The Duchess (50 page)

Allegra laughed too. “I have not seen him in two months,” she said, “but he did indeed look like Papa.”

“They are so happy,” Sirena noted. “They were before, but they are even more so now. I think it is having something they created and share together. I know Ocky and I feel that way about Georgie.”

“I felt
it
move today,” Allegra said to her cousin. “It was like a butterfly fluttering in my belly.”

Sirena smiled. “Soon he will be like a horse, kicking and demanding to be let out of his confinement. At least that was how Georgie was with me. I want another.”

The autumn came, and Allegra began to grow rounder and rounder as the season deepened. Indeed she was larger than Honor, or even Lady Morgan had been, yet she seemed quite healthy. On the twenty-eighth of November, several weeks before she had believed the baby would be born, the Duchess of Sedgwick went into labor. The duke sent for Doctor Thatcher to come immediately.

Looking at herself in the full-length mirror, Allegra said, “I look like one of your mares about to foal. I will admit to being glad to be rid of this enormous burden. These last weeks have been awful. Why do not women speak on this instead of nattering on about all the delights of motherhood? So far I find no delight in it at all.” She winced as a wave of pain swept over her, almost doubling her over, an accomplishment in itself given the size of her belly.

“You don't make me feel like giving up my burden none too soon,” Honor said, gazing down at her own girth.

The birthing room was well prepared with plenty of
clean linens. The fireplace steamed with kettles of hot water ready for use when called for by the doctor. The ducal cradle adorned in satin and lace was ready for its occupant along with the proper amount of swaddling clothes for the baby. There was a basin set aside for cleaning the infant of blood. All waited upon the Duchess of Sedgwick to give up her baby.

“Ohhhh!” Allegra moaned, as another wave of pain washed over her body. “Damnit! Why does it hurt so, Doctor Thatcher?”

“It is a woman's lot, Your Grace,” he answered.

“That,”
Allegra replied, “is a most stupid answer.”

The doctor looked startled at such a bold exclamation. He was used to birthing women either weeping piteously, or cursing out their husbands, or bearing their lot with dignity and stoicism.

“I believe, doctor, that my wife desires a more practical answer to her question,” the duke said, close to laughter.

“Of course I do,” Allegra said. “What causes the pain I am enduring now? Is the baby all right?”

“The pain, Your Grace, is caused by the spasms your body is making to help you expel your infant,” Doctor Thatcher explained. “If they become too unbearable I can give you some laudanum.”

“Would that not drug the child as well?” Allegra said.

“Well, yes, but …” He got no further.

“I will bear the pains,” Allegra said. “Ohh hell, and damnation!”

Quinton Hunter burst out laughing, unable to help himself.

“Get out!” Allegra shouted at him.
“You
are responsible for my state, and I will not have you howling like a hyena at my distress. I will have them call you back when the child is born.
Get out!”

“Duchess, I beg your pardon, but let me remain,” he said.

“No,” she said implacably. “You are banished, sir, and take poor Honor with you. She doesn't need to see this in her state.”

Honor did not argue with her mistress. She hurried along after her master, saying as she went, “I'll wait in the salon, my lady.”

“There, there, my lady,” the housekeeper, Mrs. Crofts, said soothingly. “What do men understand? It'll all be over soon.”

“Not soon enough,” Allegra grumbled as her labors began in earnest.

After several hours the doctor saw the infant's head crowning, and so informed the duchess that her labors would shortly be at an end. The child's head and shoulders were born, and then as its little torso began to slip from its mother's body Doctor Thatcher gave a muffled cry of amazement.

“Zounds!”

“Well, bless my soul,” Mrs. Crofts gasped, surprised, for as the baby was being born they could plainly see a tiny hand firmly grasping its right ankle.

“Get out of my way, woman,” the doctor roared. “Take this infant while I attend to the other one.”

“Other one?”
Allegra shrieked. “What do you mean the
other one?”

Mrs. Crofts took up the first child, a little girl, and hurried over to the table to clean her off. The baby was howling angrily as it was wiped free of the birthing blood with warmed oil, then carefully wrapped in the swaddling clothes. “I'll need more cloths,” the housekeeper said to the goggle-eyed maid standing at her side. Then she thrust the baby at the girl. “Here, I'll get them. Put her ladyship in the cradle at once, you dolt.”

“Come on, woman, I have the other one almost born!” the doctor yelled at the housekeeper.

Mrs. Crofts fairly flew across the room with more swaddling clothes, hastily made up. She set them on the table, and said to the maidservant, “More fresh water, Mary, and do not delay.” Then her face lit up with delight. “Ahh,” she said, “here is his little lordship.”

“There are
two?”
Allegra said. “I have two babies?”

“A daughter first, Your Grace,” Doctor Thatcher said, “and now a son. A fine lusty son. Just listen to those cries.”

Allegra, unable to help herself, burst into tears. “Let me see my babies,” she begged them. “Let me see my children.”

“Give me just a few minutes to complete your birthing, madame,” the doctor said in kindly tones. “Then you may have your babies. Just a few moments' more business we have.”

Allegra hardly noticed expelling the afterbirths, or the doctor and the little maidservant cleaning her up from her labors. She only knew she could hear the cries of her children, and those cries were music to her ears. Finally they brought the two infants to her, and put them in her arms. A great wave of emotion swept over her at the sight of the tiny faces. Unbidden, tears of happiness continued to slip down her cheeks. Then the door to her bedchamber burst open, and the duke dashed in.

