"Why is it taking so long?" she demanded of the doctor as he brought her from the bedchamber. "The child decides to come early, and then will not be born. What is the matter, Dr. Carstairs?"

The doctor shook his head. "I do not know, your grace, but while I am concerned, the young duchess has been in labor only about ten hours. That is not really too long. We can be patient yet."

"Indeed," grumbled the dowager to Aurora, who had joined them. "Trust me, my dear Aurora, if it were the man having the baby, nine hours ago would have been long enough. Patience! Hummmph!"

"Cally says she is going to die," Aurora said quietly.

"Now, now," the dowager comforted the young woman, "that is just your sister's fear and her sense of the dramatic speaking. By tomorrow she will be delivered, beginning to feel well again, and planning her triumphant return to London, I am certain." But Mary Rose Hawkesworth was not certain at all. Calandra had not looked right for several days now, and this early labor did not bode well. She could easily die. Childbirth was a dangerous business.

The afternoon faded into evening. Aurora had asked twice to be allowed to visit with her sister, but Dr. Carstairs would not permit it. I)inner was a silent affair, and afterward Aurora sought her bedroom. There she found Martha, who looked quite exhausted, sitting dozing by the fire.

Aurora shook her gently. "Martha, what has happened? How is Cally? Is the baby born yet?"

"Dr. Carstairs sent me and Sally away to rest a bit, miss," her servant said. "It ain't good. Oh, it ain't good. Poor Miss Calandra is getting weaker by the minute, and the baby won't be born. She's going to die, miss. I'm so sorry to say it, but she is!"

Aurora ran from her bedchamber and to her sister's room. The doctor came forward as she burst through the door, but with a surprising show of strength the girl pushed him aside and went to her sister's side. "Cally! Cally! Open your eyes this minute," she commanded.

Calandra's hazel eyes opened slowly. She looked at Aurora with a weak smile. "I knew you would come before it was too late," she said. Then she shuddered, and her look grew vacant.

"Doctor!" Aurora's voice was almost a scream.

He came quickly to the bedside, and taking Cally's wrist, sought for a pulse. There was none. He put his ear to her chest, but the young woman's heart was stilled. Looking up, he said to Aurora, "I am sorry, Miss Aurora, but your sister is dead."

"The baby! Is the baby dead too? Oh, God! Don't let Cally's death have been in vain! What of the baby?" Aurora cried.

"Fetch me my medical kit," he ordered her. "Will you faint at the sight of blood? Go and fetch Martha. Hurry!"

She practically flung the black leather bag that held the necessities of his doctoring skills at him, and then she dashed from the bedroom, sobbing wildly, calling for Martha. The servant stumbled from her chair and practically collided with her young mistress.

"It's Cally," Aurora wept hysterically. "She is dead! Oh, Martha! My sister is dead, and it is all my fault! Go! Hurry! The doctor wants you to aid him. He will try to save the baby."

Martha dashed into the duchess's bedroom, where the doctor stood staring down in horror at the bed. "What is it, sir?" she asked him tremulously, attempting to see around his bulky figure.

"Come no farther!" he said sharply.

"What is it?" she repeated nervously.

He turned, white-faced. "Look if you will, but it is a terrible sight, Martha Jones. No wonder poor Calandra could not deliver her child. It is a monster, but praise God in his mercy, it is dead."

Determined but fearful, Martha gazed down upon Calandra, whose belly had been opened by the doctor in his desperate effort to save the duke's heir. "It's two babies," she said softly. "What's that about their necks, Doctor, and why are they so close together? Why, they look as if their poor little bodies are united." Then she gave a little scream. "God help us! They have but two legs! Oh, Doctor! What is it that poor Miss Cally has borne in her body all these months?"

