Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever (24 page)

Another contraction gripped Miranda. “Eeeengh,” she moaned.

“What was that?” Turner shot over to her side in a flash. “Is this normal? Should she be—”

“Turner, hush!” Lady Rudland said. “You're going to worry her.” She turned down to Miranda and pressed a damp cloth to her brow. “Pay him no mind, dear. It's perfectly normal.”

“I know. I…” She paused to catch her breath. “Could I get out of this dress?”

“Oh, goodness, of course. I'm so sorry. I forgot all about it. You must be so uncomfortable. Turner, come here and give me a hand.”

“No!” Miranda exclaimed sharply.

He stopped short, and his face went cold.

“I mean, either you do it or have him do it,” Miranda told her mother-in-law. “But not both.”

“That's the childbirth talking,” Lady Rudland said soothingly. “You're not thinking clearly.”

“No! He can do it if you want because he's…seen me before. Or you can do it because you're a woman. But I don't want you seeing me while he sees me. Don't you understand?” Miranda gripped the older woman's arm with uncharacteristic force.

Back in the corner, Turner suppressed a smile. “I'll let you do the honors, Mother,” he said, keeping his voice flat so that he didn't burst out laughing. With a sharp nod, he left the room. He forced himself to walk halfway down the hall before letting laughter take over. What a funny little set of scruples his wife had.

Back in the bedroom, Miranda was gritting her teeth
against another contraction as Lady Rudland peeled off her ruined dress.

“Is he gone?” she asked. She did not trust him not to peek in.

Her mother-in-law nodded. “He won't bother us.”

“It's not a bother,” Miranda said, before she could think the better of it.

“Of course it is. Men have no place during childbirth. It's messy, and it's painful, and not a one of them knows how to be useful. Better to let them sit outside and ponder all the ways they should reward you for your hard work.”

“He bought me a book,” Miranda whispered.

“Did he? I was thinking of diamonds, myself.”

“That would be nice, too,” Miranda said weakly.

“I shall drop a hint in his ear.” Lady Rudland finished getting Miranda into her nightgown and fluffed the pillows behind her. “There you are. Are you comfortable?”

Another pain gripped her belly. “Not. Really,” she squeezed between her teeth.

“Was that another one?” Lady Rudland asked. “Goodness. They are coming very close together. This may be an uncommonly fast birth. I do hope Dr. Winters arrives soon.”

Miranda held her breath as she rode through the wave of pain, nodding her agreement.

Lady Rudland took her hand and squeezed, her face scrunching in empathy. “If it makes you feel any better,” she said, “it's much worse with twins.”

“It doesn't,” Miranda gasped.

“Make you feel any better?”

“No.”

Lady Rudland sighed. “I didn't think it would, actually. But don't worry,” she added, brightening a bit. “This will all be over soon.”

Twenty-two hours later, Miranda wanted a new definition of the word
soon
. Her entire body was wracked with pain, her breath was coming in ragged gasps, and she felt as if she just couldn't get enough air into her body. And the contractions kept on coming, each one worse than the last. “I feel one coming,” she whimpered.

Lady Rudland immediately mopped her brow with a cool cloth. “Just bear down, sweetheart.”

“I can't…I'm too…Bloody hell!” she yelled, using her husband's favorite epithet.

Out in the hall, Turner stiffened as he heard her cry out. After getting Miranda changed out of her soiled dress, his mother had taken him out of earshot and convinced him that everyone would be better off if he stayed out in the hall. Olivia had brought two chairs out from a nearby sitting room and was diligently keeping him company, trying not to wince when Miranda yelled out in pain. “That sounded like a bad one,” she said nervously, trying to make conversation.

He glared at her. Wrong thing to say.

“I'm sure it will all be over soon,” Olivia said with more hope than certainty. “I don't think it could get much worse.”

Miranda yelled out again, clearly in agony.

“At least I don't think so,” Olivia added weakly.

Turner let his face fall into his hands. “I'm never going to touch her again,” he moaned.

“He's never going to touch me again!” they heard Miranda roar.

“Well, it doesn't look like you'll have much argument from your wife on that point,” Olivia chirped. She nudged his chin with her knuckles. “Buck up, big brother. You're about to become a father.”

