My Naughty Minette (27 page)

“What? Cantankerous?” Minette turned on him in feigned temper, pushing at his chest.

“Oh yes, swans can be violent,” he said, capturing her hands. “Who told me that?” As she grappled with him, he pushed her back and kissed her. The swan fell from her hand and landed with a thunk against the floor. Both of them turned to look down at it.

“You see,” he said. “Unbreakable.” He kissed her once more and let her up to retrieve her gift, which was perfectly in order.

“I don’t know where you’ve found this carpenter.” She inspected the carving by the flickering of the fire. “There’s such skilled detail. It’s beautifully proportioned. He must be a master at his craft.”

“He’s very good, and very expensive. Fortunately, I’ve made a pretty penny from the music you made me publish. Perhaps it was a good idea after all.”

Minette grinned at him. “Are you saying I was right? You’re admitting, for once, that I had an intelligent, reasonable, and useful idea which was better than your idea?”

“Yes, little swanbrains. This once.”

She attacked him again in her playful, ticklish manner, but he set her away and gave her bottom a swat. “Go finish your letters before you get me too worked up to control myself. Once I take you to bed, you won’t be getting up for some time afterward.”

Her impish grin widened. “Do you promise?”

“Letters,” he insisted, ignoring her seductive gaze and the growing pressure in his breeches. He’d swept her away from her correspondence last night and didn’t want to do it again.

He sat back on the settee and crossed his legs at the ankles, and let the glow of the fire relax him as he watched his wife. She looked so attractive when she was at work, whether it was writing letters or stitching handkerchiefs, or guiding conversations, or seeing to guests.

Or applying herself to tasks in the bedroom...

“August?”

“Yes, darling?” He pulled his coat down over the bulging evidence of his arousal as she frowned at the pages in her hand.

“I’m a bit concerned about my brother. He doesn’t seem himself in this letter.” She looked up, her expression clouded with worry. “I think we ought to go to Oxfordshire for Josephine’s lying-in.”

“Hmm. Do you?” August thought the last thing Warren probably wanted was for him to show up just as Josephine was about to have their child.

“I know you and Warren aren’t on the best terms these days but... I don’t know.” She looked down at the letter again. “He seems rather at ends. I mean, he doesn’t say so, but this letter sounds not at all like him.”

“I suppose you know him best.” He stood and crossed to Minette. “Why don’t you write and tell him we’ll be coming? If you like, we can leave at the weekend.”

“May we?” She gave him one of her shining smiles. He’d face any amount of Warren’s displeasure to make his wife happy.

“Yes, indeed, if you wish. Arlington’s been making noises about escaping town and going to the country. Perhaps we could travel together.”

Minette clapped her hands. “What a capital idea. I know Warren will love to see all of us, and Josephine will be happy to have me around to help with the new baby. Oh, I can barely wait to see them, and the baby, of course. I’ll want to be one of the first to hold their child. It only makes sense, doesn’t it, since I’ll be the auntie?”

She spun off into ecstasies, making plans of what to take and when to go, and all the wonderful things they would do once they arrived. August was a bit less excited. He and Warren hadn’t parted on pleasant terms last time they were together.

But for Minette’s happiness, he would travel to Oxfordshire and put up with any amount of his former friend’s scorn.

August sat as still as he could while Minette slumbered against his shoulder. He envied her facility to fall asleep in carriages; he had never been able to do it. Arlington sprawled across from them, his hat resting beside him on the bench. A rut in the road shook him awake, though Minette didn’t stir. The disheveled duke seemed confused for a moment, his blond hair mussed where he’d lain upon it. “Where are we?”

August shrugged. “Somewhere near Maidenhead, I suppose.”

Arlington ran his fingers through his disorderly mop and straightened his coat, and soon assumed his more typical refined air. His gaze fell on Minette. “Look at her. How does she do it?”

“I wish I knew. Put her in a soft, comfortable bed and she’ll sleepwalk all over creation, but put her in a carriage and she’s out for hours.”

“Still walks about at night, does she?”

“No, actually. Not for weeks now.” As soon as he said it, images of their nighttime activities crowded his mind, and a flush rose in his cheeks. His friend stifled a grin.

“I’m glad things are better. Minette seems happy.”

