“I’ve heard rumors of a wedding date this Season but have yet to receive my invitation in the mail,” the dowager said.
Oliver offered a smile as false as Miss Martin’s had been a second ago. Over the years, Dorian’s mother had been generous with him, and he didn’t want to offend. But the general rule to surviving any kind of relationship with the dowager was to never let her see your soft underbelly. “No need to worry, Your Grace. I’m positive you’re on the guest list and will receive details when a time slot at St. George’s becomes available. Althea and I shall contend with the details of our marriage, while you bounce your grandchild on your knee.”
Miss McCrae interjected, “I read last year that St. George’s sees a thousand weddings per year. Can you imagine? Someone will have to cancel their nuptials or die for Althea to get a wedding date. With all that schedule jostling, how are you supposed to read the banns? Or do you intend to use a license to wed?”
Oliver and Althea looked at one another, as if the other might know the answer to the questions. Finally, he shrugged.
Miss McCrae seemed content to accept that, and continued, “I, for one, don’t intend to wed at all. Marriage as an institution isn’t beneficial to a woman in the vast majority of situations. Caro is lucky to have a husband who doesn’t see her as the weaker party, or merely property he’s acquired. Unfortunately, most men aren’t so enlightened.”
“My incomparable wife would smother me in my sleep if I dared insinuate she was weak in any way,” Dorian said with a level of cheer rarely seen when discussing one’s own possible demise.
“You know me well,” Caro agreed. The same footman who’d been attending Althea moved to remove the duchess’s plate, and she thanked him. Oliver couldn’t help but note that despite her claims of being full, she’d hardly eaten a thing all night and only sipped at her beverage.
“Of course, you seem like a decent-enough sort, Lord Southwyn,” Miss McCrae continued. “Our present company might consist of the last two men in England who don’t act like a horse’s arse.”
Oliver laughed. “Damned by faint praise, but I’ll accept it.”
“Well, since both of you are off the marriage mart, I needn’t feel bad about avoiding the parson’s trap for the indefinite future,” Miss Martin quipped, and for a brief flash of time, that bright, dimpled smile was aimed at him. Her comment could have been flirtatious, but given the circumstances, it wasn’t. Charming, yes. But flirtatious? Absolutely not.
A stab of something twisted in his chest, but before Oliver could examine it with the same distanced fascination his mother had shown her precious gorilla skull, a glass shattered on the floor.
Dorian shot to his feet. “Caro?”
The duchess clutched her stomach as a white ring of tension formed around her pursed lips.
Her cousins sprang to their feet in an instant, but the dowager held out a hand. “Give her space. Don’t crowd the woman.” Surprising everyone, Dorian’s mother pushed the shards of glass aside with her foot, then knelt at Caro’s knee. “Breathe,” she commanded.
Caro sat still as a statue, her face turning an alarming shade of red.
The dowager slapped her hand on the table, makingeveryone jump. “Breathe. Yes, it hurts. But youmust breathe through it.”
Dorian rubbed his wife’s neck, and Caro dropped her chin to her chest as she exhaled slowly. The duke stared at his mother. “Is the baby coming now?”
The dowager nodded. “Yes. Now, are you going to stand there like a ninny, or make yourself useful?”
Chapter Eleven
(List dropped in the shuffle.)
The dowager’s gaze never left Caro’s face, and Oliver could see he wasn’t the only one drawing comfort from the confidence with which the older woman handled the situation. “That’s it. You’ll do brilliantly as long as you keep breathing. Women have been bringing children into the world since the beginning of time. Now, are these your first labor pains?”
“Her back hurt more than usual today. She mentioned it when we arrived,” Miss Martin said. Even though her voice held concern, Oliver appreciated the way she kept a cool head at a time like this.
“Also, she hasn’t had an appetite for more than tea since breakfast,” Miss McCrae added.
“A few cramps earlier today, but they didn’t continue,” Caro added, then winced again and let out a low groan.
Dorian finally snapped out of his panic. “We have a plan for this. Caro, keep breathing.” He lowered his mouth to her ear, but his words carried in the quiet room. “I adore you. You’re brave, and you’re strong, and we both know you can do whatever you set your mind to, including this. Now, let’s get you to bed.”
As the duke gathered his wife in his arms, Miss McCrae pointed to a footman. “You, send for the midwife.”
“This isn’t some village in the middle of nowhere, girl. Send for the doctor,” the dowager argued.
Oliver wanted to cheer when the dark-haired cousin’s face turned stony before turning back to the footman. “The duchess,the mistress of this house, gave clear instructions on this matter, correct?”
“Yes, Miss McCrae. Her Grace wants the midwife first. We are to only send for the doctor if the midwife is unavailable.” The footman refused to look at the dowager, and Oliver couldn’t blame him.
“Then you have your orders,” Miss McCrae said, then the footman fled the room.
