothing and reassuring words. Losing her mother at a young age had deprived Charlotte of a nurturing example, and she had no natural instinct for mothering. Oh, she would fight to the death to defend those she loved, but offering comfort was a foreign task. She thought back to when Anne's recklessness had resulted in a horrible fall the previous year. Honoria had held the ninnyhammer's hand and stroked her forehead.

So she took Honoria's outstretched hand. "How are you feeling?" Drat. What a stupid question!

However, Honoria either didn't notice or didn't care. Which didn't surprise Charlotte. "It's not so terribly bad. There is rest in between the spasms. I'm sorry to interrupt your wedding day."

"Nonsense," Charlotte said and meant it. "I'm grateful the attention is on someone else instead of me."

Honoria gave a weak laugh. "That sounds like something I would say."

"I learned from the best." Charlotte stroked Honoria's hair. "The duke will be here soon."

Mrs. Beckham's gaze shot to Charlotte. "I just shooed him out. "

"The other duke. Ashton is a physician, but he's also a duke."

With a chuckle, Mrs. Beckham said, "The best for the best. You are all the oddest group of nobles I've ever met." As if realizing how her statement might appear, the woman's face whitened, and her eyes locked on Charlotte's. "I didn't mean any disrespect."

Charlotte shook her head. "None taken, Mrs. Beckham."

"Perhaps you might call me Judith, or someday, Mother."

Aware how Honoria watched her with Mrs. Beckham—Judith—her green eyes shining with interest, Charlotte forced a smile. "Of course, Judith. I should be honored. Although I pray you will give me time to call you Mother."

Beatific peacefulness shone on Honoria's face. She actually radiated beauty. "I'm so glad you have a loving family now."

A strand of Charlotte's hair swung loose, and Honoria grasped the end with her fingers. "Your hair looks lovely like this. Now I understand why Drake likes mine down." She smiled shyly. "Is all going well with Simon?"

Charlotte grappled for an answer—especially with her mother-in-law present.

Unexpectedly, Honoria's grip on Charlotte's hand became crushing. Pain contorted her face as she lifted her head and cried out. "Oh, here's another one!"

"Breathe through it, Your Grace. Deep breath in and blow out."

"Honoria," Honoria said through her moans of pain. "Not. A time. For. Formalities."

Something tight and uncomfortable rose in Charlotte's throat. Is this why Simon appeared so terrified? Having five younger sisters, he had probably heard his own mother's cries from the pain of childbirth. But panic and terror wouldn't help Honoria.

"You can do this, Honoria. You're one of the strongest people I know." Charlotte bit her lip as Honoria continued her vise-like grip on her hand. At last the episode seemed to pass, and Honoria released the pressure on Charlotte's fingers.

Mrs. Beckham wiped Honoria's forehead with a wet cloth. "That was a strong one. You're getting close."

Charlotte knew little about giving birth, but she'd heard it could take many hours, sometimes a whole day. "Is that normal? She was fine this morning at the wedding."

Honoria's chagrined expression said otherwise. "I didn't want to upset anyone."

If they had been alone, Charlotte might have told her that it would have been a blessing to have her wedding interrupted and postponed. Instead she remained silent and sent her friend a censorious, but gentle shake of her head.

After a sharp knock, the door opened, and Ashton poked his head inside. "May I come in?"

"Ashton," Charlotte said and silently added, Thank God.

"Your Grace." Mrs. Beckham curtsied.

"No offense, madam, but we don't have time for frivolous courtesies. If you would both excuse me while I examine my patient."

As he ushered them from the room, Charlotte grabbed his arm. "I know you and my brother Nash had your difficulties, but I'm begging you as Honoria's friend, please make sure she survives."

He patted her hand. "Nash and I have mended things. And rest assured, Lady Charlotte. Women have given birth for eons. I will give her the best care possible."

In the hall, she locked eyes with Simon, somehow now sharing his fear.

Because Honoria wasn't simply any woman.

Simon had practically worn a path in the carpet, walking in circles outside Honoria's room.

"Will you stop. You're making me more nervous." Drake ran a hand through his hair. "Thank God, Ashton is here."

"Get used to it, son." His father chuckled.

Simon wasn't sure if he addressed him or Drake. Perhaps both of them. But unlike Drake—who most certainly would have a houseful of children—at the rate Simon was progressing with Charlotte, he would be lucky to produce one.

But he had made a little leeway before the commotion began, hadn't he? Charlotte certainly responded to the kiss on her wrist.

The door opened, and his mother and Charlotte emerged, then closed the door behind them. His gaze snagged with Charlotte's, and the panic taking hold of him expanded in his chest.

