Page 64 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
“You may, Mr. Sinclair,” she said, placing her hand on his arm. He could feel the warmth of her palm through the wool of his coat.
This time when he courted a woman, he would do so without involving his emotions. He would be kind, attentive, and polite, but would extend his hand rather than his heart.
London
March, 1870
Her mother-in-law was barely out of the room before a sweeping pain started at the base of Virginia’s spine, coiling around her body and nipping wherever it touched.
Thankfully, Hannah was there.
“We don’t have time to get to the third floor,” she said.
“My mother had eight children. As the eldest, I know what to do, your ladyship.”
“Then I suggest we do it now. And quickly.”
In less than three minutes her clothing was removed. She donned the nightgown she’d selected for the birth and Hannah stripped the top sheet and coverlet from the bed, placing a blanket across the mattress.
“How long have you been having pains, your ladyship?” Hannah asked, helping her up the steps to the mattress.
“Since last night. They were barely noticeable.” Her smile was forced. “Not what I’m feeling now.”
“You might be one of the lucky ones,” Hannah said. “I’ve heard, for some women, birth is easy.”
“This doesn’t feel easy,” she said.
“But it hasn’t been days.”
“No, thank God.”
Hannah went into the bathing chamber, poured some water into a bowl and returned, placing it beside the bed. She folded a bit of toweling and placed it beside the bowl, then put the remaining toweling on top of the blanket.
The eleventh Earl of Barrett was born less than an hour later.
She didn’t have time to scream. The urge to push came first, then this amazing sense of pressure building and being released. Hannah held up her son, placing him between her breasts. “He’s the most perfectly formed child I’ve ever seen. I think it’s because your labor was so short.”
Virginia closed her eyes against the pinch of another pain.
“I can only imagine what it’s like when it goes on for days,” she said when she could speak again.
Hannah smiled. “I don’t think you’ll have any difficulty, your ladyship. They say the second child comes in half the time as the first.”
“Since I’m a widow,” she said, “there won’t be a second child.”
They met each other’s eyes, and Virginia was the first to look away. There, another lie to solidify her child’s heritage.
Hannah bathed her son next to the bed, commenting on the baby’s attributes.
“Just look how long his fingers are, your ladyship. And his feet. They’re perfect. His skin is so soft and his features are beautiful.” She glanced at Virginia. “He’s a beautiful child.”
When he was wrapped in a diaper and blanket, Hannah placed him in her arms.
His hair, black as Macrath’s, covered the top of his head in a downy fuzz. His eyes, clenched shut most of the time, were blue. He didn’t cry, however, which bothered her at first. But perhaps that was because he was too busy gnawing on his fist.
His name was out of her control. A long and illustrious family history was attached to the name he’d been given before he was born. Elliot. Another name starting with E, pleasing her mother-in-law.
Perhaps now was the time to tell Enid her middle name was Elizabeth. Or ask why Lawrence had somehow escaped the E fixation.
