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“I can see the head! Keep pushing, Frances. He is almost here, and he has a full head of thick auburn hair.”

Anne’s hand smarted as her friend bore down with an ear-splitting scream, the babe slipping into the waiting grasp of the midwife as though the entire process had been the product of minutes and not the long interminable hours that had actually occurred.

The woman began to vigorously rub the babe, bringing forth a cry that was, no doubt, heard throughout the house.

“Is it the heir?” asked Frances, her tone urgent. Her grip on Anne’s hand just as firm.

The midwife smiled. “You have a beautiful daughter.”

Frances’s face crumpled. “What? No! This child was supposed to be the heir! What am I going to do with another girl?” Anne’s heart sank. She would have been grateful for any child, but Frances had always been fickle. Still, how could anyone not cherish an innocent babe?

The midwife caught Anne’s eye and pointed to a distinct mark on the inside of the child’s arm.

Anne gasped. “I shall clean her up and bring her to her father.” Without another word, she took the babe to a table near the fire where she wiped away the remnants of the birth.

She turned the child’s arm to run a finger over the mark.

How was this possible? By all that was known, this was impossible.

She shook her head. All she could do was take the little girl to her father and hear his opinion on the matter, so she swaddled her in clean warm blankets.

Anne could not help but give a tiny laugh.

The wide-eyed little one watched her so intently.

She almost seemed to be taking her measure while Anne cared for the infant.

She had never seen such an alert newborn .

Once the babe was presentable, Anne gathered her up but paused on the way to the door.

“She is truly beautiful. Would you care to hold her?” When Frances turned the opposite direction without uttering so much as a “no,” Anne’s heart split and bled.

She looked down upon the small child in her arms. The poor dear!

She had done nothing—except being born a girl.

As Anne departed and made her way down the narrow stairs, the babe’s eyes were still open and alert.

She brushed her finger down the child’s soft cheek.

How could anyone not love a baby? Anne had to shove the stirring in her stomach back down where it belonged.

She and Frances had been friends for years now, but at this moment, Anne had to forcibly resist the urge to return to the bedchamber and shake the woman. Why was Frances so recalcitrant?

When Anne reached the library, she knocked and was bid enter.

Henry Bennet and Anne’s husband, George, jumped to their feet as soon as she stepped inside. “Well?”

She smiled. “You have a beautiful daughter.” She held her breath in her lungs while she awaited Bennet’s response.

He did no more than frown. “But I saw—”

“She bears the birthmark,” said Anne.

Both gentlemen gasped. “Are you certain?” asked Bennet, who hurried forward.

She handed the child to the father and with great care, showed him the four-point star on the inside of the babe’s left arm.

“A female has never borne the mark in any family.” Bennet’s voice was low, as though he whispered to himself.

“She will require protection,” said George.

“A lady with the abilities of a man will be sought after—will be in great danger from those who would wish to use her for their own purposes.” A pang ripped through Anne.

Her husband was correct of course. This child would not have an easy time of it.

Those who understood the meaning of the mark would do anything to marry her into their families by whatever means necessary.

Bennet dropped back into his chair and stared at his new daughter. “My God. What am I going to do?”

George wagged a finger and took the chair across from his friend. “Do not despair just yet. I think I may have a solution.”