The Brigadier's Runaway Bride (Dukes of War Book 5) (11 page)

Healthy. Safe. And in her arms.

She threw back her head and screamed as the baby’s head began to push out into the cool night air.
 

Mrs. Havens kept up a steady patter of soft, calming words.

Sarah didn’t register any of it. She was trying too hard to keep sucking in air, to keep pushing in time with the contractions, to breathe during the pauses, to not cry from exhaustion.

With one last push, the pressure finally eased just as a loud, furious cry rent the air.

Sarah’s eyes flew open.
Her baby.
She’d done it!

Her lungs were still too weak to allow for lucid conversation, so she held out her arms and gave Mrs. Havens a tired, relieved smile.

Mrs. Havens quickly bathed the infant with a clean wet cloth before swaddling the tiny limbs and placing the baby in Sarah’s waiting arms.
 

“A boy. Congratulations.”

A boy
. Tears streamed down her cheeks as Sarah cuddled the baby to her chest. Ruddy cheeks. Bright blue eyes. He was so small, so perfect. Every minute of the birthing was worth it, just to hold him in her arms. Her child.

She
would
make a family for this baby. By force, if necessary. Her son would be the happiest, most well-adjusted boy in the history of children. He would never want for a meal, or doubt his parents’ love for him. She would be the best mother that ever lived.

The door flew open and Katherine burst back inside. This time, with Edmund on her heels.

Sarah gazed up at him sleepily. Dreamily. “It’s a boy, darling. We have a son.”

“We have a son.” He fell to his knees beside her, and covered her face with a thousand kisses.
 

Mrs. Havens turned toward Katherine. “Your friend…”

“
Sarah
, Aunt. This is Sarah.”

Mrs. Havens nodded blankly. “Have I met her?”

Edmund’s gaze flew to Sarah’s in alarm.

She smiled and lifted a shoulder. Nothing mattered but the baby. Her life had completely changed.

“May I hold him?” Edmund’s voice was quiet, but eager.

Sarah hesitated. Not because she wished to withhold his son from him, but because she wasn’t quite ready to let the baby go. Even for a moment.

“I don’t know if—” A sharp pain rocketed through her, stealing her breath. Her head fell back against the pillow in agony. “Take him,” she gasped. “Take him.”

“What is it?” Edmund stammered, lifting the baby from her arms. “What’s wrong?”

Mrs. Havens sat back down on her footstool and grinned at the room. “Your friend is having twins.”

Chapter 10

In his three years at war, in the long, blood-drenched hours of Waterloo, in the eight arduous months it took to finally make his way home, Brigadier Edmund Blackpool had not once succumbed to panic.

Until now.

His heart banged as he approached his townhouse. He didn’t have a baby. He had
two
babies. Two tiny, helpless, completely identical infant sons. Timothy was the one in Sarah’s arms. Edmund was holding little Noah.

Probably. Had he mentioned they were completely identical?
 

Edmund inched up the freshly cleared front walk with slow, careful steps. He did not want his first act as a father to be slipping on an ice patch and flinging his newborn baby into the sky.

London wasn’t helping matters. The babies were as displeased with the noise and the crowds as Edmund was, although their red-faced cries were much louder. The stink of the waste and the layer of soot from a city of burning coal were as unpleasant for the babies as the bitter wind and the blinding yellow sun.

His first goal was to get them tucked away inside as quickly and safely as possible.

His second goal was to figure out what the devil to do next.

The cradle was a good size, but was it large enough for two babies? Or would they have to keep one in their arms while the other one slept until Edmund could get an additional cradle delivered?

Presuming the babies would ever sleep. Or that Sarah would allow them to leave her arms. So far Edmund hadn’t seen much evidence of either possibility.

As soon as they drew near the front step, the footman swung open the door and ushered them inside. Edmund and Sarah stared at each other for a long moment as the cozy interior warmth replaced the chill of the city.
 

There. Now they were inside. With their coats and scarves and hats and boots and winter gloves still on.

Holding two tiny babies.

“Er,” said Edmund.
 

Sarah raised her brows in question.

He smiled awkwardly and wished he hadn’t said anything. Sweat dripped down his spine.

Edmund had earned the title of brigadier because of his skill at organizing and deploying soldiers. He
wasn’t
good at developing a winning battle plan that encompassed an exhausted bride, married life, and two infant children.

His blood boiled in frustration. He hated not knowing what to do. All his dreams—romantic waltzes, long walks along the river, fireworks under the stars—had disappeared the moment Sarah was actually within his sight.

He’d wanted this to be perfect. He’d wanted to
be
perfect. He longed to have her look at him again the way she used to do before. When she’d thought he was magnificent and capable of anything. When she’d loved him.

Instead, they were slowly sweating to death in the middle of his austere bachelor townhouse.
 

Which Sarah had never before seen. Edmund straightened.
That
was something he could do!

“Come,” he said gruffly. “Let me show you your new home.”

She followed him through the parlor to the dining room, around the kitchen and up the stairway to the master bedroom, and the nursery that had once been his study.

He stopped there because it seemed the most practical place to pause, and tilted his head toward the singular cradle. “I sent for another before we left Miss Ross’s house. It may take a day or two, but—”

“It’s lovely,” Sarah said tiredly, as if she barely registered his presence at all. “Thank you.”

