"Have you been helping?" she asked. "How very brave of you. I think you deserve a rest. Would you like to go in and join your grandmama or perhaps go up to the attic to lie down? I shall help the Reverend Gower now. I shall call if we need you. All right?"

Lil almost sagged with relief and even Tess put up no argument. They both disappeared up the ladder into the attic, taking no light with them. Indeed, they needed no light. The lightning was still almost incessant.

On old Mrs. Perkins' instructions and some weak affirming murmurs from her daughter-in-law, David had gathered up the remaining pile of dry cloths that the girls had set on a chair and brought them over to the bed. He and Rachel spread them in a thick layer on the mattress. A smaller pile was left beside the bed for wrapping the baby after the birth. Rachel stared at them and realized suddenly and for the first time exactly what was about to happen. But there was no time to panic. Mrs. Perkins was moaning beside her. Soon she would need the mercy of the cool cloth again.

Over the next hour Rachel forgot the storm, the imminence of birth, and all else in her efforts to relieve the mother's pain.

"It's time," the woman said at last with some urgency. Her breathing quickened. "It's time, Reverend. Where is the midwife?" The last words were almost screamed as Mrs. Perkins gripped the sides of the mattress and bore down against her pain.

David's eyes met Rachel's across the bed. He was looking very pale, she noticed, but not panic-stricken. He looked quite in charge of the situation. She forgot that he had no more experience than she with such an event. She looked calmly to him for instructions.

"Grip both of her hands, Rachel," he said, "so that she can push with more force. I will receive the baby. Mrs. Perkins senior has given me full instructions on how to proceed."

Rachel obeyed without question and watched quite calmly the preparations David made as surely as if he had delivered a hundred babies.

And then, quite unaware of the pain in her hands caused by Mrs. Perkins' viselike grip, she watched in growing wonder and awe the slow miracle of birth. And finally there was the moment when David held in his hands the tiny red and slippery child, and it cried without any encouragement to take its first breath. The newest Perkins boy had made his appearance.

Mrs. Perkins relaxed her hold on Rachel's hands and reached out her arms. She was laughing weakly, her whole attention focused on her son. "Oh, give him to me," she said.

Rachel reached for some warm cloths in a daze and wrapped them around the tiny, noisy little bundle before placing it in the mother's arms. As she crossed the room to fetch warm water in the bowl, she noticed with puzzlement that David was still busy. It was not over yet. Old Mrs. Perkins was calling instructions from the inner room, and the new mother was adding details.

And then it was all over and Rachel was able to take the baby in trembling hands, wash him off gently with the water, and wrap him in the remaining clean cloths before handing him again to his mother, who was covered up and smiling tiredly, her eyes following every move Rachel made with her precious bundle of humanity.

And then Rachel called in Mr. Perkins, and he came, pale and trembling, and stared down in humble timidity at his wife and son. David was beside the door washing off his hands and rolling down his shirtsleeves. Rachel followed him there. Their eyes met and held.

"David," she said. "Oh, David. How very wonderful." Her eyes were brimming with tears. Had she been able to see clearly, she would have seen that his were brighter than usual too.

Neither knew afterward whether he offered his arms or whether she came into them unbidden. But in his arms she was, and they leaned against each other, weak with the wonder of the miracle they had just witnessed and participated in to a small extent. He held her head against his damp shoulder and Rachel breathed in the smell of perspiration, surely more wonderful than any perfume at that moment.

"How very privileged I have been," he murmured against her hair. "Most men experience only the guilt of having caused their women's agony and then the pride of parenthood. I have seen the wonder of pain turned to joy, Rachel. How good our Lord has been to me."

"David," she said. "Oh, David." Foolish to say his name over and over again. But messages passed without the medium of words. They looked into each other's eyes eventually and smiled, a totally unself-conscious look of deep and mutual love.

Mr. Perkins had taken his new son into the inner room to be inspected by his grandmother, and Mrs. Perkins was shyly trying to attract the attention of her doctor and nurse. Now that it was all over, she was flustered and apologetic. It took all of David's gentle reassurances to restore her calm joy in what she had just accomplished.

David and Rachel spent the next couple of hours talking in low voices to old Mrs. Perkins and her son. The new mother was enjoying a well-earned sleep, and her new son had decided to cooperate. None of the other children had stirred during the excitement of the birth or afterward. The storm eventually passed over, and an hour later both David and Mr. Perkins thought that perhaps a vehicle as light as Lord Rivers' gig might be able to travel the road back to Oakland. David would drive Rachel. He would not hear of her going alone.

Chapter 15

Lord Rivers' ball continued long after it was scheduled to finish. The music and the dancing went on until dawn, and then a surprisingly lively group of people crowded windows or ventured out onto the terrace, all trying to assess the probable state of the roads merely from viewing the rain-soaked cobbles and grass. It was certain that those who had traveled any distance would be foolish to think of returning home yet. Any weighty carriage would at the very least get hopelessly stuck in mud, and there was the added danger of upsetting in a pothole or skidding off the road and overturning into a ditch.

