Passion and Propriety (Hearts of Honour Book 1) (49 page)

“Not
amiss
exactly.” Grace’s expression turned thoughtful. “You’ve just grown at a quicker rate than I would have expected. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were further along than say you are—almost due, not with six weeks remaining—but the date of conception is not in doubt.”

“Hardly,” Hannah muttered, a telltale wave of heat flushing her cheeks. Her newfound propensity for blushing had worsened with her confinement, and she was looking forward to it being a thing of the past.

“It’s obvious I’m having a good-sized baby, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. He’s sure to be robust,” she said, ignoring the implications. Hannah didn’t need to be a midwife to know that a larger-than-average first-time baby made for a more dangerous labour, but there was nothing to be done about it . . . unless. “What about if I exercise more and eat less? If I could slow his growth a little, would that reduce the risk of complications?”

“I think it’s better if you continue to take good care of yourself.” Grace smiled before adding, “And
try
not to worry.”

“Since William is doing enough of that for the two of us, I’m happy to oblige.”

Hannah appreciated that he was doing his best to hide his fears, but her husband’s acting skills weren’t always up to par. At least she no longer held any fears he meant their child any harm.

That evening, she mentioned Grace’s concern while he traced the outline of a tiny foot pressed against her belly.

“I promise to take good care of our son . . . no matter what happens.” The sheen that appeared in his eyes reinforced the dire nature of his predictions.

“You’re still afraid?”

“Can you blame me?” he whispered hoarsely.

Hannah ducked her head, unable to offer any reassurance. Her belly seemed enormous, and her belief she would safely deliver was beginning to falter.

For months they’d lived in the shadow of what might occur, the possibilities as ominous as the gargoyles that defended Blackthorn Manor. After the success of her birthday, she’d insisted upon laughter as often as possible—music, singing, company—whatever it took to lighten William’s mood and keep her own serene. When they were alone, she found other ways to comfort them both.

As her size became more cumbersome, William’s inventiveness was put to the test until caution overrode desire. Increasingly content to lie quietly in one another’s embrace, there was no denying his gentle touch was now tinged with desperation.

Chapter 38

Arrival

“William?”

Hannah attempted to rouse her husband for the second time a half hour after rising from their bed. “William, you need to wake up.”

“No I don’t. It’s still dark.” He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow.

Hannah would have smiled, but the pain gripping her stomach made it impossible. Several days of intermittent contractions had lulled her into a false sense of security. Though the pressure could be intense at times, the pain hadn’t been overly fierce. Until now.

“William,” she said with greater urgency. “I know it’s dark, but you need to wake up. The baby’s coming.”

“No, it’s not,” he mumbled, patting the empty bed beside him in an attempt to locate her. “We’ve got three more weeks.”

“Tell that to our son.” Hannah rubbed her aching back. “I believe he intends making an early arrival.”

“What?” William bolted upright. “No, no, no,” he chanted, disentangling himself from the bed covers and crawling to her side. “We’re not ready.
I’m
not ready. Are you sure? We’re supposed to have another three weeks before . . . before . . .”

“It’s all right.” Hannah gripped his hand. “The baby’s coming a little early, which is a
good
thing, remember?”

In the final weeks of her confinement she’d grown so large not even Grace could hide her concern.

“It’s happening?”

Hannah nodded, her voice failing as another pain tightened her belly. For the interminable minute and a half that it lasted she gripped William’s hand and did her best to keep breathing.

“That’s it, sweetheart, you’re doing fine,” he said. The fear had faded from his expression, replaced by a resolve Hannah appreciated every bit as much as his comforting words.

“Thank you,” she said, panting when the pain subsided.

William nodded stiffly, her words needing no clarification. She needed him to be strong if she was to get through the coming hours, just as he needed her to survive for their family to be complete.

Twenty hours later, William’s calm exterior had given way to panic and despair. He wasn’t sure what was worse, that Hannah continued to labour without rest or reprieve or that she was forced to do so without him by her side.

Grace remained with her at all times, assisted by Marianne, who had previous experience with midwifery. Every few hours one or other would come to apprise him of her progress, such as it was. Grace’s initially optimistic reports that matters were progressing normally for a first delivery had gradually changed in tone.

“She’s tiring,” the midwife had admitted some hours earlier. “I predict a long
labour.”

In William’s estimation it had gone on for far too long already. He’d paced until his leg would no longer hold his weight and now sat, head in hand, beside her father. The vicar’s prayers for his daughter had begun as eloquent treaties but now echoed William’s heartfelt pleas.

“Please, God, be with Hannah and the babe.”

“Amen,” William muttered for the umpteenth time before standing and limping towards his wife’s bedroom door.

“My lord?” Mrs Potts, who’d climbed the stairs to supervise refreshments for their weary gathering, was the first to query his action, but they all stood—Hannah’s father, her sisters, and William’s constant companion throughout this ordeal, Loring.

Spending almost an entire day without seeing his wife, when it could very well be her last, had been both torturous and inexcusable. He should have been by her side the entire time, as surely she needed him every bit as much as he needed her.

“William, what are you about?” Hannah’s father asked, blocking his path to the door.