“Soon, I hope,” he muttered. “I don't think I can take much more of this.”

“If you think it's bad, just think how Miranda must feel.”

He leveled a deadly stare at her. Wrong thing to say again. Olivia shut her mouth.

Back in the birthing room, Miranda was holding her mother-in-law's hand in a death grip. “Make it stop,” she moaned. “Please make it stop.”

“It will be over soon, I assure you.”

Miranda yanked her down until they were nearly face to face. “You said that
yesterday
!”

“Excuse me, Lady Rudland?”

It was Dr. Winters, who had arrived an hour after the pains had started.

“If I could have a word with you?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Lady Rudland said, carefully extricating her hand from Miranda's. “I'll be right back. I promise.”

Miranda nodded jerkily and grabbed hold of the sheets, needing something to squeeze when the pain overtook her
body. Her head lolled from side to side as she tried to take a deep breath. Where was Turner? Didn't he realize that she needed him in here? She needed his warmth, his smile, but most of all, she needed his strength because she didn't think she had enough of her own to get her through this ordeal.

But she was stubborn, and she had her pride, and she could not bring herself to ask Lady Rudland where he was. Instead she gritted her teeth and tried not to cry out from the pain.

“Miranda?” Lady Rudland was looking down at her with a concerned expression. “Miranda, darling, the doctor says you have to push harder. The babe needs a little help coming out.”

“I'm too tired,” she whimpered. “I can't do it anymore.”
I need Turner.
But she didn't know how to say the words.

“Yes, you can. If you just push a little harder now, it will be over much more quickly.”

“I can't…I can't…I—ohhhh!”

“That's it, Lady Turner,” Dr. Winters said briskly. “Push now.”

“I…Oh, it hurts. It hurts.”

“Push. I can see the head.”

“You can?” Miranda tried to lift her head.

“Shhh, don't strain your neck,” Lady Rudland said. “You won't be able to see anything, anyway. Trust me.”

“Keep pushing,” the doctor said.

“I'm trying. I'm trying.” Miranda clamped her teeth together and squeezed. “Is it…Can you…” She took a few giant gulps of air. “What kind is it?”

“I can't tell yet,” Dr. Winters replied. “Hold on. Wait a minute…There we are.” Once the head had emerged, the tiny body slipped out quickly. “It's a girl.”

“It is?” Miranda breathed. She sighed wearily. “Of course it is. Turner always gets what he wants.”

Lady Rudland opened the door and poked her head into the hall while the doctor saw to the baby. “Turner?”

He looked up, his face haggard.

“It's over, Turner. It's a girl. You have a daughter.”

“A girl?” Turner echoed. The long wait in the hall had worn him down, and after nearly a full day of listening to his wife cry out in pain, he could not quite believe that it was done, and he was a father.

“She's beautiful,” his mother said. “Perfect in every way.”

“A girl,” he said again, shaking his head in wonder. He turned to his sister, who had remained at his side throughout the night. “A girl. Olivia, I have a girl!” And then, surprising them both, he threw his arms around her and hugged.

“I know, I know.” Even Olivia had a hard time keeping the tears in her eyes.

Turner gave her one last squeeze, then looked back to his mother. “What color eyes does she have? Are they brown?”

An amused smile spread on Lady Rudland's face. “I don't know, darling. I didn't even look. But babies' eyes often change color while they're small. We probably won't know for certain for some time yet.”

“They will be brown,” Turner said firmly.

Olivia's eyes widened in sudden awareness. “You love her.”

“Hmmm? What did you say, brat?”

“You love her. You love Miranda.”

Funny, but that tightness in his throat he always felt at the mention of the L-word was gone. “I—” Turner stopped short, his mouth opening slightly in stunned surprise.

“You love her,” Olivia repeated.

“I think I do,” he said wonderingly. “I love her. I love Miranda.”

“It's about time you realized it,” his mother said pertly.

Turner sat slack-jawed, amazed at how
easy
it all felt now. Why had it taken him so long to realize it? It should have been clear as day. He loved Miranda. He loved everything about her, from her delicately arched eyebrows to her often sarcastic jibes and the way her head tilted when she was curious. He loved her wit, her warmth, her loyalty. He even loved the way her eyes were slightly too close together. And now she had given him a child. She had lain in that bed and labored for hours under tremendous pain, all to give him a child. Tears welled up in his eyes. “I want to see her.” He almost choked on the words.

