snow indicating their previous travel up and down the hill, they continued along the public road for another quarter mile farther. At a break in the hedge, Claxton directed the horse onto a narrow path into the woods until overgrowth prevented further passage, requiring them to walk the rest of the way. The dense population of trees held much of the snow on their limbs, lessening the amount on the ground below.
“It’s so quiet here,” said Sophia, tucking her scarf at her neck.
“Not in the summer. Try to imagine sunshine and all the trees green and full with leaves. There are birds, and here below, creatures scurrying all about. Perhaps even your Mr. Stoat. It’s better than Vauxhall, I tell you.”
She laughed as if enchanted by the picture he painted. “I should very much like to see that.”
“We’ll visit in the summer, then.”
Just then, she wobbled, her boot having slid on a patch of ice. She grabbed his arm, but he caught her by the waist to steady her. Surrounded by a sanctuary of tall trees and sparkling ice, he pulled her closer for a kiss, which she allowed with a complacent, hazy smile. Instantly after, however, she pulled away and removed herself from him by several feet.
A small fire, born of suspicion, rasped to life in his chest again, larger and hotter this time. Did she only allow his kiss and his touch to placate him? Because she felt as if she had no other choice? What if she only wanted a child, but not him?
For a man who’d never had one moment’s difficulty attracting female companionship, the possibility left him dismayed. Clearly they got along very well, or had these past two days, and better yet, enjoyed each other’s company in bed. Why did she continue to hold herself emotionally apart?
“Which way?” she asked.
“There.” He pointed. “It’s not far.”
The obscure path all but disappeared into a dense tangle of trees. He recalled with vivid clarity every stone, every fallen tree and dip in the path. What joy he and Haden had once known here, with no fear or premonition of the pain their mother’s death would one day bring. With a hand to Sophia’s elbow, he led her forward over exposed roots and fallen trunks. At last he perceived a familiar shadow, the outline of the old structure.
“There, do you see it?” he asked.
As he’d expected, the cottage roof sagged beneath the weight of forest debris and snow. Strangely, though, it appeared that a faint tendril of smoke arose from the chimney.
A woman’s voice pierced the silence, a strangled scream. The breath evaporated in his throat. He and Sophia looked at each other, the blood draining from her face.
“Claxton,” she whispered. “What was that?”
It came again, a female’s desperate cry, as if she were dying. Vane flipped aside his coat and drew his pistol.
He made efficient work of preparing the weapon’s double chambers. “You return to the sledge. If I don’t reappear in five minutes, leave without me.”
“I won’t leave you here.”
“You will,” he insisted fiercely. “You will go to the village and find Mr. Kettle. He will know what to do. Promise me.”
With reluctance, at last she nodded. “I promise.”
He left her there and crept from the shelter of one tree to the next, unsure of what he would face. The woman sobbed, begged for mercy. With all stealth he peered through the window opening unencumbered by glass or shutter. Therein, Vane made out in the dim light a man in a crouched position. He could only assume the woman was being held against her will and assaulted.
Vane crashed through the doorway and aimed his weapon.
“You there,” he shouted. “Stop.”
The man whirled. A man he recognized as the intruder at Camellia House. Before him lay a woman propped on her elbows. Despite the frigid chill, her face was flushed and she perspired. A small fire smoldered on the tiny hearth.
“My wife,” the man exclaimed. “She is having a baby, but something is wrong. The child is not coming. Please help us.”
Claxton lowered his pistol. “Oh my God.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ten minutes later, Sophia paced the length of the sledge, whispering prayers for Claxton’s safe return. In the distance, she had heard male voices raised but no gunshots.
All at once, Claxton burst from the forest. Behind him emerged a young man she believed to be the intruder from the night before. He carried a woman, whose head rested on his shoulder. Both appeared ragged and half- frozen through.
Claxton quickly explained in a terse, controlled tone. “This is Mr. and Mrs. Branigan. Mrs. Branigan is having a baby but with difficulties. We’ll take her to Camellia House and I’ll go for Mrs. Kettle.”
Sophia tore the blanket from the seat. “Hurry.”
Mr. Branigan lowered the woman, and Sophia quickly covered her.
“Take her,” Sophia urged, backing away from the sledge. “Just take her and go. We will follow.”
He growled and leaned close, snatching her by the wrist. “I’m not leaving you with him. I don’t know who the hell he is. Get on the sledge. Stand here on the blades in front of me.”
But they’d not gone far when it became clear the horse labored to carry the added weight. With a push against Claxton’s arms, Sophia leapt from the blades.
“Go deliver her to the house,” she insisted. “I’m here, just behind, and will be there momentarily.”
She trudged up the hillside aware of Mr. Branigan behind her, closing the distance. When at last she reached the steps, she passed Claxton on the way out.
“I’ll return as quickly as I can.” He raced toward the sledge. “She is in my room.”
To Sophia’s surprise, Annabelle met her at the door. “I’m so glad you’re here. I know nothing of delivering babies and feared I would be called into service.”
“Who is with the girl now?” demanded Sophia, quickly removing her hat and scarf.
“Why, Lord Meltenbourne,” she responded, as if the answer made perfect sense.
Sophia rushed up the stairs and indeed found the earl sitting beside the bed, one leg crossed at the knee, holding the girl’s hand, looking very much the country physician.
“Now, dear girl,” he said. “If you feel you need to push, then you must push.”
The girl cried, “I can’t. I can’t. Something is wrong. My baby.”
A moment later, her husband burst into the room.
“Lydia.” He collapsed on his knees beside the bed. “His lordship has gone for the midwife. She will be here in a blink and all will be well. She will know what to do.”
Just then, Annabelle peeked through the door. “Is the girl well?”
Sophia went to her. “Annabelle, could you please go to the kitchen and begin boiling some water?”
“Boiling…water?” she repeated, eyes wide and dismayed. “Using what, a-a pot? Where do I find the water? Is the stove already lit?”
Lord Meltenbourne stood and in a calm tone said, “I shall boil the water, your Grace. I assume there are linens in the kitchen?”
“Yes, in the large cabinet.”
“I was present for the births of all five of my daughters.” He offered a wise smile. Though his eyes were red from who knows how many days of drinking, he appeared quite a different man from the one who had that morning presented himself on the front lawn demanding a duel. “I am happy to do whatever I can to assist.”
Given the present situation, Sophia was more than willing to forgive. Five daughters! Indeed, there was something reassuring and paternal about the earl’s presence that reminded her, however fleetingly, of her own father, which made her feel sad and thankful all at once. The earl’s calm demeanor provided a benchmark for her
