Scandal in Spring (Wallflowers #4)(44)

Lillian trembled in the aftermath of each hard contraction.

Annabelle held her hand tightly. “You don’t have to be quiet, dear. Scream or curse if it helps.”

Lillian shook her head weakly. “I don’t have the energy to scream. I have more strength if I keep it in.”

“I was that way too. Though I warn you, people won’t give you nearly as much sympathy if you bear it stoically.”

“Don’t want sympathy,” Lillian gasped, closing her eyes as another pain approached. “Just want…it to be over.”

Watching Westcliff’s taut face, Daisy reflected that whether or not Lillian wanted sympathy, her husband was overflowing with it.

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” Lillian told Westcliff when the contraction was over. She clung to his hand as if it were a lifeline. “You’re supposed to be downstairs pacing and drinking.”

“Good God, woman,” Westcliff muttered, blotting her sweaty face with a dry cloth, “I did this to you. I’m hardly going to let you face the consequences alone.”

That produced a faint smile on Lillian’s dry lips.

There was a quick, hard rap at the door, and Daisy ran to answer it. Opening it a few inches, she saw Matthew Swift, dripping and muddy and out of breath. Relief swept over her. “Thank God,” she exclaimed. “No one else has come back yet. Did you find someone?”

“Yes and no.”

Experience had taught Daisy that when one answered “yes and no,” the results were seldom what one would have wished for. “What do you mean?” she asked warily.

“He’ll be upstairs momentarily—he’s washing up. The roads have turned to mud—sinkholes everywhere—thundering like hell—it was a miracle the horse didn’t bolt or break its leg.” Swift removed his hat and swiped at his forehead with his sleeve, leaving a dirty streak across his face.

“But you did find a doctor?” Daisy pressed, snatching up a clean towel from a basket beside the door and handing it to him.

“No. The neighbors said the doctor went to Brighton for a fortnight.”

“What about a midwife—”

“Busy,” Swift said tersely. “She’s helping two other women in the village who are in labor as we speak. She said it happens sometimes during a particularly bad storm—something in the air brings it on.”

Daisy stared at him in confusion. “Then whom did you bring?”

A balding man with soft brown eyes appeared at Swift’s side. He was damp but clean—cleaner than Swift, at any rate—and respectable looking. “Evening, miss,” he said bashfully.

“His name is Merritt,” Swift told Daisy. “He’s a veterinarian.”

“A what?”

Even though the door was mostly closed, the conversation could be heard by the people in the room. Lillian’s sharp voice came from the bed. “You brought me an animal doctor?”

“He was highly recommended,” Swift said.

Since Lillian was covered with the bedclothes, Daisy opened the door wider to allow her a glimpse of the man.

“How much experience do you have?” Lillian demanded of Merritt.

“Yesterday I delivered puppies from a bulldog bitch. And before that—”

“Close enough,” Westcliff said hastily as Lillian clutched his hand at the onset of another cramp. “Come in.”

Daisy allowed the man to enter the room, and she stepped outside with another clean towel.

“I would have gone to another village,” Swift said, his voice roughened with a note of apology. “I don’t know if Merritt will be of any help. But the bogs and creeks have overflowed and the roads are impassable. And I wasn’t going to come back without someone.” He closed his eyes for a moment, his face drawn, and she realized how exhausting the ride through the storm had been.

Dependable, Daisy thought. Wrapping a corner of the clean towel around her fingers, she wiped at the mud on his face and blotted the rain caught in his day-old beard. The dark bristle of his jaw fascinated her. She wanted to stroke her bare fingers over it.

Swift held still, his head bent to make it easier for her to reach him. “I hope the others have more success at finding a doctor than I did.”

“They may not make it back in time,” Daisy replied. “Things have progressed rapidly in the last hour.”

He pulled his head back as if her gentle dabbing at his face bothered him. “Aren’t you going back in there?”

Daisy shook her head. “My presence is de trop, as they say. Lillian hates being crowded, and Annabelle is far more able than I am to help her. But I am going to wait nearby in case…in case she calls for me.”

Taking the towel from her, Swift scrubbed the back of his head, where the rain had soaked into the thick hair and made it as black and glossy as a seal’s pelt. “I’ll return soon,” he said. “I’m going to wash and change into dry clothes.”

“My parents and Lady St. Vincent are waiting in the Marsden parlor,” Daisy said. “You can stay with them—it’s far more comfortable than waiting here.”

But when Swift returned, he didn’t go to the parlor. He came to Daisy.

She sat cross-legged in the hallway, leaning back against the wall. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice his approach until he was right beside her. Dressed in fresh clothes with his hair still damp, he stood looking down at her.