Of course, this baby was different. He would do anything Balfour asked. He just prayed nothing went wrong.
And things could go wrong. Childbirth was dangerous for a woman, especially since Kate was over five and thirty, well past the age of having her first baby.
Ned had suggested Balfour take his wife to London for the birth, but they weren’t interested in leaving Maidenshop. They were in the process of renovating a house that Balfour had purchased and thought it important to stay.
“We want our baby raised here,” Kate had said. “The child should be born here, as well.” So, of course, Ned had agreed to support them in any way possible.
Balfour met Ned in the yard before he could dismount. “Thank God you are here.” He was a tall, dark-haired, handsome man. “Kate has been very tense. The baby is kicking.”
“That is a good sign.”
“I keep telling myself it is. Did you hear of the mother in Thorpton who died of childbed fever last week?”
Ned had heard, and he was sorry they had learned of it. Thorpton was a neighboring village some ten miles away. The mother had been in the hands of the local women—not a midwife, and not a doctor, either. Even though the husband had reached out to Ned at the last minute, it was, by then, too late.
As a physician, he lived closely with death. Still, nothing was more heartbreaking than the loss of a young mother so soon after her child was born. Oftentimes, no one understood what caused those tragic deaths, except childbirth was not easy. Balfour wanted assurances Ned didn’t feel comfortable making. Some physicians, he knew, could offer platitudes, but he could not. This was one of his shortcomings, which he liked to believe was also a strength.
“Let’s take a look at her,” he said instead, and Balfour ushered him in.
Kate waited for them in the privacy of the library. It had recently been painted and was sparsely furnished. The Balfours had planned a trip to London to purchase furniture once the baby was born and Kate could travel again. She sat on the room’s only upholstered chair with her feet resting on a footstool.
Some women glowed when they were pregnant. Kate appeared tired and she had several weeks to go.
Ned put on his cheeriest demeanor and enjoyed a cup of tea with her. She was an actress of some renown and she almost convinced him she was doing well.
He took a moment to listen to the baby, his ear against Kate’s belly. There was movement, but Kate did not look uncomfortable to him, no matter what her husband feared. This baby was going to be a big one and that, too, could be very hard on the mother.
“Do you think she’ll come soon?” Kate asked.
“She?” Ned gently teased.
“I feel she’s a girl.” Kate rubbed her belly.
Ned sat back. “Well, you are starting to sound desperate and as if you’ve had enough of this. That is usually a good sign something will happen.”
“Mary Conroy said her midwife told her to walk backward for at least an hour a day. That it would make the birth go easier.”
Here was a prime example of the sort of nonsense Ned fought. Instead of barking out his protest, he kept his voice calm. “Does that even make sense, Kate?”
“But wouldn’t women know?”
Did he have an answer for that?
“I have never heard of a cure that included walking backward.”
“Yes, you are right. It doesn’t make sense. I wrote a letter to my sisters asking about it. I posted it today. They all have multiple children. Please tell me they won’t think I’m foolish.”
“Since they have experienced what it means to be in confinement, I’m certain they will understand.”
She nodded and lowered her voice, even though they were alone. “I don’t want to lose this baby, Ned. I fear I’m too old. This is our one chance. I’m afraid.”
“Don’t be, Kate.” At least once a week they had this conversation.
“You’ll see me through this?”
“I will be right beside you.”
“Thank you.” The response didn’t come from Kate but Balfour, who had come to the doorway. The man loved his wife, and Ned was a bit in awe of his devotion to her.
Would he someday have strong feelings for Clarissa? Perhaps if she carried his child?
Actually, he couldn’t picture himself as a father. He’d not been around families very much. He’d been shipped away to school the moment he was in the way and spent most of his holidays there—alone.
That was one of the reasons he felt such loyalty to his friends and the Logical Men’s Society. They were his family. It was as if his life hadn’t really begun until he’d met Mars and Balfour.
“Forget about walking backward,” Ned advised. “Walk forward, take the air. When you are done, soak your feet, and have your maid massage your legs several times a day with a heavy cream. And be ready. It won’t be much longer. Maybe a month. Perhaps weeks.”
“How about days?”
Ned laughed. “Hours?”
“Oh, no, that might be too soon. I’m not that ready yet.”
“The babe will come on its own time, Kate. Patience has never been one of my virtues, either, so I can empathize.”
Kate reached for his hand. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome, and please, both of you, don’t listen to stories. Women have birthing tales that would frighten a hussar. I believe many are embellished.”
“I just wish I was younger. Then it would be easier.”
“Everything is easier when we are younger,” he responded, and all three of them laughed at the truth of the statement.
There was more small talk. He admired the improvements to the house from the last time he had visited.
However, he was thankful when he could leave. Although the headache from his excesses the night before had left him, it had been a trying day. He didn’t think he’d handled Kate’s fears as well as he could have. He’d make it up to her when he called on the morrow. As for Mrs. Estep, well, he’d leave that to the next day, as well. Ideally, Mars would return with all due haste and make the woman and her unsubstantiated claim disappear. Then Ned would see what could be done to secure The Garland for the Logical Men’s Society for all perpetuity. But first, what he needed was a good night’s sleep.
Hippocrates knew the way home. The big horse picked up speed the closer they came to Maidenshop. Ned’s house, which he let from Mars, was located not far from The Garland. It was set apart from the cottages, and while not grand, it suited his needs. Royce would have a supper waiting as he always did, no matter the hour Ned returned.
His path took him, once again, past The Garland. Ned was determined to not pay any attention to the building. His expectation was to go trotting by—except the street was blocked by what appeared to be every female in the village.
Mrs. Warbler was shaking a mop at the Dawson brothers, warning them off. Off to the side, Sir Lionel and Mr. Fullerton sat in their sedan chairs. Their carriers stood beside them, one of them holding a keg on his shoulder.
Every afternoon since Ned had moved to Maidenshop, the two old widowers were carried to The Garland. It appeared as if today they had been denied entry and the Dawson boys, contrary to Ned’s good advice, were taking up their cause.
“This is our place,” Mark complained.