Page 16 of The Duke's Sister's Absolutely Excellent Engagement (The Notorious Briarwoods Book 11)

N estor stood helpless as he watched the life literally slip out of his wife. She was on the bed, writhing in pain, where they had spent so many happy hours. No, that wasn’t quite true. Writhing was not the correct word. When all this had first started, she had begun to arch and cry out in agony.

Nothing could soothe her.

No one could help her.

Her brow broke out in a sweat. Her hair was now soaked and her sweat coated the pillows.

His aunts all rushed into the room with linens and towels. His uncles and male cousins were waiting, not down in the study, but out in the hall, quiet, supportive, waiting for any news. And when this was all over, Nestor knew they would be waiting to help him through this.

His mother was sitting beside her at the top of her head, stroking her hair, telling her what a good girl she was.

Nestor choked back tears. He did not think he could do this. But if she had to endure it, he certainly would. He would never leave her alone. Still, as he stood there, the only male in the room besides the physician, he felt alone. He felt so entirely alone, he did not know what to do.

He was a man. Surely, he could do something. He had power. Surely, he could do something. He was the heir to a dukedom. Surely, he could do something. He had more money than most could ever hope to comprehend. Surely, he could do something. But as he stood there in the elaborate chamber where they had danced together, read together, dreamed together, he knew that there was not a damn thing he could do except ask God to save her.

But she was growing weaker and weaker by the moment.

It was clear. Her eyelids kept fluttering shut. Her face was as white as her night rail and the embroidered pillow beneath her dark hair. And he knew by looking at his mother that things were very bad indeed.

If he had thought all of this was going to turn out well, as he had tried to assure Margery it would, that notion had been disabused by the pure terror on his mother’s face. His mother was not a woman who was easily shaken, but she sat beside Margery whispering over and over to her how wonderful she was and how she was doing such excellent work.

From his mother’s intensity and the way she was holding Margery, he knew that at any moment, they wouldn’t just lose the baby that had been within her, but Margery too.

His mouth dried as the physician lifted the linen from Margery’s legs to re-examine her.

The sheets were all stained crimson with blood at the bottom of the bed. The physician’s shoulders sagged.

An hour ago, the baby, which had been so very small, had been taken away quickly, without a word, wrapped up in a linen sheet.

A sob choked out of Margery’s throat.

She was still awake, still conscious enough to know that she had lost her child.

Mercy looked to him and nodded.

He needed no further encouragement. He crossed over to her, sat on the side opposite his mother, and took his wife’s hand in his.

“My love,” he said, eager to give her comfort, any comfort at all.

She turned her eyes to him. “Am I dying?” she asked softly.

“Of course you are not,” he rushed, though he was afraid he was lying, and it was all he could do not to rattle apart.

“You keep calling me ‘my love,’” she breathed, her eyes glassy. “It cannot mean I am doing well. You’ve never said that before.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, hating himself for not saying it sooner. Hating himself for not realizing it sooner. “Margery, I say it because I do love you.”

She looked at him as if she could not believe his words. Her lashes fluttered. “You don’t need to say nice things to me right now. It’s not important,” she said, and then her face creased with agony. Not the physical kind, but the sort that makes one coil and curl up on oneself because one’s soul is being twisted with despair. “The only thing that was important has gone away, and I cannot bear it. I think…”

And then her voice died off as her body convulsed, and she let out a wild cry of pain.

He held tightly to her hand. “Margery,” he begged, his voice raw to his own ears, “don’t you leave me. Don’t you dare leave me. I will not allow it. Do you understand? You must stay here with me, my love.”

The physician looked up then at the duchess and at him and gave a shake of his head. “It doesn’t look good. If she doesn’t stop losing blood, then I will not be able to save her. I am so sorry about the child, Your Grace and my lord, but this is a serious situation. She should make her peace.”

Peace? Peace?! It was all Nestor could do not to let go of Margery’s hand, cross to the physician, and throttle him. If the physician thought he’d let his wife go so easily, the man was greatly mistaken.

But he did not let go of his wife’s hand and, much to his relief, his grandmother swept into the room. It was not her usual sort of sweeping. She was not the grand actress now. No, there was something else there. Something far more dangerous and far more steely.

“Thank you, physician. You’ve been extremely helpful.” The dowager gave the man a kind look, for he likely had done all he could. “You may step out of the room now.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the physician said without question, but before he left, the two exchanged a glance, almost if they knew what was about to transpire.

“I have brought someone to help her,” his grandmother said softly. “Nestor, Margery needs help.”

Nestor nodded his head swiftly. “Whatever you think.”

