critical, complaining, and generally a misery to be around. Yet Lauren loved him and missed him.
Even as isolated as they were in the Highlands, gossip still filtered to the Hall in the form of London newspapers. Harrison, as the Earl of Burfield, was occasionally mentioned, and not in a way that would please a wife.
“He seems to like London a great deal better than Scotland,” Lauren had said, just in the past week.
“He does at that,” Jennifer said.
“It’s because there aren’t as many entertainments here as there are in London. Harrison’s often bored. His mind is such that it craves stimulation.”
No, it was because there weren’t any gambling establishments locally like there were in London. Harrison was a gambler. He’d always been one for wagering on anything. The worst of it, however, had started after he’d been sent away to school. Ever since, he’d done everything in his power to empty the Adaire coffers and, to her dismay, might be succeeding.
She didn’t say that to Lauren, however. What good would it do to point out some difficult facts to the woman? There was nothing Lauren could do about the situation that she hadn’t already tried. Charm hadn’t worked. Understanding certainly hadn’t.
Not for the first time, she wished her brother was a different kind of man, someone who wasn’t as involved with his own pursuits. Someone who cared about those around him. Yet wishing for him to be different was silly. He wasn’t going to change.
“Now, Lady Jennifer, while I appreciate your assistance, this is not the place for a single woman.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s time for you to leave.”
Jennifer didn’t understand why Mrs. Farmer was being so restrictive. She’d assisted in the birth of the scullery maid’s child, a secret hidden until the moment the girl went into labor. There hadn’t been time to summon anyone else, and Jennifer had been the only one available to help.
Everyone had been ridiculous about that event. They didn’t seem to care that the poor girl had been so terrified that she would be struck off for being pregnant that she’d hidden her condition. No, what everyone paid attention to was the fact that Jennifer was unmarried and therefore too virginal to have witnessed the event.
What nonsense.
How could she possibly leave now with Lauren looking at her with such pleading eyes?
“Mrs. Farmer, I will concede that you have a great deal more experience than I, but Lauren is not just my sister-in-law. She’s my friend. Surely it isn’t necessary for me to leave right this moment?”
Just when she was certain that Mrs. Farmer was going to have her bodily removed, Lauren looked up at the midwife. “Please, Mrs. Farmer. May I stay just for little while.”
“Very well, Your Ladyship.” She didn’t look happy about the concession, however.
Right at the moment, Jennifer didn’t care about the midwife’s feelings.
“Now I’m hungry. Isn’t that awful?” Lauren whispered. “Who’s hungry when they’re having a child?”
When Jennifer asked Mrs. Farmer if Lauren could have something to eat, the midwife just frowned at her.
Jennifer would have left to fetch Lauren some mints she’d purchased in Edinburgh, except for one thing. She wasn’t sure Mrs. Farmer would let her back into the room.
“Could you read some of the book you were reading before?”
Jennifer nodded and picked up the book. She noticed, as she read, that Mrs. Farmer seemed to listen along as well. Anything to keep her from mentioning how long the labor was going to be.
For most of the morning, nothing further happened. Then Lauren’s face suddenly contorted. She gripped the sheets with both hands, her eyes wild.
Jennifer turned to find the midwife. “Mrs. Farmer!”
The woman looked over at the bed. “It’s only the birthing process, Lady Jennifer. She’ll have plenty of those pains before the bairn is born.”
Yet the contraction seemed to last forever. When it was over, Lauren sagged against the pillows, her face damp with perspiration.
More women lived than died during childbirth. She had to keep that thought in her mind. It became even more difficult during the next hour as Lauren experienced three more labor pains. During the last one she cried out, and all Mrs. Farmer did was bathe her forehead with a damp cloth.
“Isn’t there something you can do?” Jennifer asked.
“This is why I don’t like to have young misses in my birthing rooms,” the midwife replied. “You don’t understand the pain that a woman has to go through in order to bear children. It’s something that God decreed. Would you have the countess