“I’m going to be with my wife.”

“It’s not done,” Naomi said, her tone more cautionary than rebuking. “You’ll be flouting convention.”

William grimaced. “Since when has that ever stopped me?”

His audience exchanged rueful smiles.

“What about if you
check
first that it’s all right for me to enter?” William asked Naomi. “Make sure it’s an appropriate time?”

Nodding, Naomi left and returned shortly. The strain around her eyes increased his sense of foreboding. “Go ahead,” she murmured. “But William”—she stayed his arm—“you need to be strong
.
”

With his heart lodged in his throat, he entered the sitting room that led to Hannah’s bedroom.

“I was on my way to get you,” Grace said, and he staggered back.

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Things aren’t going well.”

“Is she . . . is she dying?” William’s voice caught. It was no less than he expected, but he wasn’t ready, would never be ready.

“Not yet.” Grace shook her head. “But she will if we can’t get things moving. She’s laboured consistently for almost an entire day now with very little to show for her efforts.”

“What can I do to help?”

Grace sighed. “I’ve given her herbs to promote stronger contractions, but I dare not risk any more. She’s exhausted, but we need to get her up and moving.”

“Like walking a mare when her labour stalls?” William had assisted under such circumstances, and his hopes rose at the prospect of being able to do something to help.

“Exactly. Although, I’d refrain from mentioning the similarity if you want to keep your head,” Grace said. “She’s a tad crotchety.”

William managed a wan smile, not that he saw any evidence of his wife’s feistiness when he approached their bed.

“Oh, William,” she cried, coming gratefully into his arms when he sat beside her. “Whatever are we to do? Grace says I must get up and walk around to try and speed things along, but I don’t think I can. I’m so tired, and the pains are horrendous.”

“I know, my love,” he said, taking note of her perspiration-soaked nightgown and the damp braids that lay plastered to her head. “I’m going to stay and help you.”

Her eyes widened before they filled with tears. “But you’re not supposed to see me like this. I look frightful.”

William mustered a smile before kissing her forehead. “You look
beautiful.
Besides, you nursed me when I was in far worse condition—cursing and spitting, as I recall. I think I can return the favour, don’t you?”

Hannah looked doubtful, but then her lip twitched. “I promise not to spit, but I’m afraid you’ve corrupted me when it comes to coarse language. The words are so tempting when it all gets too much.”

“I’m sure they are.” William’s smile faded when he felt her belly tighten beneath his hand, and her breath came in harsh pants.

“What can I do?” He looked to Grace, who demonstrated how he should rub Hannah’s lower back in a circular motion.

“It helps a little,” the midwife explained. “But we must get her up and walking around. When the pains strike, roughly every three to four minutes, you’ll need to support her weight.”

William did as instructed, waiting until Hannah sagged against him at the cessation of the pain to lift her onto her feet. Steeling himself against her whimpers, he supported the bulk of her weight with an arm around her waist while Marianne took the other side. Together they helped Hannah slowly walk the length of the room before pausing a moment and then making the return journey. Every few lengths, another pain would hit, and he held her close while she clung to him.

“I’ve got you,” William said when she cried out at a particularly fierce pain. Murmuring softly in her ear, he told her how brave she was and how everything was going to be fine. When the pain had passed, she raised her weary gaze to his face.

“Do you really believe that?”

William hesitated before answering. His fear had dissipated, replaced by a strange sense of calm. It would have comforted him more if he’d understood its source.

“I love you, Hannah.” He offered her his heart in place of the guarantee he couldn’t give. “I will always love you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I thank God for whatever time he sees fit to grant us.”

“Then you’ve found peace?” She reached to stroke his scarred cheek, and he leaned into her hand.

William shrugged. “I have found love.”

“Love,” Hannah said, as he coaxed her into taking a few more weary paces. “That’s why you’re not afraid anymore. You’ve had what you needed all along . . . not faith, but love.”

“What do you mean?” he asked. Hannah had been barely coherent for the past hour, and he could only assume fatigue was causing her mind to become confused.

“First John four, verse eighteen,” she replied, surprising him with the clarity of her words despite her breathless tone. “ ‘There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear.’ We’ve been worried about a lack of faith when all along we had the answer in abundance . . .
love.
”

As they crossed and recrossed the room, pausing to cling to one another when the pains racked her body, William mulled over Hannah’s words. Could it be that simple? Could the power of their love overwhelm the curse that had plagued his family for generations?

“It’s not just
our
love,” Hannah said some time later whilst sitting in his lap. In the aftermath of another contraction, her head lay against his shoulder while he massaged her lower back. Between his worsening limp and the increasing intensity of her pains, they had taken to sitting down at the first sign of the spasms that tightened her belly. They would need to stand soon, and he was gathering his strength as Hannah’s was almost spent.

“God brought us together for a reason, William.” She smiled wearily as he smoothed the damp hair from her brow. “To know happiness, to create a family, to make a difference in the world. I don’t think he’s finished with us yet.”

The hope in his wife’s eyes plucked at William’s heartstrings. Her faith was pure, her courage unfailing, but all he had to call on was his love. His only hope was it would prove strong enough.