Page 148 of The Bachelor Spy
Brandon stood there, covered head to toe in snow, breathing hard, his usually immaculate livery soaked through and disheveled. And behind him, equally snow-covered and panting, was Dr. David Ross.
“I’ve brought the doctor, my lord,” Brandon announced, as if he’d merely fetched tea rather than apparently trudged through a blizzard.
Frederick stared. “Brandon, did you—?”
“The lad’s horse threw a shoe two miles out from Havensbrooke, sir. In Astlynn Commons,” Brandon said matter-of-factly, though his chest heaved with exertion and his face shone with the pink hue of cold. “Someone needed to go and meet the doctor to alert him of the seriousness of the matter.” He shook his head. “I thought it unwise to wait, my lord, the weather being what it was, so I took it on myself.”
“And you walked—” Frederick couldn’t finish the sentence. The snow had been falling for hours. The roads would be nearly impassable. Brandon was in his sixties, for heaven’s sake.
“I had a lantern, my lord. And excellent boots.” Brandon’s expression remained utterly composed despite the snow melting off him in puddles. “And Dr. Ross was kind enough to accompany me back at a rather brisk pace.”
“Brisk is putting it mildly,” Dr. Ross said, shedding his snow-covered coat as he moved immediately to the bed. “Your butler is remarkably fit for a man of his years. Nearly killed me keeping up.” He looked at Grace, his expression softening into a smile. “Now then, Lady Astley, let’s see how we’re progressing, shall we?”
“Brandon,” Grace gasped between contractions, tears streaming down her face, “you … are … wonderful—”
The man sent her a tender smile, and then, as if he sensed the utter inappropriateness of his being in the room, his face grew a shade redder than it already was and he almost ran out the door.
The next few moments filled with sudden activity after seemingly endless hours of waiting. Dr. Ross assessed Grace, and his calm expression morphed into alarm. “Your … your baby is comingnow.”
The urgency in his voice, paired with the words, took a full five seconds to register in Frederick’s brain. “What?”
“We need to prepare.” Dr. Ross held Frederick’s gaze.
Frederick felt the blood drain from his face. “Now?”
“Now,” Dr. Ross confirmed. He looked from Frederick to the door. “My lord, if you mean to leave, now is the—”
“I’m staying,” Frederick said flatly.
Dr. Ross studied them both, then nodded. “Very well.” He turned to Mrs. Powell. “I’ll need more towels, hot water, and—”
“Already here, Doctor,” Mrs. Powell said, her composure returning now that professional help had arrived.
Minutes passed. Grace’s cries grew in intensity. Frederick whispered whatever encouragement he could think of. “You’re so strong, darling. Brave …”
Until Dr. Ross encouraged her to push once. Twice. Three times.
And then, cutting through the tension and pain, came the most extraordinary sound Frederick had ever heard.
A baby’s cry.
High, indignant,alive.
The moment suspended as all attention riveted toward the sound.
A laugh or sob—whatever it was—erupted from him in a shudder as tiny, wriggling arms and legs came into view.
“It’s a boy,” Dr. Ross announced, his eyes bright with a contained pleasure. “A healthy baby boy, from the sound of that cry.”
Frederick couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Could only stare as Dr. Ross lifted a tiny red, squirming bundle—impossibly small—and passed him to Mrs. Powell to clean while he attended to Grace.
Dazed, Frederick barely moved his attention from the form. A son.
Air burst from him again, as if the experience struck him in the chest. God had given him a son.
Within moments, Mrs. Powell placed the baby against Grace’s chest.
“Oh …” Grace breathed, her fingers brushing against the little head, the tiny face. “Oh, Frederick, look at him.” Her watery gaze met his, her red hair a cloud of frayed curls around her pinkened face, and she’d never looked more beautiful.
