Brent Hammond gave his wife a long, lazy look. “He always kicks up a dust when we’re in company. What do you think, Saint? A spot of brandy to quiet him down?”
“Nope, let the little devil move about. You feeling all right, Byrony?”
She nodded happily. “Not even one moment of nausea. But I’ll tell you, Saint, Brent is driving me crazy! You would think that this is the first child ever to be conceived.”
“By me, at least,” Brent said. “I’m still not convinced that the rest of you could manage it half as well.”
Jules’s eyes flew to her husband’s face, and she swallowed a knot of unhappiness. He was smiling from his great height at Byrony Hammond.
“Brent,” Chauncey said to Jules, “believes the rest of the male population adheres to the medieval paintings showing conception through the ear.”
“Really, love,” Del said over the laughter, “a most unladylike observation. Even Saint is blushing, and Jules’s face is as bright as her hair.”
Unabashed, Saint said, “I was just trying to picture in my mind how that would work.”
Jules gasped. “You’re terrible!”
“I have to be somewhat outrageous to keep up with Chauncey, sweetheart.” He continued to Brent, “Are you going to keep the Wild Star?”
Brent looked thoughtful. “We haven’t decided yet. I think Maggie’s interested in buying me out, but it’s such a steady stream of income. I don’t want us to starve in Wakeville.”
“Byrony,” Saint said, “before I forget, do come see me tomorrow. I want to make certain everything is all right.”
It was the first time Jules realized that her husband, who was a man, was also a doctor, and that he would actually see and touch other women. It was most disconcerting. She heard him continue to Brent, “It occurred to me that besides medical help, your folk are going to need clothing. Tell you what, Brent, I’ll contract with Jane to make clothes.”
“I’ll get Horace to pay half,” Del said.
“Don’t forget Bunker Stevenson, Sam Brannon, and I’ll bet we can even enlist James Cora to help.”
“A ball,” Chauncey said suddenly. “A subscription ball, that’s what we need.”
“With costumes, love?” Del asked. “Like the first time we met?”
“Yes, indeed, and I’ll thank you, husband, not to remind me of that evening!”
“Ah,” Del said, “but there was such wit flowing, at least from this poor soul.” He held his hand dramatically over his heart.
“We could invite all the upper crust, charge them a fortune, and Wakeville would shortly be on the map,” said Saint.
“We can even ensure that Lloyd Marks is there,” Chauncey said. “He draws the maps,” she added to Jules.
“I think,” Del said, “that the Stevensons would be delighted to hold the ball at their home.”
“Yes indeed,” said Saint. “You can hint to Bunker that we’ll all do our damnedest to find Penelope a husband out of the flock of men who will be there.”
“If,” Byrony said, “we could just convince Tony Dawson to be a bit mean, he’d make a perfect husband for Penelope.”
Planning the Wakeville ball went on for several more hours. Lydia served all the food in the house and cleaned out Saint’s liquor supply. When the last of the guests had left, Jules sighed and walked back into the parlor.
“What a scene of devastation,” Saint said ruefully, following her.
Jules was silent a moment, then turned to her husband, blurting out, “What will you do to Byrony?”
“Do? What do you mean?” He cocked his head to one side in question.
“I mean, she’s pregnant!”
“Ah,” he said. He walked to his now thoroughly embarrassed wife and took her hands in his large ones. “Yes, she is pregnant. Yes, I will examine her, thoroughly. She is a patient. I want her to go through childbirth with as little difficulty as possible, and I want her child to be as healthy as possible. That’s all there is to it.”