Desire Wears Diamonds (38 page)

Michael held out his hand to help her climb
up into Lord Winter’s waiting coach but Grace had a fleeting flash
of stubborn rebellion. “I could wait here just as easily.”

“Darius Thorne, madam.” Darius stepped
forward and held out his hand instead. “I don’t think Michael would
survive the worry that before we return you’d change your mind and
decide to go without hearing him out.” He moved his hand subtly
forward. “And there’s no time to delay. We are keeping the good
doctor from his work and from Mrs. Blackwell’s side.”

Grace sighed, unwilling to cause any woman
distress at such a time. “Very well.” She took Darius’s hand and
made her way into the luxurious coach’s interior. Darius and
Michael joined her, as Lord Winters climbed up next to the driver
to also take matters into his own hands.

She wasn’t sure what to think or feel. She’d
come back up those stairs so excited to demonstrate some of her new
hand words to Michael only to be stopped in her tracks by the most
unreal conversation she’d ever heard.

Jackals and diamonds! Sterling dead?
Dealings with a prince’s mistress and secret societies!? My
brother? The man who never seem to have a blink of creative spark
in his entire body but I’m now to accept that he is some sort of
hidden mastermind or hardened criminal?

“What are you thinking, Grace?” Michael
asked quietly, the gentle anxiety and open pain in his eyes making
her chest ache.

Grace sat up, hating the surge of weakness
that washed through her at the sight of her beloved husband. “I’m
thinking that I don’t even have my bonnet! I’m thinking that only
an idiot allows herself to be kidnapped without a single word of
protest and…” Her throat closed with raw emotion and she had to
swallow hard to catch her breath. “I might yet hate you, Michael,”
she whispered.

“Hate me later, my love. Time enough to
consign me to Hades but for this moment, be with me.”

She closed her eyes and then opened them to
watch the streets of London pass by the window.
Sterling might
be dead and my beloved husband is somehow involved by his own
admission… How could the man who made love to me so tenderly be a
cold-blooded murderer? How is that possible?

Lord Winters’ words were echoing in her
head.
‘Your brother was the worst sort of man’. God, that sounds
true, doesn’t it? I thought him petty and horrible, cruel and
unkind but…can his passing affect me so little? Is this grief that
I feel, or guilt?

One thing alone is certain. I’ve been
kidnapped to attend the childbed vigil of a stranger by a
collection of men I have never met along with a husband whose
character I now can’t fathom. If Mr. A. R. Crimson had written
this, Mr. Pollson would throw it in my face and call it fantastical
nonsense!

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The logistics of hiring a wet nurse were a
welcome, if temporary, distraction for Gayle. The drama that was
unfolding in the bedroom upstairs was too much for her to manage
alone. Isabel Thorne was staying by Caroline’s side while Gayle
hurried to attend to the task at hand. All she could do was hang on
until Rowan arrived, praying that his presence would help and his
experience bring Caroline back to health.

She knew better than to pray for miracles.
Her training had been too thorough and the painful lessons on the
limitations of medical skill and science were already absorbed. But
if anyone could defy the odds and save Caroline’s life again, it
was Rowan.

Mrs. Clark knocked at the door. “I have Mrs.
Sabrina Martin downstairs, Mrs. West.”

“Very good.” Gayle wasted no time, following
the housekeeper down to the salon where the woman was waiting. It
was bound to be an awkward and rushed appointment. Gayle knew the
idealized requirements for a wet nurse and closed her eyes briefly
before opening the door to summon her wits.

Robust.

Healthy.

Pink cheeks and bright eyes.

Not too pretty.

Broad at the hip and plentiful in the
bosom.

Gayle turned the handle of the door and
entered the room.

“Mrs. West?” the young woman spoke, rising
quickly from her seat on the chair by the fireplace.

Gayle took it all in at once. The infant
sleeping in the basket on the chair next to her, the pale cast to
the woman’s face and the hungry, haunted look in her eyes.

Fragile.

Underfed.

Ethereally beautiful.

Thin.

Gayle took another steadying breath and
nodded. “Mrs. Martin. I’ve no time for polite exchanges or
pleasantries and for that, I am genuinely sorry. The mistress of
the house has given birth to twins and we were—unprepared. A
challenge under the best of circumstances but I don’t believe she
has the constitution to sustain them both.”