“Our marriage is much improved.”
Much improved.
What an inadequate description. He wondered if the depth of his feelings showed in his face. Probably so, judging from Arlington’s smile. It was not the thing in London society to be enamored of one’s wife. How they had teased Townsend when he fell for Aurelia, and then mocked Warren when he lost his mind over Josephine. Now August was the hapless husband caught in his wife’s spell, hanging on her every word and living for her attention.

“Say, when are you going to marry that Welsh lass?” August asked, to wipe the teasing smirk off his friend’s face.

“She’s not a Welsh ‘lass,’” Arlington replied with satisfying irritation. “She’s a Welsh baron’s daughter, whom the king is forcing me to marry.”

“The king can’t make you marry anyone,” August said, to annoy his friend further.

Arlington shot him a withering look. “Warren can’t make you marry anyone either, but we all know how that turned out.”

August laughed for a point scored. “So have you learned anything else about this lady you’re to marry?”

“I learned she’s the youngest of eight, with seven older brothers. Imagine my delight.”

“One hopes her brothers are not the protective sort.”

“And she speaks the King’s English, although I suppose I could make my authority clear to her without language, if need be.”

August arched a brow at this assertion. “With a few sound spankings, perhaps?”

“Yes, if necessary. If I have to marry some Welsh aristocrat’s daughter against my will, you can be damned sure I won’t put up with any nonsense from her.”

“With all those older brothers, she’s bound to be a hellion.” It was fun for August to tease Arlington for once, rather than the other way around. “Perhaps she’ll come to the altar in war paint.”

“The Welsh don’t wear war paint anymore. They haven’t for several centuries. Honestly, try reading a book some time, rather than sitting at the pianoforte all day.”

“What’s your hellion’s name?” August asked.

His friend sighed. “Guinevere.”

August tried—and failed—not to laugh. He clapped a hand over his mouth as Minette stirred beside him.

“What’s so funny?” Arlington snapped. “It’s a perfectly proper Welsh name.”

“And I suppose you’re to be Arthur in this tale, rather than Arlington.”

“My given name is Aidan,” Arlington sniffed. “And I’ll thank you not to mock my future wife’s name. We’re to be married this October.” He waved a hand. “I suppose I’ll ride to the border and fetch her like some marauding knight.”

“Like King Arthur?”

“It’s wonderful that you find it funny.”

August grinned at his friend. “In truth, I wish you the best. Marriage isn’t as awful as we imagined it to be when we were wild, young rogues. Somehow Townsend and Warren and I managed to flounder our way to marital contentment.”

“Flounder being the operative word,” said Arlington. “How are you and Warren, by the way? Any thaw in the air?”

August glanced out the window at the black winter night. “No, not really.”

“You’ve got to talk to him. By God, the four of us have been friends a long time.”

August didn’t reply. Yes, the four of them had been friends forever, and August would like to be friends with Warren again, but he couldn’t undo the mistakes he’d made in the past few months.

“I say, we must be nearly to the inn now,” August said instead. Arlington nodded and dropped the uncomfortable subject of his rift with Warren, because that was the sort of thing a good friend did.

*** *** ***

They arrived to Warren Manor at midday, to find the courtyard in an uproar. Minette’s heart jumped into her throat. She recognized the local physician in his dark coat and hat, carrying his bag into the main house. Her Aunt Overbrook’s coach stood by the stables.

“Something has happened,” she cried.

August grabbed her about the waist before she could open the door of the moving carriage. “Wait. Let them put the steps down.”

“Something is amiss,” Minette said. “The servants look terrified. Why is the physician here? What if something has gone wrong?”

“If something’s gone wrong, they don’t need you falling out of a carriage to make things worse,” Arlington said, peeling her fingers from the door handle so August might pull her back to sit beside him on the seat.

As soon as the carriage stopped, Minette flew down the steps and ran to the front door. Inside the house, she caught one of the servants. “Has the baby arrived yet? What is happening?”

“Oh, milady, such a time,” said the flush-faced girl, dropping a hasty curtsy. “Lady Warren is abed trying to birth the child, Lord Warren is pacing around in a panic, and the midwife’s setting up a ruckus telling him to go away. Lady Overbrook is here, and the very best physician from Cowley, the one what saved the Atkins boy last year when he fell under that horse—”

“How long? How long has Lady Warren been abed?”