“The doctor will have the baby ready in a moment,” his mother said.

“No. I want to see Miranda.”

“Oh. Well, I don't see any harm in that. Hold on just a moment. Dr. Winters?”

They heard a hushed expletive, and then the baby was thrust into her grandmother's arms.

Turner flung the door open. “What's wrong?”

“She's losing far too much blood,” the doctor said grimly.

Turner looked down at his wife and nearly stumbled in terror. There was blood everywhere; it seemed to be pouring from her, and her face was deathly pale. “Oh, God,” he said in a strangled voice. “Oh, Miranda.”

The doctor managed to staunch the bleeding, but he was shaking his head as he washed his hands. “She's lost a lot of blood,” he said grimly. “She's going to be weak.”

“But she'll pull through?” Turner asked anxiously.

Dr. Winters raised his shoulders in a melancholy shrug. “We can only hope.”

Not liking that answer, Turner pushed past the doctor and sat down in a chair by his wife's bed. He picked up her limp hand and held it in his. “She'll pull through,” he said hoarsely. “She has to.”

Lady Rudland cleared her throat. “Dr. Winters, do you have any idea what caused all of the bleeding?”

“It could be a tear in the uterus. Probably from when the afterbirth pulled away.”

“Is this a common occurrence?”

The doctor nodded. “I'm afraid I must go. There is another woman in the area who is expecting, and I need to get some sleep if I'm to attend to her properly.”

“But Miranda…” Lady Rudland's words trailed off as she looked at her daughter-in-law with dismay and fear.

“There is nothing more I can do for her. We must only hope and pray that her body heals the tear, and she does not bleed again.”

“And if she does?” Turner asked flatly.

“If she does, press clean bandages up against her as I did. And send for me.”

“And if we did, is there any chance in hell that you could get here in time?” Turner asked caustically, grief and terror ripping away all politeness.

The doctor chose not to reply. He nodded his head. “Lady Rudland. Lord Turner.”

As the door closed, Lady Rudland crossed the room to her son's side. “Turner,” she said soothingly. “You should get some rest. You've been up all night.”

“So have you.”

“Yes, but I…” Her words trailed off. If her husband were dying, she'd want to be with him. She dropped a kiss on the top of Turner's head. “I'll leave you alone with her.”

He spun around, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Damn it all, Mother! I am not here to say my final good-byes. There is no need to talk like she is dying.”

“Of course not.” But her eyes, filled with pity and grief, told a different story. She quietly left the room.

Turner stared down at Miranda's pale face, a muscle working spasmodically in his throat. “I should have told you that I love you,” he said hoarsely. “I should have told you. It's all you wanted to hear, wasn't it? And I was too
stupid to realize it. I think I've loved you all along, sweetheart. All along. Every since that day in the carriage when you finally told me that you loved me. I was—”

He stopped, thinking he'd seen movement in her face. But it was just his own shadow, moving along her skin as he rocked back and forth.

“I was just so surprised,” he said, once he found his voice again. “So surprised that someone could love me and not want any sort of power over me. So surprised that you could love me and not want to change me. And I…I didn't think I
could
love anymore. But I was wrong!” His hands flexed jerkily, and he had to resist the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake. “I was wrong, damn it, and it wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault, puss. It was mine. Or maybe Leticia's, but definitely not yours.”

He picked up her hand again and brought it to his lips. “It was never your fault, puss,” he said entreatingly. “So come back to me. Please. I swear, you're scaring me. You don't want to scare me, do you? I assure you, it's not a pretty sight.”

There was no response. He wished she'd cough, or restlessly shift position, or anything. But she just lay there, so still, so unmoving that a moment of sheer terror descended on him and he frantically turned her hand over to feel for her pulse on the inside of her wrist. Turner sighed in relief. It was there. It was soft, but it was there.

He let out a weary yawn. He was exhausted, and his eyelids were drooping, but he could not let himself sleep. He needed to
be
with her. He needed to see her, to hear her
breathe, to simply watch the way the light played across her skin.

