“They started last night, right after dinner,” Emma answered. “At first it wasn’t too bad. Gwen was even laughing and joking for a time, but things changed dramatically with the dawn. She is in terrible pain. If you stand near her bedchamber door you can hear her scream.”

A long, serious silence fell. “Take me to her,” Dorothea insisted, as the tightness in her chest refused to ease. Arm in arm the two sisters began to climb the staircase, with Carter following close on their heels.

“What is the doctor saying about your sister’s condition?” he asked.

Emma’s brows drew together. “The midwife is with Gwen now.”

“Where’s the doctor?” Dorothea inquired.

“Gone.” Emma stopped in mid-staircase and turned to her. “He frightened Gwen and made her cry. So Jason threw him out of the house.”

“Oh, dear.” Dorothea put her arms around Emma and held her tightly.

Emma shuddered. “It wasn’t pretty. The butler had to hold Jason back when he lunged toward the doctor, fists flying.”

“What could the doctor have done to cause such a violent reaction?” Carter wanted to know.

“Jason wouldn’t tell me. But he went pale as a ghost.” Emma shuddered again and leaned into Dorothea. “I’m frightened. She’s been in labor so long. Will the baby never arrive?”

Dorothea shook her head helplessly. She held Emma tightly, her gaze darting above her sister’s bowed head to meet Carter’s eyes.

“I’ll speak with Barrington,” he said, understanding her silent plea. “Where is he?”

“Outside Gwen’s bedchamber,” Emma mumbled, never lifting her head from Dorothea’s comforting embrace.

Flashing Carter a look of earnest appreciation, Dorothea cradled Emma in her arms and pulled her up the remaining stairs.

“I sent word to Jason’s brother, Lord Fairhurst, a few hours ago,” Emma confided. “They won’t let me see Gwen and I can offer no comfort to Jason, but I felt I had to do something.”

“Hush, now, don’t fret,” Dorothea said soothingly. “You’ve done a fine job and I know Gwen is grateful you are here.”

Seeing the fragile state of Emma’s emotions brought a rush of tears to Dorothea’s eyes. Goodness, she was only sixteen. Far too young to be coping with this crisis.

It seemed to take forever, but in truth Carter returned after a few minutes. Not liking the frown of worry on her husband’s face, Dorothea sent Emma off to the kitchen to ask for tea to be prepared so they could speak privately.

“Well?” Dorothea prompted.

Carter hesitated. “’Tis precisely as Emma said. Barrington is pacing the floorboards outside Gwen’s chamber, nearly out of his mind with worry.”

“Did you find out why he tried to punch the doctor?”

Carter’s gaze slid evasively to the floor and her heart went along with it. Oh, no. Dorothea grasped his arm and squeezed tightly. “The truth. Please. I need to know.”

“There appears to be some difficulty with the birth.”

Dorothea held herself perfectly still. “Is Gwendolyn in grave danger?”

Carter pressed his fingertips to his temple. “There’s always risk involved with childbirth.”

“This sounds like more than the usual risk.” Dorothea leaned forward intently. “Tell me.”

Carter sighed, clearly unnerved. “The doctor feared that your sister would not be able to safely deliver the child and wanted to intervene. But he needed Barrington’s permission. And he pressed him to make an impossible choice as to who would survive. His wife or his child.”

For an instant Carter’s handsome face blurred as a fresh wave of panic hit Dorothea. He reached out and caught her around the waist just before her wobbling legs threatened to give way. She clung to his neck, wishing it was all a horrible mistake, a bad dream from which she would soon awaken. But in her heart, she knew this was all too real.

“’Tis no wonder that Jason wanted to strike at the doctor.” Dorothea convulsed softly with a sob. “What can we do?”

“We must not give in to despair,” Carter insisted. “Gwen is still fighting. We must hope and pray that she and her child come through this safely.”

Dorothea nodded her head, wanting desperately to believe him. “Should we send for another doctor?”

“I suggested it, but Barrington said no. The midwife is experienced and your sister trusts her.” Carter’s voice was raw, but his expression was strong, comforting. “I believe it would aid Gwen greatly if you were with her. Do you think you can manage?”

Could she? Dorothea pressed a clenched fist to her stomach and choked back a sob. She had never been particularly helpful in a sickroom, having neither the temperament nor the constitution to aid her sisters or her aunt when they were feeling ill. But this was different. The stakes were dire. And if the worst, the unthinkable, were to happen…dear Lord, she could not allow Gwen to suffer alone.