“I understand.”

“Have you…the capacity to feed another
infant? Or even two?” Gayle clasped her hands in front of her.
“We’ll supplement whatever you supply with a mixture of milk, sugar
and other nutrients to accommodate both of the babies and I have
every hope that Mrs. Blackwell will recover to…participate. But if
she doesn’t…”

“Yes. I know I’m slight,” she answered, a
modest blush creeping up her cheeks, “but my milk is very
plentiful. I have my son here, and he thrives! I will wean him to
ensure that my employer’s babes are fed first. I have personal
references. I am a moral woman, Mrs. West.” Desperation colored her
tone. “I don’t drink spirits and have never partaken of—”

Gayle held up a hand to stop her. “Let’s not
speak of denying your own child nutrition, Mrs. Martin. But, what
of your husband?”

The woman paused, her eyes dropping to study
the patterned carpet at her feet, before looking up with a hollow
gaze that betrayed her pain. “He died seven months ago. Paul was in
a fire brigade and there was a factory blaze. It’s the two of us,
my son and I. I’ve no family.”

Gayle believed her. It was enough. There was
nothing brash or jarring in her appearance and demeanor to set off
any misgivings. A chubby hand popped up from the confines of the
basket and Mrs. Martin’s attention was immediately diverted.

“May I?” Gayle asked.

“Y-yes, of course.” The mother stepped away
cautiously, and Gayle liked her all the more for the watchful eye
she kept as Gayle retrieved the infant from his makeshift nest.

Gayle smiled at his clean sweet bright face
and full pink cheeks. Here was the best assurance she could ever
look for of Mrs. Martin’s maternal care. “Hello, little man. He is
a treasure, Mrs. Martin. What is his name?”

“Paul, for his father.”

“What a quiet gentleman you are, Mr.
Paul!”

“He is a very good boy, Mrs. West. He’s no
trouble! No trouble at all!” she said anxiously.

The baby cooed at Gayle and reached for her
nose, making her smile. “Of course, he isn’t.” She handed him to
his mother. “You are hired, Mrs. Martin.”

“Oh!” She said softly, sitting with her babe
as if the shock of the good news had robbed her of her ability to
stand. “Thank God!”

Gayle walked over to the bell pull to summon
Mrs. Clark, but at the first tug the housekeeper appeared in the
doorway and betrayed that she’d been listening all along. Gayle
didn’t blame her for eavesdropping. The matter was too dire and too
critical for discretion, and she knew that no lack of blood-ties
would make the housekeeper’s heart less involved. “Mrs. Clark, can
you see Mrs. Martin to the room next to the nursery and make sure
that she and Paul are comfortably settled?”

“Yes, Mrs. West.”

“Mrs. Martin, Mr. Blackwell is the master of
this house. I am merely a family friend and my husband, their
friend and physician. But for now, Mrs. Clark will have your
charge. Please use the servant’s back stairs up to the nursery and
be discreet to keep out of your new master’s sight. Mrs. Blackwell
is very ill and your presence will not give him comfort.”

“I understand. Please—my greatest sympathies
for—I pray, she recovers.” Mrs. Martin stood with her basket and
baby, readying to follow Mrs. Clark.

“As do we all, Mrs. Martin.” Gayle squared
her shoulders and turned her attention to the housekeeper. “Mrs.
Clark, please see that Sabrina is fed wholesome meals with the
freshest ingredients and plenty of meat. Nothing too spicy, but I
will trust to your common sense in ensuring her best health in
order to provide for the babies. We’ll hire a nanny for days and
another for nights as a precaution to see us through these first
few weeks.” Gayle looked at both women somberly. “You are the inner
circle that will keep Ashe’s newborn daughters alive. They will
depend on you both for sustenance and care. Please. We must get
them to nurse as quickly as possible. They are so small and
fragile. Ring for me if their breathing seems labored or if there
are any changes.”

Sabrina instinctively kissed the soft head
of her own child unconsciously grateful for his health and openly
wishing the same for the infants she was about to encounter
upstairs. “I won’t sleep until we’ve gotten a first feeding, Mrs.
West. I swear it.”