He was appalled at his lack of insight. “You’re exhausted. Of course you’re exhausted. Let’s… let’s do something. Would you like to lie down? I can… er… watch the babies…”

By himself. Alone. Dear God, what was he saying?

“They’re hungry,” Sarah said, gazing down at the one in her arms. Timothy. Most likely. “That’s why they’re fussing. And my breasts ache. I think I’m leaking milk inside my coat.”

Her breasts ached. Leaking milk. He had to take action. Edmund glanced around the room in search of inspiration.
 

“Put Timothy inside the cradle, and take off your coat and gloves. Then you can feed him.”

“Noah.”

“Er, Noah. Put Noah in the cradle.”

When Sarah met his gaze, her eyes were laughing. “Do you have any idea which is which?”

“Do you?” Edmund countered brilliantly. He wasn’t certain which way he hoped she’d answer.

“I do, actually. You’re holding Noah—”

“I knew it!” The back of his neck heated at her raised brow. He flashed a guilty smile. “Or, at least, I suspected strongly.”

“—and I am holding Timothy.”

“How can you be certain?”

“Their hair.”

Edmund cast a skeptical glance at the wiggling baby in his arms. “They both have precisely one tuft of hair.”

“Look closer.” Sarah stepped closer. “Noah’s whorl of hair curls off to the right, whilst Timothy’s cowlick curves off to the left.”

Edmund stared at both babies, then grinned at Sarah. “You’re a bloody genius.”

Her smile vanished as though he’d slapped her.
 

“No profanity in front of the babies,” she hissed.

He blinked. “They’re one day old. They have no idea what we’re saying.”

Her jaw set. “It’s a bad habit, and we’re not going to do it.”

Fine. Edmund clamped his teeth together to keep from responding. No swearing in front of infants. If that was the line he needed to walk to get her to look at him like she used to, so be it.

He gestured across the room with his elbow. “Please put Timothy in the cradle and take off your coat. I don’t want you to get overheated. The babies’ safety and your comfort are my sole priorities.”

The moment Sarah laid Timothy in the cradle, he started screaming. She snatched him right back up and his cries immediately ceased.

“Put him down,” Edmund repeated.

“I can’t,” Sarah said wretchedly. “He’ll cry.”

Edmund narrowed his eyes. One day old, and his son had already mastered the art of manipulating women. “You can’t feed him if you’re wearing seven layers of clothing and
I
can’t feed him no matter what I do. You’re going to have to put him down. Long enough to take off your coat, at least.”

She stared at the cradle doubtfully. “I'll have to unlace my gown.”

“And unlace your gown,” Edmund agreed. Sarah had mentioned she hadn’t bothered with stays since about the third month of her pregnancy, but there was still a shift and a morning dress between her breast and her child.

Sarah took a deep breath and placed Timothy back into the cradle. He screamed as if it were a vat of lava. She shot a pleading glance toward Edmund.

He shook his head firmly. “Coat.”

She shucked out of her coat and tossed it against the wall, then froze in horror. “I can’t reach the buttons on my back.”

Timothy’s cries grew more insistent.

“Ring the bell pull,” Edmund said patiently. “We can get help.”

Sarah shook her head. “I don’t want your servants to see my breasts.”

“The housekeeper—”

“Will not see me leaking milk from my nipples!” Her voice cracked in desperation.

“Hold Noah.” Edmund transferred the baby to her arms. Timothy seemed to wail louder at the slight. Edmund slipped off his coat, hat, gloves, scarf, and threw everything in the corner atop Sarah’s. He loosened Sarah’s gown from neck to waist, then rushed over to the cradle to pick up his screaming son.
 

Timothy quieted the moment he was in his father’s arms and Edmund smiled.

“What are you doing?” Sarah demanded.

He eased into one of the rocking chairs. “Letting you feed Noah.”

“But Timothy was crying first.”

“He’s not crying now, and you’re holding Noah. Is there honestly a reason to switch?” Edmund stopped rocking in order to glance over at his suspiciously silent wife.

Her eyes were welling with tears.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, leaping to his feet.

At his blatant lapse in the no-profanity rule, tears spilled down her cheeks. Devil take it.

He laid Timothy in the cradle, and was rewarded with the baby’s immediate ear-splitting cries. He plucked Noah from Sarah’s arms and jerked his head toward the cradle. “There. Now you can feed Timothy. He’s even crying again.”

Sarah covered her face with her hands and choked back a sob.

“I don’t
know
what order to do things in,” she said miserably, and turned toward the cradle. “I just want to be a good mother. I’m doing everything wrong.”

“You’re a wonderful mother,” he assured her as she picked up the crying baby. “Look at me. I have no idea what’s happening, either. We’ll figure it out together.”

Sarah sniffed back her tears and sank into the other rocking chair. She pulled down her bodice and lifted Timothy to her chest.

Edmund closed his eyes in relief.

“It’s not working,” Sarah cried desperately. “He’s not sucking.”

“Maybe he’s not hungry.”

“He hasn’t
eaten
.”

Edmund tilted his head. “Maybe he’s nervous.”

“Maybe it’s me,” she said, her expression bordering on panic. “Maybe there’s something wrong with my nipples and my children are going to die of starvation because I can’t even feed them!”