Captain Durant's Countess(54)

“What are you saying, Maris?”

“I’m going to marry you—if you’ll still have me. I must talk to Mr. Woodley about the legalities, but I believe any child born into wedlock will be acknowledged to be my husband’s, no matter how brief the marriage. We can raise our child together, Reyn. No more deceit. Henry would have liked Peter, I’m sure of it. If he’s managed to remain as pure as he has with that harpy for a mother, we can only imagine how well he’ll turn out with some schooling and Mr. Woodley looking out for his interests.”

“What about David?”

Maris shrugged. “He may rise to the occasion. If not, how much harm can he do? He should have his hands full keeping his wife under control. Poor man.”

Reyn sat beside her and took her hand. “I disagree. How can you feel any sympathy for him? A secret marriage? Deserting his own child all these years?”

“Exactly. One should never desert a child. That was your concern all along, wasn’t it? Why you didn’t want to follow through with Henry’s plan.”

“At first. But now there is the small matter that I fell in love with you and can’t bear to think of living without you.”

She looked up at him, her eyes damp. Damn, but her tears always slayed him. “You won’t have to.”

“Are you sure, Maris?”

“Oh so very.”

Kissing her seemed the right thing to do. The only thing to do. They were to be married, after all, and if anyone saw them through the ornate iron fence, what did it matter? Reyn touched his lips to hers and was lost.

It was all too good—the kiss, the weather, the neat solution to their dilemma. But he had never been one to look for trouble. It had usually found him . . . if he waited long enough, anyway. If Maris thought she could leave her old life behind and marry him, he wouldn’t try to talk her out of it.

Or talk to her at all—just kiss—although, to be honest, there was nothing just about it.





First Epilogue


September 1821

“I cannot bear it. How can she?”

“Now, Captain Durant, your wife is doing beautifully.” The midwife, Mrs. Lynch, handed him a clean damp cloth.

Reyn had lost count of how many clean damp cloths she’d given him over the past twenty hours.

“If you are to remain—it is most indecent of you, really, although it seems Mrs. Durant wants you, though why she does is anyone’s guess as you’ve done your part already and gotten us all into this mess—you must put a smile on your face and wipe hers.”

Reyn gave it his best shot, which was more grimace than smile.

“Not like that. You look like you’ve eaten something nasty. Be brave for the lass as she’s been brave for you.”

After a career in the army, Reyn had thought he knew what bravery was, but he had been mistaken. Maris was braver than anyone. After almost a day’s labor, the baby was not slipping into the world easily, despite Mrs. Lynch’s efforts.

There was a reason men were barred from their wives’ side at such a time. A reason they drank themselves into a brandified stupor waiting downstairs after listening to the wailing from above. Maris had done her share of wailing, and each cry had pierced Reyn’s heart.

“We should send for Dr. Crandall,” Reyn whispered as he blotted Maris’s brow. Her eyes were closed and she was white as the sheets she lay on, her brown braid soaked. She had given up screaming some time ago and was silent. He thought he much preferred the screams.

“Too far. He’ll never get here in time. It really won’t be long now.”

“Dr. Sherman, then.”

Mrs. Lynch tsked. “The man’s a drunkard. Be patient, Captain. There’s my girl. I think we’ll get you up to walk again, my dear. How does that sound?”

Maris’s bloodless lips barely moved in response. “Whatever you think best.”

“Lean on that strong, handsome husband of yours. Well done, dear. Just to the chair and back. And again. And again.”

Reyn felt as if they were marching back and forth to their doom. His wife slumped against him, her body shaking, each step a massive effort. He had never felt so useless. If this child was ever born, he’d never touch her again.

“It will be easier with the next baby,” Maris said, causing Reyn to stumble.

“Planning a large family, are you?” Mrs. Lynch asked.

“Yes.”

“No!” Reyn growled.

“At least one more after this. We wouldn’t want him or her to get lonely.” Maris gave him a watery smile.

