Page 13 of The Best Marquess

Lilian didn’t reply. Instead, she marched up and clung tightly to Pippa, trembling and clammy despite the heat in the room.

“Here now,” Pippa continued, quelling her alarm as she rubbed her sister’s back. “You’ll squish the babe. Why don’t we get you under that nice warm blanket?”

“He wants me to go to bed,” whispered Lilian, glancing over at the silver-haired physician with a scowl. “But I refused. If I obey, I might have the baby and I’m not sure I want to do this anymore. The pains hurt. Like a particularly bad menses cramp.”

“Bah. He only wants that because it’s easier for him. If you wish to stroll, we’ll stroll. If you wish to wail like a banshee, then do so. But you must hold my hand and breathe nice and deeply. There. Excellent. One more time. Good. By the by, have you noticed how closely the physician resembles the coddled eggs he’s eating? Hope they aren’t related; that could be awkward at the next family gathering. Where’s Uncle Harold? Oh, I may have eaten him.”

Lilian giggled, then shrieked as a small puddle appeared at her feet. “Oh dear. Ah…”

“My fault,” said Pippa quickly. “A truly appalling jest.”

“Perhaps I should get into bed.”

“If you like. Then I can tell you about my favorite book.”

“Not a Latin one I hope,” said Lilian, wrinkling her nose as they ambled to the four-poster bed.

“No, it’s called The Highland Marauder. Greatest romance novel in history…”

His best friend was shortly to be an aunt.

As Finn finished the last bites of toasted bread with blackberry preserve from his plate, he leaned back in the dining room chair and grinned.

It was so very Pippa to shun propriety in all ways and undertake an early morning dash to be at her sister’s side in childbed. But he couldn’t think of a better companion for Lilian during her time; he still remembered his full-body cringe when Pippa gleefully shared all the information she’d learned from the Latin midwifery books. After that, he’d tentatively asked Abby if those horrific-sounding things happened during Nessie’s birth, and she had confirmed, perhaps even more gleefully, and in hair-curling detail. Ladies were weaker? Ha.

But he couldn’t wait for Pippa to learn the joy of a niece or nephew. There was something so refreshing at seeing the world through a toddler’s eyes. The wonder at seeing a bug fly or flower bloom; the way they just lifted up their arms for a hug; how a penny’s worth of marzipan was viewed with as much delight and reverence as the crown jewels; the simple bellow of NO when they did not care to wear shoes. These days, one of his favorite activities was a tea party with Nessie and Miss Wabbit at the wooden table in the nursery, or trotting on his hands and knees while a most imperious princess clung to his back and crowed go horsie go!

It made a splendid change from the spiteful machinations and overbearing superiority he saw each day in society. Yet another reason why he wished to remain the heir rather than become the marquess anytime soon. An heir could involve himself in the ton as much or as little as he wished, but a titleholder had a vast range of responsibilities such as taking his seat in the House of Lords, perhaps the very heart of all things spiteful and overbearing.

In all honesty, he hated the thought of being trapped for long periods of time with a group of sour relics like his father who fought against change and viewed even an inch of progress as a grave threat that must be destroyed. It was much preferable to work outside the hallowed halls, to provide a real difference to others in a short amount of time with well-paid employment in pleasant surroundings. As everyone well knew—even peers—it was money that offered opportunities and independence, not trite words. Money that gave downtrodden women like Abby the freedom to choose their own path.

In saying that, though, some paths snatched choices away. Calamities could happen in any childbed, rich or poor. How was Lilian faring? If anything went awry, Pippa would be beyond devastated as they had become much closer since her sister’s marriage. Not to mention, it would break Gabriel.

Finn frowned at his tea cup. He couldn’t stand the thought of Pippa in distress, even for a moment. Nor the duke, who had become a good friend. Perhaps he should go to Grosvenor Square and discreetly enquire if he might be of service in any way.

A quarter hour later, he rapped the brass knocker on the door of the Exton townhouse. Shortly afterward, it opened to reveal a rather harried-looking butler.

“Morning, Turnbull,” Finn said politely.

“Oh! Lord Knighton. Forgive me, we are in a bit of a state here…may I assume you know why?”

He nodded. “You may. Lady Pippa sent me a note earlier. I just wanted to know how the ladies were faring. And His Grace. I imagine this is a particularly anxious time.”

The butler gestured for him to come into the entrance hall and shut the door behind him. “Mrs. Turnbull just informed me that matters are now progressing. However…”

“Yes?” said Finn, his brow furrowing in concern.

“This is indiscreet of me, but I’m not sure if His Grace is doing so well with the wait.”

“Is Hobbs not here?” he asked, referring to Gabriel’s longtime batman turned valet.

“He is,” said Turnbull, actually wringing his hands, “but is currently abed himself with an unpleasant stomach ailment after eating some bad oysters at the Piccadilly market. His dear Mrs. Taylor is attending to him.”

“I see. Perhaps I should go and sit with His Grace?”

The butler’s craggy face lit up. “Please do. I know the family and his staff would greatly appreciate it. We all feel he needs some amiable company to distract him, especially as it still may be hours yet.”

“I understand. They are upstairs?”