Mrs. Clark’s eyes filled with tears and she
put a gentle hand on Sabrina’s arm. “No, dear. You’ll rest as you
can! We’ll get you some hearty soup and see to them together. They
were sleeping like little angels and Daisy is guarding them like a
bear. I know a trick with flannel and buttermilk to help them latch
if anyone is struggling—“

“Ladies,” Gayle interrupted gently. “I’ll
leave you to it. I need to get back upstairs to see to Caroline.”
She left the pair to make over their plans and bond on their way up
to the nursery. By the looks of Mrs. Martin’s worn shoes and thin
coat, more than one life had been saved with her arrival.

But she couldn’t celebrate that now.

For now, there was Caroline.

And Ashe, to manage when he returned. She
knew the men were all together at Michael’s—or she prayed that they
were since that was where she’d sent one of two duplicate urgent
notes.

Rowan, my love, hurry. I can’t do this
alone. I think the babes are safe but it’s all so precarious!

“I’m here!” Ashe shouted as he burst through
the front doors. “Godwin!” He saw her and stopped in his tracks.
“Gayle. Tell me.”

She took one deep breath to steady herself
and immediately regretted the mistake. He interpreted the slight
delay as a tragic hesitation on her part and she watched the color
drain from his face as he began to stagger toward the stairs.

“Ashe! Twins!”

“What?” he froze.

“You have twin daughters and Caroline is
upstairs resting. I am concerned for—“

The transformation happened so quickly she
couldn’t register it before he’d run past her up the staircase,
taking the risers three at a time.

“Ashe, wait!” But no power could slow him
and Gayle yielded for a moment, sinking down onto the step to put
her face in her hands. But the weakness passed quickly. There was a
patient to attend to and Gayle accepted her duties, as a physician
and a friend. She would have to shield Ashe if she must and see to
Caroline’s comfort. Her foot touched the ninth riser on her ascent
when the front doors burst open again and the welcome chaos of
juggled coats and hurried greetings filled the foyer as Michael,
Galen, Josiah and a woman she didn’t recognize stepped inside,
along with—

“Rowan!”

He pulled her into his arms, and Gayle
experienced a rush of warm calm. Michael caught her eye over
Rowan’s shoulder as he nodded briefly and it was understood that
introductions would wait.

“I’m here, dearest.” He stepped back,
reading her instantly. “Where’s Ashe?”

“I’m afraid he’s already bolted upstairs to
be with her. I didn’t have the heart or the strength to prevent him
from reaching Caroline.”

“No one does, dearest. Let’s go upstairs and
see to her together.”

“Yes.” She briefed him quietly as they went
up the stairs. “We were visiting when the first labor pains began
and I started to make preparations. Mrs. Clark and the others were
champions and I think I washed and sterilized everything but the
walls as we went along. As you know, we both guessed that we had
another four to six weeks. All the experience I have told me that
there was no need to hurry and that first babies can take hours and
hours, but by the time I set pen to paper to summon you for what I
believed would be a long and strenuous labor—the crisis was upon me
and I’ve had no experience with…”

Rowan smiled. “Twins?”

She crossed her arms. “I’m already nervous,
Rowan. Don’t mock me.”

“Twins are nothing to discount for the
danger and complications they can present. I’m glad you sent for
me, despite all your confident boasting that you could manage
without me.” He shifted his bag to his other hand to reach for her
and pull her close. “Did you send for a wet nurse?”

“All hired and in attendance.”

“That’s my girl.” Rowan kissed her, a quick
but thorough kiss that altered the color in his wife’s cheeks and
reassured her of his affections. “You’ve a deft hand at these
things, Gayle. There’s not a physician in England who can match
your instincts.”

“The babies are so tiny, Rowan, but
outwardly perfect.”

“And their lungs?”

“Remarkably clear, and the heartbeats are
very strong.”

“We’re a few weeks early but that’s not to
say they won’t thrive.” Rowan took one deep breath and then asked
the harder question. “Caroline?”

“It’s what you’d feared. The blood loss was
substantial. I stopped the worst of the hemorrhaging but I couldn’t
stop it entirely. She needs surgery, but in my opinion she’s too
weak to survive it. I don’t like her color. Rowan, I’m afraid she’s
failing.”

“Blood loss,” he repeated the words,
thinking aloud. “How’s her temperature?”