“The physician can do no more,” his grandmother said, her voice heavy. “He has made that plain, and so there’s really only one chance left and that’s Mother Hannah. She’s a local midwife. She often helps our physician when his own knowledge fails. And she has been delivering babies for years and years and years. She actually advises many of the local physicians when things are not going well. At least the intelligent ones who will take the advice and sense of a woman who has been doing this because her mother did this, and her mother before her.”

After these serious words, his grandmother turned to the bed and leaned down. “Now, my darling girl,” the dowager duchess said, reaching out and gently stroking Margery’s hair. “You must listen to Mother Hannah, do you understand? And you must do exactly as she says.”

Margery let out a cry. “I don’t want to listen to anyone. I just want to go to sleep.”

“No,” Nestor said. “You mustn’t. You must not…”

“Nestor, please,” Margery cried, her spirit broken. “Just let me go to sleep.”

“No,” his grandmother countered, her body brittle with the danger of the moment. “Your husband is right, Margery. You cannot go to sleep. Do you understand me?”

Nestor heard footsteps and turned to see an older woman slip into the room. Her gnarled hands and wizened face were assuring. As if she would remain calm, as if she would stand true, no matter the force of the storm.

She was not frightened. There was not even a mark of resignation about her like there had been with the physician in those final moments.

Mother Hannah seemed perfectly calm, rational, and at ease as she strode slowly in in her woolen shawl and woolen skirts, a basket on her arm.

“My goodness, it seems as if a great battle is taking place,” Mother Hannah said kindly. “Now, there are too many soldiers and too much fear. Everyone needs to step back and take a breath. And we won’t be losing our young woman here.”

She crossed over to Margery, looked at her face, then looked at her hands and her feet.

“Margery,” the old woman prompted.

“Y-yes, Mother Hannah?” she said.

Mother Hannah began to dig in her basket. “You know the truth of it, don’t you, my girl?”

Tears slipped out of Margery’s eyes, but she nodded.

“The baby has died, but you have done a wonderful job of bringing it into the world as best you could, and it shall be given a very proper burial, and it will be there waiting for you when it is your time to cross over. But you must not go join it now. Do you understand? You are needed here.”

“Was it a boy?” Margery suddenly asked.

There was a long quiet pause.

“I cannot say,” Mother Hannah said softly.

Another sob wracked Margery’s body, a wild cry.

“Yes, my darling girl. That’s it,” his mother encouraged. “You tell the world of your grief. You let us all know how much suffering it is, how much pain it is. Do not hold back. Show us that you are alive.”

“I don’t want to be alive,” Margery ground out.

Nestor squeezed her hand, completely lost, completely unable to feel grief for the lost child because he was standing before the yawning abyss that longed to swallow up his wife.

“You do, my love. You do. You cannot leave me here. You cannot leave me to face all of this alone. Stay. Stay for me.”

Margery turned to him then, her eyes softening. “You’ve never been alone, have you?”

He shook his head. “No, and I won’t know what to do if you leave me alone. I don’t care if that makes me selfish.”

“But you wouldn’t be alone,” she said, licking her dry lips. “You would have all your family.”

“You are my family,” he cut in. “What is my family without my Margery?”

And then he could not look at anything but his wife’s face as Mother Hannah began to work with her salves and her tinctures. She gave Margery something to drink.

“That will calm her,” she said. “Soothe her. The agitation is not helping. All of you, please do assure her of your love for her and how important and necessary she is here. Believe it or not, thoughts and words can help a great deal, and we must turn hers.”

She pulled Nestor aside. “I will do my best to stop the bleeding, my lord, but you must not stop. You must tell her how important it is that she stays. Over and over. I will also tell the same to your grandmother and your mother. Your wife wants to die and be with her child. It is very normal for a mother to feel this way. Women become so attached to the child that is growing inside them. It doesn’t matter how young that child is. And in a way, I’m quite grateful that it was early on. If it had been further along, saving her life could prove more complicated. Even so, we are on very difficult ground. We shall hopefully know by morning, unless, of course, a fever takes hold. And if fever takes hold, there will be nothing that I can do for her. Nothing will help her then. Not anyone. Not anything. She will be in the hands of God. Do you understand me?”

Nestor nodded. He could not speak. His voice was twisted.

“I understand it is hard to talk now,” Mother Hannah said, gently placing a wrinkled, kind hand on his arm, “but you must. You must go to her side, and you must talk to her all through the night. You must never cease. Do you understand? Because she will be tempted to go, and you cannot let her give into that temptation.”

“I understand,” he said, drawing himself up.

Nestor crossed to the bed, ready to do all that was required to keep his wife here in this world with him. Alive. For he could not bear the idea that she might leave him, because it was true what he had said. He loved her. He thought he was supposed to make her happy. What a fool he had been. It was she who had made him happy.

And if she left, she would take that happiness with her, and he would never ever know happiness again.