A split second later he slid the shoulder out and the hot little baby slipped into Chloe’s hands. Her heart throbbed.
Henry swooped in, wiping the baby’s mouth and eyes clean. Then he lifted the baby like a prize for Mrs. Crescent to see. “It’s a girl! A girl, Mrs.
Crescent!” The baby cried.
Chloe would never, ever again romanticize the Regency. Every single love that culminated in marriage would end like this: with natural childbirth.
Because there wasn’t any reliable birth control. The mother would be lucky to survive, and probably become pregnant within a year, and every year thereafter. No wonder al of Jane Austen’s novels ended with the wedding!
Mrs. Crescent quivered with happiness and exhaustion. Chloe covered her with a blanket. Mrs. Crescent held her arms out for the baby.
“You’l have her in a minute. Just a minute,” Henry said. “Miss Parker, I need you to hold the baby now.”
Chloe took the baby in her arms. She looked away as Henry cut the umbilical cord.
“Wel done, Miss Parker.” He took the baby from her, and his face beamed. The room seemed to light up. “Go soothe her. Give her water. I’l clean up the baby. Unless you want to, of course.”
Chloe laughed. “I’l let you do that.”
Mrs. Crescent gave Chloe a little squeeze.
“Thank you, Miss Parker. You were wonderful—”
Chloe shook her head. “No—you were. The baby’s perfect. She’s beautiful. It’s the girl you always wanted.” She pul ed off the soiled latex gloves, washed her hands, and poured Mrs. Crescent a glass of water. She couldn’t believe they did it. Without a hospital. Without an epidural. But she’d never want to help with a nineteenth-century birth again, that was for sure.
Henry brought the cleaned and swaddled baby toward Mrs. Crescent. But before he handed her to her mother, for just a moment, he put his arm around Chloe, and she leaned against him. She saw their shadows, the two of them, together, and a tiny profile of a baby reflected on the wal . Then he stepped away and handed the baby to Mrs. Crescent.
Henry stood right near Chloe, their arms brushed up against each other.
“Mrs. Crescent, we need to do a little stitching,” he said. “Please give the baby to Miss Parker for a moment.”
Chloe couldn’t believe it. Stitching? Without painkil ers?
Mrs. Crescent kissed the baby and handed her off to Chloe, who rocked her like an old pro. Because she
“You look like quite a natural,” Mrs. Crescent said to Chloe. “You’l be a great mum someday.”
The baby’s eyes closed tight, like little crescent moons.
Chloe shot a look at Henry, who had been watching her.
Henry smiled at Mrs. Crescent. “I’ve gotten word that your husband and children are on their way. They’l be here soon.”
Then Henry snapped on a fresh pair of latex gloves and threaded a needle. Chloe’s stomach lurched. She handed the baby to a servant girl behind her. “Excuse me, I need some air.” She lunged for her fan and reticule and ran out.
When she stopped running, she was outside, and breathed the early-morning air in heavily. She col apsed on the steps in front of the semicircular gravel drive, under a lit torch. She fanned herself frantical y. She untied the hospital gown and it fel in a heap at her boots. The clock in the foyer behind her chimed three times.
Someone came and put an arm around Chloe. It was Fiona.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said.
Chloe couldn’t look her in the face. She just stared at her Celtic tattoo. “You lied to me. Just so that you could dance with Sebastian?”
“Sebastian’s a terrible flirt. He danced with me for one dance and he had promised me at least three.”
“What’s your deal, Fiona? Are you after him, too?”
Fiona hung her head. “I wanted to be a contestant. Like you. But I didn’t make the cut.”
That explained a lot, and Chloe had suspected it al along. “I don’t get it, though. Aren’t you engaged?”
“It’s been on and off. We’l figure it out when he gets back.”
“Sebastian’s a lot like you, Fiona. He doesn’t know what he wants.” Chloe waved Fiona off. “Go to bed. It’s late.”
She curtsied and sauntered off. This gave a whole new spin to the issue of finding good hired help.
Chloe sat for a long time, until, off in the distance, on the way to the reflecting pond, she saw something move on the lawn. It was probably a deer.
She opened her silk reticule, slid Henry’s glasses out, and put them on. It looked like some kind of animal out there, al right. Actual y, it looked more like two animals—one of which was humping the other. She looked away.