He looked to his wife. He saw the two infants, one nestled in each of her arms. His mouth fell open.
“Two?”
His voice was filled with emotion.
“We have two?”
he said.

“Two,” she replied, smiling.

“Boys?” he ventured.

“Charles,” she said, indicating the infant on her right,
“and Vanessa,”
she told him, her gaze marking their
daughter on her left. “I would like to name them after your parents, my lord, with your permission, of course.” Then Allegra smiled brightly at him. “Is it not wonderful, my darling Quinton. We have at one stroke outdone everyone. Ocky and Sirena. Marcus and Eunice. Dree and Caroline, and Papa and Aunt Mama.”

“And why shouldn't we?” he demanded with a grin. “Are you not the daughter of the richest man in England?”

“And you,” she replied, “the duke with the bluest blood?”

Then he bent and kissed her, causing her to involuntarily squeeze her twins just a touch too tightly. Charles and Vanessa Hunter howled with their outrage, which only caused their parents to burst into a fit of happy laughter.

“Do you still want more?” he demanded of her.

She nodded. “I do, my dearest duke.”

“Then so it shall be, Duchess, for I cannot deny the daughter of the richest man in England anything!”

Spring 1813

Hunter's Lair

“
B
ut, Vanessa, I do not understand why you want a season in London,” George, Viscount Pickford, said pettishly. “Hasn't it always been assumed that you and I would marry one day?”

Lady Vanessa Hunter smiled sweetly at her suitor. “There is no contract between us, Georgie,” she said. “And if you mean our parents' fond hopes, put it from your mind. And even if I do decide to marry you one day, I would still want my season in London like every girl of good breeding does. To not go to London for a season would imply that I wasn't good enough to join the yearly husband hunt. People would wonder what was the matter with me that I was married off to my childhood friend so quickly, and without even the tiniest foray into polite society. No. I am going to London.”

“Haven't you learned not to argue with her yet?” Lord Charles Hunter asked his best friend. “You won't win anyways. She is very much like Mama, Papa says. Bound and determined to have her own way in all things. I'm certain you can find a nicer girl to marry, Georgie.” He grinned at his twin sister wickedly, and when she stuck her tongue out at him he chuckled. “Better start practicing your London manners, miss,” he teased her.

“Just remember who was born first,” she mocked him. “You wouldn't even be here if you hadn't grabbed onto my ankle.”

“But remember who will be the fifth Duke of Sedgwick one day,” he countered. “You're just a girl.”

“A very rich girl,” she snapped.

“Don't be vulgar,” he told her.

“There is nothing vulgar about money,” she replied.

“Mama!” Lord James Lucian Hunter called to his parent. “Charlie and Vannie are fighting again.”

“Telltale!” Vanessa growled threateningly at him.

The Duchess of Sedgwick smiled benignly as she looked out over the lawns of Hunter's Lair. She had wanted a large family, and she had certainly gotten her wish. Her twins had been followed by a second son, named after her late brother. He had been followed by a third son, Henry, a second daughter, Theora, and finally six years ago, another boy, Nigel. It was at six that she and Quinton decided to stop, for they had an heir, a son for the army, one for the navy, and one for the church. Each boy would have a comfortable living, and their girls would be well dowered.

Their friends had been equally fecund. Young George Baird, now Viscount Pickford, had three sisters, and a younger brother. Eunice and Marcus had three children, and Caroline and Dree four. Her father and stepmother had produced no more children after William. Her half brother was a delightful young man, every bit as charming as her father, and unlike so many of his generation William Morgan was industrious. He would take over his father's holdings sooner than later, but at his mother's request he would do two years at Oxford.

They had so much to be thankful for, but in particular that their children had not been affected by the wars England waged with both France and the United States. With luck there would be peace soon on both fronts, although Allegra knew that would greatly disappoint her third son, Harry, who desperately wanted to be a soldier. “You can go out to India,” she had told him.

“You are looking quite smug and contented,” Allegra heard her husband say as he came to stand by her side.

“I enjoy watching our progeny,” she told him with a smile.

“I heard Jamie say Charlie and Vannie were fighting again. What is it about this time?” he chuckled.

“I haven't the faintest idea,” Allegra told him. “I find it best to allow our twins to settle their own disputes now that they are almost grown.”

“Sixteen going on seventeen is hardly grown,” the duke remarked.

“They were probably arguing about Vanessa's season next year,” the duchess told her husband. “She wants one. George Baird doesn't want her to have one, but to stay home and marry him, and of course Charlie takes his best friend's part every time. But both my daughters shall have their season in London. I agree with Vanessa.”

“Vannie doesn't love George,” their about-to-be-ten-year-old daughter said. “She won't marry him, but I will one day.”

“Will you, Theora,” the duke said with an indulgent smile.

“Yes, Papa, I will,” Theora responded. “Vannie will marry someone dark and dangerous who is as stubborn as she is.” Then the young girl turned to her seven-year-old brother. “Come on, Nigel. Let's go to the stables and see if Marvelette has foaled yet.” She took her littlest brother's hand, and together they strolled off.