Lord Rivers' staff belowstairs was frantically busy preparing breakfast for a large number of people. The housekeeper and chambermaids were as busy abovestairs preparing beds for those guests who wished to rest while they waited. These were mostly ladies. The gentlemen prepared to settle quite happily to cards or billiards and fortifying bottles of port.

A few guests from the village and the party from Oakland decided to take the chance of returning home. The worst that could happen, Lord Mountford said cheerfully, was that they would have to walk a mile or two over wet grass until their carriages could be pulled out of the mud. His wife's comment that there were many worse fates that might befall them went unheeded. Lady Edgeley was anxious to return home to assure herself that Lady Rachel was safe and had not died of fright during the storm.

The stranded ballgoers were just finishing a very early breakfast sometime later when the butler opened the doors into the main dining room and Lords Edgeley and Mountford strode in. Algernon rose to his feet at once, his face paling.

"Has there been an accident?" he asked. "I trust no one has been hurt. What may we do to help, Edgeley?"

But the earl did not give the news that everyone expected. "It's Rachel," he said. "She is not at home and has not been there all night. Damn me for a fool. I should have sent someone after her to make sure she had arrived safely."

Algernon strode across the room through the sudden hubbub of voices. But being close to the two men from Oakland did not make the message any more palatable: Rachel was missing and had been missing since before the storm the night before. Algernon felt fear and near-panic churn his insides.

"I shall have all the servants gathered," he said, "to search the grounds and all the likely routes she might have taken last night. She had my gig. Her choice of route would have been limited. We can use as many of the gentlemen as consider themselves suitably dressed for such a search." He turned to the company, which had hushed again and was paying him close attention.

"All our servants are searching already," Lord Edgeley said. "I must go back there, Rivers. Lady Edgeley is frantic."

"Perhaps Lord Mountford could return to assure her that everything possible is being done here," Algernon said. "You and I should maybe call at the village to see if there is any sign of her there. Perhaps David will know something."

Lord Edgeley frowned. "Why would he know anything of her whereabouts?" he asked. "He was not even here last night."

Algernon did not answer. He had stridden from the room to have the butler summon all the menservants.

***

David and Rachel had started out from the cottage somewhat before dawn. Old Mrs. Perkins had lent Rachel a shawl to protect her bare arms from the chill that had succeeded the storm. Her delicate ball gown was looking sadly bedraggled.

David guided the horse slowly and carefully over the wet and muddy road. Even so, it soon became obvious that they had been precipitate in their decision to take to the road so soon after the rain stopped. They should have waited at least a couple of hours longer. It did not help that the sky was still cloudy and they could see no more than a few feet in front of them. Eventually they reached a fork in the road, one branch of which led to the village, a mile away, while the other led to Oakland, two miles distant. The road to Oakland was slightly uphill. David brought the gig carefully to a halt.

"I do not see how the horse is to get up that hill," he said. "He will have no traction for his feet. I believe we have a choice. Either we abandon horse and gig and walk across the fields to Oakland, or you come with me to the vicarage."

Rachel glanced down ruefully at her feet and wriggled her toes. "Across the fields in these slippers, David?" she said. "Ugh!"

"Then the vicarage it must be," he said. "It may not be a very proper solution, Rachel, but under the circumstances it will be excusable, I believe. Mrs. Saunders will be there to lend some propriety to your presence. And I shall walk to Oakland as soon as it is light to set everyone's mind at rest. I very much doubt that anyone will return home from Algie's until dawn at the earliest."

Rachel did not put up any protest. Indeed, sitting silently beside a tense David as he eased the horse into a slow progress again, she felt almost happy. It had been a magical night, a wonderful night, a night in which she had felt close to David in a way she could not possibly have imagined. And it had not yet ended. There was this adventure of a slow and dangerous journey over muddy roads and a few hours spent at the vicarage with David at the end of it. It did not even occur to her to worry about propriety. How could it be improper to be alone with a man with whom one had just shared the unimaginably intimate task of bringing a child into this world?

She stole a look at David's profile, only barely visible in the darkness. It was a strong, handsome profile. He looked thoroughly in charge of the situation, though she knew that he was tense with anxiety. She would, she realized, trust David with her life under the most difficult of circumstances. With anyone else at present she would probably be fighting hysterics. With David she was totally relaxed. She marveled at her own lack of fear.

"We are almost there," he said with quiet reassurance. "You are a good companion, Rachel. Most females would be in a fit of the vapors by now. You are hiding your fear very well."

"I am not afraid," she said calmly. "I am with you."

He grinned unexpectedly. "If you realized how very undependable I feel at the moment," he said, "perhaps you would not be so trusting."

"I would always trust you, David," she said. " 'Whither thou goest…' " But she broke off the quotation. She had meant it as a light joke, but it came out of her mouth sounding quite serious.

Neither said anything more until he lifted her down from her seat after taking the gig around to the back of the vicarage. He quickly untethered the horse and stabled it in the small building that had housed the horse of the former vicar. Then he led Rachel inside.

"You must be very tired," he said, lighting two candles in the kitchen. "You were wonderful tonight, Rachel. There are not many young ladies who would have done half of what you did. And all without any fuss or hysterics. Thank you for your help. I no longer felt afraid once you arrived."