Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Four months later

Garmon paced to the parlour window and back for the umpteenth time, his ears straining for any tell-tale sounds from above. His nerves were strung tighter than a harp string and if something didn’t happen soon, he would not be responsible for the consequences. The tension was unbearable.

He turned and almost ran into Seb who shoved a refilled glass of whisky at him. “Here,” he said with a sympathetic smile.

He took the glass, his third in as many hours and sipped the fine malt brew. It didn’t seem right to get sotted while his wife suffered all the pain, but his own internal terror needed something to sooth the clawing panic inside him.

The doctor and the midwife had both explained to him that it could be hours before anything happened, which he well knew from his days living in the brothel. But recalling those days didn’t help his anxiety as he also knew firsthand some of the things that could go wrong.

He had spent the day putting up new shelves in the cellar and unloading and doing a full inventory of the new order that arrived that afternoon. Having run out of distracting tasks he was reduced to pacing and sipping whisky in a vain attempt to stop his world from flying apart. How did other men stand it? The helplessness. The waiting. The worry and the risk.

He had never thought himself risk averse before this. But he realised with a sickening sense of horror, he had never had anything he really feared losing before. The truth was if he lost Genevra and the child she struggled to bear, he didn’t know how he would survive it. The thought of losing either or both rendered him a gibbering mess on the inside.

He glanced at the clock. It had been over twelve hours of torture now, surely it couldn’t be much longer? A sudden loud shriek from above stairs, brought him to a standstill, panic seizing his bones.

He flung the whisky glass aside and strode to the door, wrenching it open and running to the foot of the stairs. ‘What is wrong?” he bellowed unable to contain his anxiety any longer, he set a foot on the stair and stopped halfway up as Beth appeared at the top of the flight. Her hair hung in wisps about her flush and shiny face. Behind him Sebastian bracketed the stairs.

“The mid-wife says the baby’s head is crowning.” Her words were almost drowned out by another agonising shriek.

Garmon gripped the banister and tried to breathe. “Is she alright?”

Beth nodded. “The mid-wife says she’s doing well. It won’t be long now.”

Garmon swallowed, his legs feeling weak from the sudden loss of tension. He staggered backwards and felt Sebastian’s steady hand at his back.

Beth returned to the bedchamber and Garmon clung to the banister rail, listening to the sounds coming from behind the door. A groaning noise was followed by silence, and then the blessed sound of a baby’s wail brought tears to his eyes, as he turned to Sebastian and hugged him blindly.

He then staggered up the steps to the top and knocked on the door.

He wiped his face and sniffed, his voice croaky as he asked, “Can I see my wife?”

“Just a minute!”

Garmon ignored that and pushed the door open. The room was warm with a fug of blood and bodily fluids. Genevra lay back against the pillows, her hair lank and damp, her skin sheened with sweat. In her arms was a swaddled bundle absorbing all her attention.

Beth had a bundle of bloodied sheets in her hands and the mid-wife glowered at him as he crossed the room to Genevra’s side.

“We’ve the placenta to deal with yet, Mr Lovell, you shouldn’t be in here.”

He ignored her, his whole attention on Genevra and that bundle.

“Gennie,” he said softly, dropping to his knees by the bed.

She looked up at him, a weary smile lighting her eyes. “Isn’t she beautiful?” she whispered.

Garmon swallowed the lump in his throat. A girl! His daughter. He took in the pink crumpled face and tiny perfect fingers curled near her rosebud mouth.

“Perfect,” he breathed and kissed his wife’s hair. “My perfect girls.”

Genevra gasped, her body tensing and the mid-wife said sharply, “the placenta! Out Mr Lovell, now!” He opened his mouth to protest at being evicted, but caught Genevra’s eye. She shook her head and motioned for him to leave, so he rose to his feet as Beth swooped in to take the babe from Genevra and followed him out into the hallway shutting the door behind her.

“Do you want to hold her?” she said with a beaming smile.

Seb hovered in the background and Garmon took the little precious bundle from Beth gingerly. It had been many years since he had held an infant, but he’d been no stranger to it or the birthing room in his days at the brothel. Amazing how it all came back to him.

He held his daughter in his hands, her tiny form swaddled in the white blanket and as she stared up at him sleepy and solemn, he felt his heart leave his chest. This tiny thing had reached in and grabbed it with her small fists and would never let go.

A little while later he was allowed back into the bedchamber and set his daughter in his wife’s waiting arms. Genevra looked a bit less dishevelled and grinned at him in triumph.

They had discussed names, but not settled on anything firmly. He sank onto the chair by the bed and took her hand and kissed it, one finger tracing the soft skin of his daughter’s cheek, unable to tear his eyes away from her mesmerising beauty.

“Elizabeth Mary Beth,” said Genevra.

He nodded and smiled. “Thank you, my darling, for this wonderful and most precious gift. She is a treasure.” He smiled at his daughter and whispered, “My darling Lizzie you will want for nothing, I promise to dedicate all the days of my life to your protection and happiness.”

Genevra sighed and settled back against the pillows, squeezing his hand. “I am so happy Garmon.”

“I am too.” He said and kissed her hair, smoothing a lock behind her ear.

“Perhaps next time it will be a boy?” She murmured.

Garmon wasn’t sure he could survive a next time but kept his misgivings to himself. “If she is our only blessing it will be enough Gennie.”

Genevra squeezed his hand, and he knew his cup was entirely full.

* * *

6th of June 1815

“Sleeping beauty is awake!” the husky feminine voice cut through the pain in his head like a razor blade. “Better let the captain know.”

Connor’s head was pounding worse than any hangover he had ever had, and his stomach was rolling ominously. I must have tied one on severely last night? He cracked an eyelid and blinked, his eyes watering as sunlight hit them with blinding force. He closed them quickly and groaned, making a second discovery, his limbs were confined by ropes, tying his hands and legs together in front of him and forcing his knees up near his chest.

He was lying on something hard and a strong smell of salt, fish and something rotten assailed his nostrils, making his stomach heave.

“Oh, there he goes!” said another female voice as he rolled onto his knees and vomited. “You’ll have to clean that up mate, you realise!” his tormentor chastised. But he was too miserable to care. He just wanted to die. He would never drink again. Never again I swear!

His stomach stopped heaving, and he rolled back onto his side away from the mess.

“Hey Dev, bring a bucket and mop, better get this cleaned up before the captain arrives.”

Connor ignored the activity around him, preoccupied with his stomach and the state of his head. Vaguely it occurred to him to wonder why he was tied up and why his tormentors appeared to all be female, perhaps he was in a whore house?

The End

To findout what happened to Connor look out for Book 4 of the Villain’s Redemption Series Seducing the Sea Devil.

Beth and Sebastian’sstory can be found in Book 3.5 Saving Mr Rooke.