“You are impossible, wife.”

“So you have told me. Oh! Oh!”

Reyn panicked at her sharp intake of breath, but Mrs. Lynch smiled. “Ah, well done, Mrs. Durant. We’ve started up again. Just a few more turns around the room and I’ll have you get back into the bed and sit up. Captain, plump those pillows and give her your hand to squeeze. Don’t be surprised if she breaks some bones, and anyway, you have another hand, don’t you?”

Reyn shut his eyes so he wouldn’t see Maris’s mouth twist in pain. The contractions were steady now, and very close together. Maris went back to groaning, then screaming. Mrs. Lynch murmured encouraging words, directing Betsy, who had been making herself small in a corner of the bedroom, to help her.

He would never forgive himself if something happened to his wife.

They had been married by special license by Mr. Swift, who was somewhere downstairs with Ginny and Miss Holley, probably not partaking of any brandy while they waited. It had been a quiet wedding in the gated garden of Hazel Grange, with only their servants and his sister as witnesses. Neither Reyn nor Maris cared what the neighbors had thought of the sudden, scandalous union. In time, the gossip would die down and people might even forget that Maris was ever a countess.

Reyn had no idea yet what they’d tell a son or daughter. He only hoped he’d be equal to the task once the time was right.

The Durants had decided to make their home at Hazel Grange. Once Ginny was married to her vicar, the Swifts were welcome to live at Merrywood, if they could stand the comings and goings of horses and foals at all hours.

What had Reyn been thinking of, volunteering for this duty? Just because he’d delivered a few foals did not make him an expert. But Maris had implored him, her eyes huge and wet. He had never been able to resist her tears, not from the first day he met her.

“Lovely, my dear, just lovely. Give a push now, there’s a good girl. Yes, just like that. Isn’t she doing a splendid job, Captain?”

“Splendid.” Reyn felt light-headed.

“Look there. The babe’s crowning, Captain.”

Reyn was used to following orders, but he was very much afraid the sight of the coming child would be his undoing. Instead, he looked at his wife. “I love you, Maris.”

“And . . . I . . . you . . . oh!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Reyn saw something dark and bloody slither onto the bed. His heart stopped.

“Reyn, you are hurting my hand.”

Mrs. Lynch moved her hand over Maris’s stomach. “Betsy, the twine and scissors, if you please. You have a pretty little girl, Mrs. Durant. Just one more hard push and we’ll have the placenta out and your baby ready for you to hold. Isn’t she sweet, Captain?”

His daughter made a tiny snuffling sound. Reyn thought babies were supposed to be slapped across their buttocks so they would give a lusty cry. This little scrap looked barely alive.

“Is she all right?” Reyn croaked.

“Of course she is. They both are. Buck up, sir. You’re white as a ghost.”

There was more blood and mess. Reyn had been in battle countless times, but nothing had prepared him for this. Mrs. Lynch massaged the umbilical cord until she was satisfied, then tied it in two places and snipped between them. She gave the baby to Betsy to clean and wrap up while she tended to Maris. A lifetime seemed to pass before his child made her presence known, objecting to Betsy’s ministrations.

“A daughter. Jane. I’m so glad, Reyn.”

He was, too. There would always have been some lingering regret and confusion if Maris had born a son.

“You’ll have your boy next time.” Mrs. Lynch winked at him, and Reyn decided it would be most improper to strike her. To have Maris go through all this again was simply not to be imagined.

“Here she is, my lady.” Betsy was beaming. According to her, she’d helped her mam with several confinements and knew all about babies.

Reyn watched as Jane nestled into the crook of Maris’s arm.

“The wet nurse is downstairs, I expect,” Mrs. Lynch said.

“She is, but I’d like to try myself first.”

Reyn had been aghast when his countess insisted on feeding her own child, but Maris had reminded him she wasn’t a countess any longer. Her fingers shook as she attempted to unbutton her night rail.