“It's too dark,” he muttered, getting to his feet. “It's like a goddamned morgue in here. He searched the room, shuffling through drawers and closets until he found some more candles. He quickly lit them all and shoved them into holders. It was still too dark. He strode to the door, flung it open, and yelled out, “Brearley! Mother! Olivia!”

Eight people immediately answered his summons, all fearing the worst.

“I need more candles,” Turner said, his voice belying his terror and exhaustion. A few maids immediately scurried off.

“But it's already so bright in here,” Olivia said, poking her head into the room. Her breath caught when she saw Miranda, her best friend since infancy, lying so still. “Is she going to be all right?” she whispered.

“She's going to be just fine,” Turner snapped. “Provided that we can get some light in here.”

Olivia cleared her throat. “I should like to go in and say something to her.”

“She isn't going to die!” Turner exploded. “Do you hear me? She isn't going to die. There is no need to talk that way. You don't have to say good-bye.”

“But if she did,” Olivia persisted, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I should feel—”

Turner's control snapped, and he shoved his sister up against the wall. “She isn't going to die,” he said in a low, deadly voice. “I would appreciate it if you would stop acting otherwise.”

Olivia nodded jerkily.

Turner suddenly let her go and then stared at his hands as if they were foreign objects. “My God,” he said raggedly. “What is happening to me?”

“It's all right, Turner,” Olivia said soothingly, cautiously touching his shoulder. “You have every right to be over-wrought.”

“No I don't. Not when she needs me to be strong for her.” He strode back into the room and sat back down next to his wife. “I don't matter right now,” he muttered, swallowing convulsively. “Nothing matters but Miranda.”

A bleary-eyed housemaid entered the room with some candles.

“Light them all,” Turner ordered. “I want it bright as day in here. Do you hear me? Bright as day.” He turned back to Miranda and smoothed his hand over her brow. “She always did love sunny days.” He caught himself in horror and looked frantically at his sister. “I mean—she
loves
sunny days.”

Olivia, unable to watch her brother in such a grief-stricken state, nodded and quietly departed.

A few hours later, Lady Rudland entered the room carrying a small bundle wrapped in a soft pink blanket. “I brought your daughter,” she said softly.

Turner looked up, shocked to realize that he had completely forgotten about the existence of this tiny person. He stared at her in disbelief. “She's so small.”

His mother smiled. “Babies usually come that way.”

“I know but…look at her.” He reached out his index finger to her hand. Tiny fingers grasped it with surprising
firmness. Turner looked up at his mother, amazement at this new life clearly written on his bleak face. “Can I hold her?”

“Of course.” Lady Rudland settled the bundle in his arms. “She's yours, you know.”

“She is, isn't she?” He looked down at the pink face and touched her nose. “How do you do? Welcome to the world, puss.”

“Puss?” Lady Rudland said in an amused tone. “What a funny nickname.”

Turner shook his head. “No, it's not funny. It's absolutely perfect.” He looked back up at his mother. “How long will she be this small?”

“Oh, I don't know. For a little while, at least.” She crossed over to the window and pulled the drapes halfway back. “The sun is starting to come up. Olivia told me that you wanted some light in the room.”

He nodded, unable to take his eyes off his daughter.

She finished fussing at the window and turned back to him. “Oh, Turner…she has brown eyes.”

“She does?” He looked back down at the baby. Her eyes were closed in sleep. “I knew she would.”

“Well, she wouldn't want to disappoint her papa on her first day out, would she?”

“Or her mother.” Turner looked over at Miranda, still deathly pale, then hugged this new bundle of life closer to him.

Lady Rudland glanced at her son's blue eyes, so like her own, and said, “I daresay Miranda was hoping for blue eyes.”

Turner swallowed uncomfortably. Miranda had loved him so long and so well, and he had spurned her. Now he might lose her, and she'd never know that he realized what a stupid ass he'd been. She'd never know that he loved her. “I daresay she would,” he said in a choked voice. “She'll just have to wait until the next one.”

Lady Rudland caught her lip between her teeth. “Of course, dear,” she said consolingly. “Have you given any thought as to names?”

He looked up in surprise, as if the idea of a name had never occurred to him. “I…No. I forgot,” he admitted.

