The Viscount's Veiled Lady (Whitby Weddings 3)

The same thoughts kept spinning round and around her head for so long that she was relieved when the carriage finally pulled to a halt outside Amberton Castle and she was able to climb down, almost colliding with a red-haired youth as he came hurtling out of the front door.

‘Sorry, miss!’ the boy called over his shoulder as he ran in the direction of the stables.

‘What’s the matter?’ she shouted after him, but he was already too far away to hear. Quickly, she went in through the open door, just in time to catch a flurry of maids rushing upstairs with jugs and towels.

‘What’s happening? Is Mrs Amberton all right?’ She was struck with a sudden sense of foreboding.

‘It’s the baby, miss,’ one of the maids answered over the banister. ‘It’s coming now.’

‘Oh!’ Frances dropped the box of jewellery she was carrying on to a bureau and followed them, taking the stairs two at a time.

‘Violet?’

She ran up a second flight of stairs and burst into a bedchamber to find the tiny woman hunched over with pain, one hand grasping the bedpost while the other clutched at her stomach. Her cheeks were crimson-red and streaked with sweat while the housekeeper, a tall and gaunt-looking woman wearing a frankly terrified expression, stood over her, waving her arms helplessly.

‘Frances...’ Violet reached out a hand when she saw her. ‘I’m glad... Ah!’

‘I’m here.’ Frances ran across the room, clutching her hand briefly before starting to haul at the laces on the back of her gown. ‘Has anyone sent for a doctor?’

‘Yes, and Captain Amberton, too.’ The housekeeper looked distinctly relieved by her arrival.

‘Good.’ She pulled Violet’s gown away so that she could breathe more easily. ‘There. That should feel cooler. Now,’ she turned to one of the maids, speaking calmly to allay the growing atmosphere of panic, ‘I’d be grateful if you could give a message to my coachman. Tell him to go back to Whitby and say I’ll be here for a while helping Mrs Amberton.’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘Thank you.’ Violet threw her a grateful look.

‘You didn’t think I’d just turn around and leave, did you?’

‘No...’ Violet bent over the bed, clutching the coverlet tightly between trembling fingers as another spasm of pain racked her body. ‘But I’m scared...it’s too soon.’

‘Not necessarily. My mother says that babies themselves decide when to be born. I was a month early. But if your child’s ready, then you need to be, too. You can squeeze my hand and scream as much as you like.’

‘You might regret...saying that.’

‘I might, but we’ll manage.’

‘Have you...done this before?’

‘Yes, I helped when my nephew Georgie was born.’ Not that she’d done much more than fetch and refresh bowls of water, but there was no need to tell Violet that... Frances smiled reassuringly. ‘I know exactly what to do, don’t worry.’

* * *

‘What on earth are we carrying?’

Lance panted as he and Arthur heaved an unwieldy and bizarre-looking contraption into one of the farm outbuildings.

‘It’s called a rouge wheel.’

‘It looks like two discs covered in leather.’

‘Apparently that’s what a rouge wheel is. It’s used for polishing jet.’

‘And this is your idea of a wedding present?’

Arthur jerked his chin up defensively. ‘This and a few other things.’

‘Like that workbench and those shelves?’ Lance made a face. ‘Well, I suppose Frances knows what she’s getting herself into. If she’s marrying you, then she might even be crazy enough to appreciate all of this. Now if you’ve finished abusing my ill-advised offer of help, I’m going to make a pot of tea. I need it.’