Pleasure for Pleasure

Page 88

Without another word, Mayne whisked his wife into the luxurious little dressing room off the master bedchamber and closed the door behind them.
“Well, for goodness’ sake,” Tess said. “Should we allow that?”
“There’s a bed in there,” Annabel said. “Perhaps he can talk her into having a little rest.”
Griselda entered the bedchamber. “Where on earth has Josie gone?”
“Oh, Mayne took her into the dressing room for a bit of a cuddle,” Annabel said comfortably. “Have a seat, darling.”
“I’m not the one in labor,” Griselda objected. But she had a golden-haired cherub asleep in the crook of her arm, so she sank into a chair with a happy sigh.
Behind the door they could hear Josie’s voice rising to a shriek. She was swearing again. “I was far more ladylike during my first labor,” Annabel told them.
Imogen laughed outright.
“No, it’s true,” her sister protested. “I only swore…once in a while.”
“I didn’t have time to swear,” Imogen said. “I was too breathless generally carrying on. Once was enough, to my mind. And Rafe’s. I thought he had aged ten years when I finally was allowed to see him.”
“How long were you in labor with Samuel?” Griselda asked Annabel. “I still feel terrible that you were off by yourself in Scotland. Imogen and I should have stayed with you.”
“I had Nana,” Annabel said. “She was of the opinion that a laboring mother’s mind should be kept off the subject, so she told me ribald jokes. I did try telling one of Nana’s jokes to Josie a few minutes ago, but she just grew abusive. In fact, we had to send the midwife downstairs, as she was looking quite shocked at Josie’s language.”
At that moment they all heard Josie’s voice snapping something from behind the dressing room door. Tess started to rise, but Annabel grabbed her arm. “Josie is doing so much better with Mayne there, and she does have hours to go. Her labor only just started. She would do better if she didn’t waste so much energy swearing about it.”
At that moment Josie was lying on the little cot in her dressing room, wiggling around to try to make her back stop hurting so much. Even inbetween the contractions—not that there seemed to be much time inbetween anymore—her back hurt like the devil.
“Is it unbearable?” Mayne croaked. He was sitting beside her, holding her hands as hard as he could. His hair was tossed every which way, and if she wasn’t in such pain she would have laughed at him.
“Not quite,” she said through clenched teeth. For some reason she felt like arching her back, so she did that. “But another five hours of this will be intolerable.”
“Perhaps it won’t take so long,” Mayne said, his face growing even whiter.
Josie felt as if she couldn’t quite keep her mind on the conversation. It was as if her body was turning itself inside out. Really…how could this go on for another five hours? “Griselda was in labor for ten hours,” she gasped, holding her husband’s hands so tightly that she felt as if his bones were shifting.
“I’m here with you,” he said. His eyes were so beautiful, looking down at her, that Josie would have smiled, except she couldn’t. All she could do was arch her back again and pant a little.
“I thought there was supposed to be a break between the pains,” she said a moment later.
“Do you want to speak to your sisters?” Mayne said, not moving.
She could read his eyes as well as she knew her own heart. If Tess, and Imogen, and Annabel entered the room, they’d make him leave, and it wouldn’t be the two of them anymore.
“They said it would take hours,” she said. “But I just—just—” She broke off.
Mayne swept the hair off her face. “What, darling?”
“I forgot. I—I—”
Mayne leaned over her. “Darling, what—”
A second later Mayne instinctively jumped to his feet, but Josie still had hold of one of his hands. “No!” she panted. She had instinctively planted her legs on the bed. She arched her back again, clinging to his hand with all her strength.
“Tess!” Mayne bawled, looking down at his beautiful, sweaty wife. “All of you! Get the midwife!”
He heard laughter outside the door, and then he dropped Josie’s hand, whether she wished it or not.
The door opened and Annabel’s voice said, “Now, Mayne, you have to understand that it takes—”
But that was one moment too late. Because what Annabel saw when she opened the door was the earl holding a small, messy baby who opened her eyes, blinked her foolishly long eyelashes (she took after her father), and let out a bellow of rage (she took after her mother as well). And Mayne, the sophisticated, urbane Earl of Mayne, looked down at his little daughter and began to cry. Josie was sitting up and holding out her hands.
Annabel closed the door again.
She said, “Imogen and Tess.”
They looked up. They were playing with Griselda’s baby’s toes. “You know how we assured Josie that labor lasted hours and hours?”
Tess started to her feet. “You don’t mean—”
“Would you please ring that bell?” Annabel asked. “Because there’s a baby in there.”
“Oh Lord!” Tess shrieked, pulling the rope so hard that it came off in her hand.
The midwife grandly swept them to the side and entered the dressing room. They almost crowded in after her, but Tess stopped Imogen at the door. “Give them a moment,” she whispered.
Griselda took her baby back to the nursery, but finally they couldn’t wait any longer, and Annabel opened the door again, Imogen and Tess at her shoulders.
Josie was propped up against the back of the small bed, looking as beautiful as only a woman whose labor lasted exactly forty minutes can look. Snuggled in her arms was a scrap of a baby, looking up at her with an expression of fascinated indignation, as if she didn’t quite know what to make of her mother. And seated on the edge of the bed, with one arm around Josie and his hand on their daughter, was Garret Langham, Earl of Mayne.
He looked so happy that Annabel’s heart turned over to see him.
Without saying a word, she wreathed her arms around Tess and Imogen, and the three of them stood together and smiled…and cried a little bit too.
“She’s so beautiful,” Josie told them, her eyes glowing. “She’s the most beautiful baby I ever saw. She looks just like Garret.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Mayne said, trailing a finger over his daughter’s cheek. “She’s the spitting image of her mother.”
“What will you name her?” Annabel asked. Her newest little niece began sucking on her fist with a kind of intensity that suggested she might be interested in learning how to nurse.
“Cecily,” Josie said, “after Mayne’s aunt.”
“This is the best gift that anyone has ever given me,” her husband said, and his eyes were suspiciously bright again.
“I wish Mother were here,” Tess said. They were all clustered around the baby now, plumped on their knees. Little Cecily had curled her hand around Annabel’s finger, and Imogen looked as if she were rethinking her one-baby rule.