“Hours now. Since last evening.”

“They are in the countess’s chambers?”

“Yes, milady, but—”

Minette left the girl and ran for the stairs. She heard August call her name but she had to go to her friend and ease her suffering any way she could. When she reached the top, she followed the sounds of agony to Josephine’s bedroom. She nearly collided with a maid carrying an armful of bloodied toweling.

“Oh, no,” Minette breathed. “Oh, please, is she all right?”

August caught up to her and took her shoulders. “I’m not sure you ought to go in. You heard the maid downstairs. Things are in confusion.”

“I must go to Josephine. If there is any way I can help, I must do my part.”

She pushed open the door, to heat and noise and more panicked servants. Her brother stood by the physician, pleading with him to stop his wife’s suffering.

“What in God’s name do you mean, this is
normal
?” he shouted. “Is it normal for her to cry and scream and sweat for hours? Why aren’t you
doing anything
?”

“Idylwild!” scolded Aunt Overbrook in her high pitched voice. “You are not helping. If you can’t be useful, you ought to go away.”

The harried midwife and her trio of assistants seemed to share the dowager’s sentiments. The midwife actually pushed Warren aside to apply a cold cloth to Josephine’s forehead as she let out another groan.

“Let me do that,” said Minette, rushing to Josephine’s side and taking the cloth from the midwife. She tried not to gawk at her sister-in-law’s belly, which had grown enormous since she’d left town. “Oh, my dearest love. I’m so sorry to find you suffering.”

“Minette, you’re here.” Josephine regarded her with an unfocused gaze. “I’m glad. But I’m afraid I won’t be very—good—company at the moment.” Her last word cut off in a grunt, followed by a ragged scream. “Help me get up,” she said with breathless urgency. “Help me to my feet. I must walk.”

Warren shook his head. “You mustn’t try to walk, Josephine. Minette, how are you?” He acknowledged her arrival with a distracted kiss. “Mopsy, tell her she must rest in bed.”

“What does the midwife say?” asked Minette.

“The midwife says she must walk,” said Aunt Overbrook, “as any lady who’s borne a child will know. I’ve worked in Women’s Charities long enough to know what’s what.” She frowned at her nephew. “Help her up, Warren, and then be gone with you, so your wife can bear your child in peace.”

Minette stared at her brother. She’d never seen him like this, wild-eyed and frantic, practically in tears.

The physician cleared his throat as Aunt Overbrook and the midwife labored to help Josephine stand up. “It’s possible that your wife will find this easier, my lord, if you were to absent yourself and allow her to preserve her modesty. You might, er, retire to a distant parlor for a drink.”

“August,” Minette cried, hurrying back to the door. “Arlington! You must take Warren away from here and get him drunk.”

“I did not say drunk,” the physician corrected from across the room.

The two men peeked in, looking rather terrified as Josephine set up another wail. “Come along,” said Arlington, beckoning Warren. “Why not leave this business to the ladies? I believe it’s customary to do so, and they appear to have matters in hand.”

Warren dug in his heels. “What if she needs me?”

“The servants will get you,” said August. “Let’s go have a drink, old chap.”

“I’m not leaving my wife.”

Arlington and August exchanged glances. “I’ll stay here, just outside the door,” said Arlington. “You go downstairs with Barrymore, and if the slightest need arises, I’ll send someone to fetch you. I swear, I’ll send someone on the spot, or come myself to drag you smartly.”

“Go on with you,” said Aunt Overbrook, prodding her nephew toward the door. “Let Josephine do what she must, without you fretting in the background. All her strength and attention are needed for this task.”

Warren gazed in anguish at his suffering wife, now plodding back and forth in her shift, clutching her back.

“It won’t be long now,” said Aunt Overbrook. “Go await the news of your firstborn like a proper man should.” The stolid dowager finally accomplished what the midwife and physician could not, and banished Warren from the chamber.

Minette walked beside Josephine, supporting her and sponging her forehead. “What can I do, dear Josie? Please, how can I help you?”

“I don’t know. I’m so tired. I don’t know if I can go on much longer. I’m... I’m scared.”