Drake spun around. "Why can't I go in?" He took three steps toward the door, and Simon grabbed his arm, holding him back.

"Ashton will let us know how she is." At least Simon hoped so. His mother always had midwives, who had been less than forthcoming, always complaining men had no place in the birthing room. His mother seemed to agree.

And as much as Simon would be paralyzed to be in a room with a woman giving birth, he understood Drake's frustration, wanting to be with his wife.

Because Drake loved her.

The door opened, and Ashton stepped through, closing the door behind him.

Drake shook himself from Simon's grasp. "How is she?" The terror in his friend's voice cut through Simon like a blade.

"She's doing remarkably well. She's been having pains since last night. At first she didn't understand what they were."

"She stood up to use the necessary and, well—" Drake blushed. "She didn't make it."

"That was her waters, Drake. All quite normal. It won't be too long now. Would you like to come in and watch your child be born?"

Simon imagined his shocked expression mirrored everyone's around him.

His mother said, "Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but is that wise?"

Ashton chuckled. Actually chuckled. At such a time? "I have delivered my own children. If Drake can remain calm and supportive, Honoria has asked that he be by her side so they can share this together."

Drake didn't hesitate and stepped toward the door.

Simon's world started crumbling around him. He'd expected to keep Drake occupied while they waited. Selfish though it was, at least it would give him something to do. But without a task, an objective, he felt rudderless, sinking into a mire of inactivity. He would drown.

Hand on the doorknob, Drake turned toward him. "Go. You don't have to wait. I'll be all right. Occupy yourself. Otherwise you'll go mad."

Oh, how his friend knew him, and he vowed he would repay him in full measure someday.

Until that moment, no one had commented on his or Charlotte's disheveled appearances. But as Ashton paused before following Drake into the chamber of horrors, his gaze bounced between the newly married couple. "I understand felicitations are in order. If nothing else, Mr. Beckham, you will have another reminder of your wedding date." With that, he stepped inside and closed the door, shutting out a renewed cry from Honoria.

Simon wanted to jump out of his skin. Every inch prickled at the sounds of pain. "Can we at least go somewhere else?"

Charlotte motioned with her arms as if gathering a group of lost ducklings. "Why don't we all go to the drawing room? I'll tell Frampton to prepare some refreshment. Mr. Beckham, you drink coffee, is that correct? "

Simon's head jerked toward her. She'd noticed his father's preference?

"I do, my dear."

"And the girls," Charlotte continued. "Where are they?"

"In the music room," his mother said, admiration shining in her eyes.

Simon concurred. His wife had taken charge of the situation.

"Even better than the drawing room," Charlotte said. "We shall bring the young heir into the world to some lovely music. Do the girls play?"

At that point, the conversation became a buzz around him, indistinct, but calming words, and he followed his family to the music room.

He lasted all of forty minutes. Each time there was a lull in the music—which varied from exquisite when Charlotte played to clumsy and headache-inducing when Georgie pounded at the piano's keys—Honoria's screams broke through the silence.

How could Drake stand it? Torture. Unmitigated on-the-rack torture. Tightness clamped his chest. He had to get out of there. Rain pounded against the pavement and lawn outside, and he wanted nothing more than to be out there, soaked to the skin and washed clean of the helplessness gripping him.

Someone touched his arm—gently, but he still jumped.

Charlotte's dark eyes met his. He expected derision, contempt, or, at the very least, castigation. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. Could it be compassion and understanding shining in those brown depths?

Wonder of wonders.

"Your father shared stories of your boyhood with me this morning. I sense your restlessness and need to be doing something. There's nothing here for you to do. Go. Busy yourself however you choose." Her voice cracked at the last two words.

Or was that his imagination? Open-mouthed, he gaped at the mere idea she was encouraging him to leave while everyone else waited patiently.

"Even Drake said so. And he knows you better than I do."

He grasped her hands and squeezed. "You're sure?"

She nodded. "Just promise me one thing."

At that moment, he would promise her the moon if it meant he could rid himself of the situation. "What?"

"Be discreet."

Oh. Oooh. "I won't do what you're thinking. Especially not on our wedding day. And when I told you I would not seek out other women, I meant it."

"Thank you," she said, but something in her eyes said she didn't quite believe him.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise." He made quick apologies to his family, with his mother sending him the look that made him feel like he was ten years old. Then he bounded up the stairs, two at a time. After buttoning his waistcoat, hastily tying his neckcloth, and slipping on his coat, he raced downstairs and ordered a carriage brought around.

Rain pelted his hat as he climbed inside.

But at least he could breathe again.