Page 66 of The Scottish Duke
He shook his head, smiling. “There’s a second cousin somewhere, but he lives in London. And I’ve heard tell there was a great aunt or something that emigrated to Australia.”
“No one else like Mary or the earl?”
“That’s the lot of them.”
She shouldn’t have allowed the earl to disturb her so much.
“Well, if any more of them turn up, tell them I’m asleep and can’t be bothered.”
Peter’s smile broadened. “That I will, Lorna. That I will.”
Chapter 18
She really didn’t feel well, but Lorna hid it enough that Nan went off to work without knowing. Instead of sitting in the comfortable overstuffed chair and occupying herself with reading, she kept herself busy by sweeping the whole of the cottage. When that was done, she washed her undergarments, placing them on the windowsill to dry in the sun. After cleaning up Peter’s shavings from the kitchen table, she swept the floor again.
A vague back pain made her wonder if she’d done too much. But when it strengthened until it felt like two strong arms trying to crush her in a vise, she realized what was happening.
It was time.
Her son was making his way into the world.
She bit her lip, closed her eyes, and tried to breathe deeply through the pain. Minutes passed, but they were the longest of her life. She was panting when the cramping finally eased.
She opened the cottage door, and when she didn’t see Peter, she panicked. Holding onto the door frame with both hands, she tried to calm herself. He’d probably just gone to Blackhall and would return soon. First babies didn’t come fast. In fact, they often took hours to arrive. She probably had time to walk to Blackhall a dozen times and back.
She started to walk toward her bedroom when a sudden burst of nausea had her leaning against the wall.
“Lorna?”
Peter, thank heavens.
Without opening her eyes, she said, “Would you let them know, Peter? The baby’s coming.”
“Now?”
She opened her eyes, turning to face him.
“Soon enough,” she said, forcing a smile to her face.
He nodded and left the cottage without a word. She could hear his running footsteps on the road.
She wished her mother were alive, wished she could be with her now. She’d confide in her mother that while she wasn’t afraid, she didn’t anticipate the pain to come. She wanted to be with someone who had gone through it. She wanted someone to hold her hand through the worst and tell her that it was going to be all right.
She glanced around the cottage, her gaze lighting on the pink and purple hyacinths the duke—Alex—had sent from the conservatory. Spring was here and the bouquet seemed to herald the season. He’d brought her another book on herbs, one that had absorbed her nearly as much as the novel she’d chosen from the bookshelf.
Of course he was on her mind; his son was about to be born.
The cottage was spotless, everything put away, and not a speck of dust to be seen. There was nothing more to do than make it to her bedroom.
Walking was difficult because it felt as if she’d gained a hundred pounds in the last five minutes. Should she go to bed now? If so, she’d have to prepare it. She had an old blanket to put over the mattress and a set of darned sheeting she’d held back for just this occasion.
Peter had finished augmenting the cradle delivered from the castle. The plain headboard now boasted a carved frontispiece with thistles and acorns. He was working on the footboard now, carving a picture of a stag surrounded by Blackhall’s forest.
She would be rocking her child soon enough. She could almost see him there with his shock of black hair and his blue eyes.
Instead of removing her clothes, she began to walk, finding some comfort in the movement. The next pain didn’t come until she heard the door open and her name being called.
She smiled at the sound of the duchess’s voice. How like her to be first to the cottage.