“Olivia and I thought of some pretty names. What do you think of Julianna? Or Claire. I suggested Fiona, but Olivia didn't like it.”

“Miranda would never allow her daughter to be named Fiona,” he said dully. “She always hated Fiona Bennet.”

“That little girl who lives near Haverbreaks? I never knew.”

“It's a moot point, Mother. I'm not naming her without consulting Miranda.”

Lady Rudland swallowed again. “Of course, dear. I'll just…I'll just leave you now. Give you some time alone with your family.”

Turner looked at his wife and then at his daughter. “That's your mama,” he whispered. “She's very tired. It took a lot of her strength to get you out. I can't imagine why. You're not very big.” To demonstrate his point, he touched one of her tiny fingers. “I don't think she's even seen you yet. I know she would want to. She would hold you and hug you and kiss you. Do you know why?” He
awkwardly brushed away a tear. “Because she loves you, that's why. I'd wager she loves you even more than she loves me. And I think she must love me quite a bit because I haven't always behaved as I should.”

He stole a glance at Miranda to make sure she hadn't woken up before he added, “Men can be asses. We're silly and we're stupid and we rarely open our eyes wide enough to see the blessings that are right in front of our faces. But I see you,” he added, smiling down at his daughter. “And I see your mother, and I hope her heart is big enough to forgive me this last time. I think it is, though. Your mama has a very big heart.”

The baby gurgled, causing Turner to smile with delight. “I can see that you agree with me. You're very clever for being just a day old. But then again, I don't see why I should be surprised. Your mama is very clever, too.”

The baby cooed.

“You flatter me, puss. But for the time being, I'll let you think I'm clever, too.” He looked over at Miranda and whispered, “Only the two of us need to know just how stupid I've been.”

The baby made another baby noise, leading Turner to believe that his daughter must be the most intelligent child in the British Isles. “Do you want to meet your mother, puss? Here, why don't we introduce the two of you.” His movements were awkward, for he had never held a baby before, but somehow he managed to settle his daughter in the crook of Miranda's arm. “There you go. Mmmm, it's warm there, isn't it? I'd like to trade places with you. Your mama has very soft skin.” He reached out and touched the
baby's cheek. “Not as soft as yours, however. You, little one, are quite astonishingly perfect.”

The baby began to fidget and after a few moments let out a lusty wail. “Oh, dear,” Turner muttered, completely at a loss. He picked her up and cradled her against his shoulder, taking great care to support her head as he had seen his mother do. “There, there, now. Shhh. Be quiet now. That's right.”

His entreaties obviously weren't working because she bellowed in his ear.

A knock sounded on the door, and Lady Rudland looked inside. “Do you want me to take her, Turner?”

He shook his head, loath to part with his daughter.

“I think she's hungry, Turner. The wet nurse is in the next room.”

“Oh. Of course.” He looked vaguely embarrassed as he handed the baby to his mother. “Here you are.”

He was alone again with Miranda. She hadn't moved at all during his vigil, save for the shallow rise and fall of her chest. “It's morning, Miranda,” he said, taking her hand in his again and trying to cajole her into consciousness. “Time to wake up. Will you? If not for yourself, then for me. I'm frightfully tired, but you know I can't go to sleep until you wake up.”

But she did not move. She did not turn in her sleep, and she did not snore, and she was terrifying him. “Miranda,” he said, hearing the panic in his voice, “this is enough. Do you hear me? It's enough. You need to—”

He broke off, unable to go on any longer. He gave her hand a squeeze and looked away. Tears blurred his vision.
How was he going to go on without her? How would he raise their daughter all on his own? How would he even know what to name her? And worst of all, how could he live with himself if she died without ever hearing him say that he loved her?

With fresh determination, he wiped away his tears and turned back to her. “I love you, Miranda,” he said loudly, hoping that he could penetrate her haze, even if she never woke up. His voice grew urgent. “I love you. You. Not what you do for me or the way you make me feel. Just you.”

A slight sound escaped her lips, so soft that Turner initially thought he had imagined it. “Did you say something?” His eyes searched her face frantically, looking for any sign of movement. Her lips quivered again, and his heart leaped with joy. “What was that, Miranda? Please, just say it once again. I didn't hear you the first time.” He put his ear down to her lips.