The Historical Collection. Stephanie Laurens
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but it didn’t matter. Sooner or later, Penny would return home, and Gabe would rather die than be the one to tell her Marigold was gone. “Listen, the two of you. This goat is not dying tonight. We need to stop bickering and do something.”
The three of them gathered at the hind end of the goat. On her next contraction, they gathered their fortitude and crouched behind Marigold for a closer examination.
Chase sucked in his breath. “That’s not a foreleg or a hind leg. That’s a tail.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“It’s bad. Possibly very bad. That means the baby is in a breech position. She’ll have a devil of a time delivering it that way. One or both of them could die.”
“I told you, they’re not going to die,” Gabe said. “Not if there’s anything we can do to prevent it. And there must be something we can do. What’s it say in the book, Reynaud?”
“With a woman, the midwife will try to change the baby’s position. So if both Marigold and the kid are going to survive, I think … I think we have to turn it.”
Ashbury tilted his head. “How do you do that?”
“By fiddling a waltz,” Chase quipped. “By reaching inside the womb, of course. With, you know, a hand.”
The three men looked from one to the other, slowly pushing their hands into their pockets as they did.
Gabe looked at Chase. “It should be you.”
“Why me?”
“You’ve read the book, and you’re the smallest.”
“I am not the smallest. I’m taller than both of you.”
“Yes, but you’re slender.” Ashbury reached for his friend’s arm and lifted it. “Look at that. I’d go so far as to say willowy.”
Chase snatched his arm away. “I am not willowy, for Christ’s sake. Why not you?” He took Ash’s arm and flopped it up and down. “You’re scarred and withered. You won’t even feel the sliminess.”
“We don’t have time for this.” With a curse, Gabe nudged the other two out of the way. He didn’t need to read a book on childbirth to know that the longer this went on, the greater the danger to both Marigold and her kid. “I’ll do it.”
Gabe didn’t know what the hell he was doing, but he was dead certain about one thing: He had to be in love with Lady Penelope Campion. Nothing less could have persuaded him to do this.
Penny, this is for you.
He rolled his sleeve to his biceps, drew a deep breath through his mouth, and shook out his hand. “I’m going in.”
“Gabriel?” Penny dashed through the door, searching wildly through the rooms. “Gabriel!”
“Down here.” The call came from the kitchen below.
She clattered down the stairs at once.
Ash’s errand boy had found them at the draper’s and told her there’d been some dire matter and she must return home at once. On the carriage ride back, a hundred terrible possibilities had sprinted through her mind, invoking terror but never pausing to be reasoned away.
When she emerged into the kitchen and saw him sitting by the fire, alive and unhurt, her breath returned for the first time in an hour.
She rushed to his side. “What happened?”
“This happened.” He shifted his arms to reveal a bundle of tiny, knobby joints and fluffy patches of black and white.
A newborn goat.
“Oh, my goodness.” She knelt behind him, peering over his shoulder. “Surely not Marigold?”
“I told you so,” he said irritably.
As if she’d be intimidated by gruff words from a man cradling a newborn goat in his arms. She’d always known he had a capacity for gentleness.
I told you so, too.
She reached to stroke the little goat’s fur.
Gabriel’s shoulder muscle flinched in annoyance. “My shirt was ruined, I’ll have you know. Completely unsalvageable. And then this runtish little thing wouldn’t stop shivering.”
“Would it help if I told you that I’ve never found you so wildly attractive as I do in this moment?”
“No.”
She smiled and reached into her pocket to withdraw a parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. “Here. You need a biscuit.”
He bristled. “I’m not the goddamned parrot.”
“Of course not. Your vocabulary is much worse.” She held the buttery round of shortbread to his lips. “Nicola made it fresh this morning. Go on, then. You know how you are on an empty stomach. Take this for now, and then I’ll find you a proper supper.”
He gave in, snapping the shortbread from her fingers with his teeth and devouring it in a single bite. “Where on earth have you been?”
She offered him another biscuit, and this time he accepted it without argument. “The shops. Emma helped me choose lace and stockings at the draper’s. That’s where Ash’s errand boy caught up with us.”
“Well, while you were dithering over lace, your goat nearly died. And so did her kid. For that matter, it was a close call for me, Ashbury, and Reynaud, too.”
She paused in the act of brushing a crumb from the corner of his lips. “You delivered it yourselves? The three of you?”
“Mostly me. They were no help at all. At least Chase had this on him.” He shifted the baby goat to one arm and handed her a silver object approximately the size of her hand.
Penny examined the makeshift feeding bottle fashioned from a silver flask. In place of a teat, he’d severed the fingertip of a leather glove, stretched it over the uncapped opening, and pricked a hole at the end.
“Marigold was too weak to let the baby nurse,” he explained. “We had to milk her, which was a miserable adventure on its own.”
“This is ingenious. I doubt Nicola could have devised anything better. Though I do hope you emptied it of brandy first.”
“Believe me, we’d already drained the brandy ourselves.” He heaved a weary sigh. “It was a close thing, Penny. We nearly lost them both.”
“But you did beautifully. Marigold survived, and he’s perfect.” She tilted her head. “Or is it a she?”
“Damned if I know. Never thought to investigate, and I don’t care to. After today, I’ve seen enough of goat hindquarters to last me a lifetime.”
She laughed a little. Hooking one of the baby goat’s hind legs with a finger, she made her own examination. “It’s a he. And he’s darling.”
“The veterinarian’s already come and gone. He said Marigold would recover, but we mustn’t be surprised if she refuses to nurse. Or she might reject the kid entirely. It happens, he said. Sometimes—” He stroked the kid’s velvety ear with a single fingertip, as though he were afraid he might break it. “Sometimes, if she’s ill or weakened, the mother knows she can’t save both her offspring and herself. So she abandons her baby in order to survive.”
Penny’s heart squeezed. She rested her chin on his shoulder. “What a heartbreaking choice for a mother to make.”
He stared into the fire. Amber warmth and cool shadows fought for dominion over his hard, unshaven jaw.