A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)(71)

“No more screaming,” Hetta said, once the pains had passed and Lucy sagged limp in Bel and Sophia’s arms. “Every scream is effort wasted. You need to save your strength.”

“How long will this take?” Sophia asked weakly.

“Impossible to tell,” Hetta answered her. “Hours, perhaps.”

“Oh, God,” Lucy moaned. “Hours? I can’t do this for hours!”

“Yes, you can,” Bel told her.

“No, I can’t,” Lucy said hysterically. “I really can’t. I’ve changed my mind. Go tell Jeremy I’ve changed my mind. It’s all his fault this child won’t come out. What was I thinking, marrying a great, stubborn brute? I should have married the vicar’s son. He’d have given me runtish, compliant babies. Babies that wouldn’t take hours to—” Her rant gave way to another pained cry.

“Push, Lucy,” Hetta ordered. “Push as hard as you can.”

“One day,” Lucy panted, once the contraction had ebbed, “it will be you in labor, Hetta, and I’m going to stand by the bedside and repay you tenfold for all this heartless tyranny.”

“And you’ll be welcome to do so, Lucy, should that day ever come.”

For an instant, pain shimmered in Hetta’s eyes. She quickly blinked it away, but not before Bel saw it. Saw it, and felt it twisting in her heart. While the three of them fell to pieces, this one woman was holding them all together—and she was doing it all on her own. Alone. At the end of this day, Hetta was the only one of them who would not know the comforting embrace of a husband.

Bel closed her eyes. Behind her eyelids floated the image of Toby’s reassuring smile. On the heels of reassurance, however, trod confusion. Somewhere in the past hour, she’d stopped pleading with deities and started picturing her husband. Where were her priorities?

Her eyes flew open when someone clutched at her shoulder.

It was Sophia, reaching across from Lucy’s other side. Her eyes were wide, and she trembled. She mouthed, “I want to leave.”

Bel shook her head. “You can’t.”

“I’m scared,” Sophia whispered.

“I heard that,” said Lucy, through clenched teeth. “If I have to stay, so do you.”

“Lucy, you’re doing beautifully,” Bel said, smoothing the damp hair from Lucy’s brow. “Just think, soon you’ll be holding your baby. It won’t be much longer now. It can’t be.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

But it was.

After more than an hour of pushing, Lucy was pale and soaked with perspiration. “I can’t do it,” she moaned through cracked lips.

“Here, take a bit of tea.” Bel raised the cup to her lips.

“No, no.” Lucy shook her head. “I don’t want tea. I want this to stop. I want out. I can’t do this, really I can’t.”

“All right then,” Hetta said, stepping back. “Perhaps you can’t.”

“What?” Sophia cried. “But how will—”

“She doesn’t mean that,” Bel soothed. “Lucy’s doing beautifully.” Meanwhile, panic fluttered in her stomach. If even Hetta was losing confidence, they were really in trouble. They all watched as Hetta untied the apron from around her waist and went to rinse her hands at the washstand. Then she made for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Lucy demanded, craning her neck to see her friend. Hetta stopped at the door. “I’m going downstairs, to tell Lord Kendall you can’t do it.”

“May I go with you?” Sophia asked, ignoring Bel’s attempts to shush her.

“What’s Jeremy going to do about it?” Lucy asked. “It’s not as though he can come up here and birth the child hims—aah!” She curled around another contraction. Bel supported Lucy’s shoulders as she pushed, murmuring words of encouragement in her ear.

“No, he can’t do anything about it,” Hetta said, speaking over Lucy’s cries of pain. “But perhaps he’d like to say good-bye.”

“Good-bye?” Bel and Sophia exclaimed in unison. If Lucy could have spoken through her pains, Bel was sure she would have made their duet a trio.

Arms crossed over her chest, Hetta strode back to the bedside. “Lucy, listen to me. Your child is breech. The chances of—”

Bel grabbed Hetta’s arm. “Don’t. Please.” They couldn’t give up hope, not yet. There were still a few saints she hadn’t petitioned.

“I know what I’m doing,” Hetta murmured. “I know Lucy.”

The contraction over, Lucy flopped back against the pillows and glared up at her friend with flashing green eyes. “Don’t you dare. I’ve no intention of saying good-bye to Jeremy. I’m still too vexed with him over this morning.”

Hetta sat on the edge of the bed and took Lucy’s hand. “Then listen to me. The babe is breech, not headfirst as it should be. That’s the reason you’re having such difficulty.”

“Good Lord.” Lucy blew a wisp of hair from her mouth. “He’s an incorrigible brat already.”

“Yes. Clearly he takes after his mother.”

“Am I going to die? Tell me honestly.”