Her stomach rioting with emotion, Dorothea released her grip from Carter’s arm and drew herself up an inch. “I’ll try.”

“Good girl.”

Carter’s obvious approval gave her fledgling courage a much-needed boost. Hand in hand they walked down the long hallway, coming to a halt in front of her sister’s bedchamber. Jason was huddled next to the closed door, his forehead pressed against the plaster wall. His jacket and cravat were missing, his waistcoat hung open, and the first three buttons of his shirt were undone.

It was nothing short of shocking to see her normally fastidious brother-in-law in such a disheveled state, but Dorothea barely spared him a glance, trusting Carter to see to him. All her strength and efforts had to be saved for Gwen.

Dorothea stood for a long moment in front of the door, struggling to find the courage to enter Gwen’s bedchamber, knowing she must appear calm and confident or else she would make matters worse. This was not the time to indulge in her fears and emotions; she had to be strong and positive. For Gwen. And Emma.

Somehow Dorothea managed to blink back her tears, straighten her spine, and reach for the doorknob. It was surprisingly calm and quiet as she entered the room. Two maids were stationed near the windows, speaking softly to each other. An older woman, who Dorothea assumed was the midwife, was standing at the foot of the four-poster bed, her hands on her hips.

There was no movement, no sounds from the figure swaddled beneath the blankets. A pain pressed against Dorothea’s breastbone. It was too quiet, too still. On trembling legs she approached the bed. The sound alerted the midwife, for she quickly turned, her face defensive.

“Who are you?”

Resisting the instinct to cringe, Dorothea lifted her chin and spoke in her most regal tone, invoking a fair imitation of her father-in-law, the duke. “I am the Marchioness of Atwood, Mrs. Barrington’s sister. I presume you are the midwife?”

“Yes, I’m Mrs. Johnson.”

Dorothea cocked her brow and continued to stare until the older woman dipped a hasty curtsy. Then she sailed majestically past her, directly to Gwen’s side. “How is my sister?”

“Tired,” the midwife replied with an edge in her voice. “This is hardly an appropriate time for a visit.”

“I am not here to socialize, I am here to help.” As if proving her words, Dorothea sat gingerly on the edge of the mattress and stroked Gwen’s cheek. Her sister did not move. “Why is she so still?”

“She’s fallen into an exhausted sleep, but it won’t last long.”

Fearfully, Dorothea snatched her hand away. “Then I shall let her rest while she can. I heard that there were some difficulties with the birth.”

“’Tis just taking a bit of time, that’s all. A common occurrence with a first baby.”

The midwife’s words should have offered comfort, but they did not, for she refused to meet Dorothea’s eyes when she spoke them.

“Kindly look at me, Mrs. Johnson,” Dorothea commanded. After casting several worried glances her way, the midwife finally complied. Her blank expression offered no reassurance. “My sister will deliver her baby, her babies, safely and quickly, is that understood?”

Dorothea knew she must sound utterly ridiculous, but it seemed desperately important to use every ounce of her will and determination to influence the outcome. Gwen would not lose her life giving birth to her children. She would not!

“Yes, my lady.”

“My brother-in-law believes you to be a highly qualified individual. Is he right, Mrs. Johnson?”

“Aye.” The midwife’s chest swelled with pride as she straightened her shoulders. “I’ve delivered more babes than I can count, and that’s the God’s honest truth.”

“Then I expect you to use every ounce of that hard-earned skill to save my sister and her infants. She is more precious to me than I can adequately say.”

The lingering resentment in Mrs. Johnson’s eyes turned to sympathetic kindness. “I’ll do all that I can, I promise you.”

Dorothea smiled faintly. “Good. And I shall help.”

At that moment, Gwen moaned. Her body restlessly twisted from side to side as though it were trying to avoid the pain and then suddenly she arched forward. The bedcovers flew off her body. Startled, Dorothea jumped from the bed.

“What’s happening?” Gwen screeched.

Mrs. Johnson pushed past Dorothea to get to Gwen. She spoke to Gwen in a low, hushed voice, then motioned for Dorothea to come near.

“Is it really you, Dorothea?” Gwen asked in a reedy tone.

Dorothea swallowed hard, searching for a calm voice. Gwen’s eyes were enormous in her pale face, which was etched with pain and fatigue. “Yes, it’s me.” She bent near the pillow and stroked Gwen’s forehead.

The gesture appeared to calm the laboring woman. “I’m glad. It’s hard being alone. I know that Jason is near to coming out of his skin because he wants to be with me, but truly, Dorothea, I cannot bear to have him here right now.”