He shook his head in his own wonderment. "I have heard of such a thing, but rarely. Had they been normally formed, they might have been twins, but of what sex, I cannot tell, for they are conjoined in such a manner to make it impossible. They have two heads and necks; each has a set of shoulders and an upper chest, and each has two arms, but the rest of their trunk is one, and there are but two legs. They have been strangled by their own cord, thank God! I will sew the duchess back up, Martha Jones, and we will tell the duke the child was dead in its mother's womb, which is no lie. There is no need to say what we have seen this day. There will be sorrow enough in this house, and as Miss Aurora is to be married herself in a few months, there is no need to frighten her with her poor sister's misfortune, eh, Martha?"

Martha nodded. The sight of Cally's monster would remain with her for the rest of her days. It was horrible. Then she had a thought. "They'll ask what the babe was, Doctor. Tell them a wee girl. There will be so much sadness over this as it is. The duke has been good to us. Don't let him think he lost a son as well as a wife."

"It is no son," the doctor said softly, "but I do not think it is a daughter either." Then he shook himself and said, "Go and fetch the duke, but I do not want him to come into this room yet. Ask him to await me in the library, Martha. And see to your mistress. She was here when her sister died. Calandra's last words were for her."

As Martha left the room, the doctor began to sew up his patient's belly. He was astounded by what he had seen, and wondered what could have possibly caused Calandra to conceive such a creature. Shaking his head, he worked with swift, neat stitches. He didn't want anyone else seeing what he and Martha had seen. Poor girl, he thought. If she had lived, if the creature had survived, what would have become of them all? No mother could surely look upon such a monstrosity and love it. It might have driven her to madness.

Martha hurried down the hallway. Her first concern was for her mistress. The duke could wait. They all could wait. Aurora's earlier words had disturbed Martha, and she had to make her understand that she was not responsible for Calandra's fate. Cally had been offered a choice, and had willingly, nay, eagerly, accepted the responsibility of being Valerian Hawkesworth's wife. No. Not his wife. His duchess. Cally had not been a true or good wife at all, God rest the poor soul.

She could hear Aurora weeping bitterly even before she entered the bedroom. The girl was sprawled across her bed, sobbing as if her heart were broken, and in a sense, Martha realized, it was. Going to her mistress, she gathered the girl to her bosom and attempted to soothe her sorrow. "There, miss, there. It was God's will, and there's no standing against God's will now, is there?"

"Th-th-the b-b-b-baby?" Aurora queried.

"Dead too, a girl," Martha said shortly.

Aurora cried all the harder. "It was all for nothing," she sobbed. "All for nothing, Martha. Oh, my poor Cally." She looked up at her servant, her lovely face all red and wet. "It's my fault Cally is dead, Martha. It's all my fault! Did you and Mama not warn me that no good ever came of deception? But I would not listen, would I? And now my sister is dead because of my selfishness!" Her weeping began afresh, her whole body shaking turbulently.

Martha drew in a deep breath and then she grasped Aurora by the shoulders and looked her directly in the eyes. "It ain't your fault, miss. You didn't force Miss Cally into marriage. She had a choice, but the silly girl was so overwhelmed with the idea of being a duchess that she was just as headstrong and willful as you're wont to get. All Miss Cally wanted of her marriage was to be beautiful and acclaimed, wear fine clothing and drive in a magnificent carriage, and give parties that all the mighty would come to after fighting over her invitations. But we didn't know that, did we? Your parents set you both a good example of a Christian marriage, miss. Miss Cally knew what was expected of her, but she refused to be a good wife to the duke. None of that is your fault, and I won't let you blame yourself for it!"

"But I am to blame, Martha," Aurora said woefully. "My father arranged a fine marriage for me with his friend's son, and when I learned of it I spurned it, and would not do my duty. I tempted Cally because I suspected that she would adore the idea of being a duchess. I was right, and she took my place. By doing so, it has cost her her life. Had I done what my father expected of me and married Valerian Hawkesworth, my sister would be alive today. I do not hold myself responsible for Cally's behavior or actions, but I do hold myself responsible for my own."

"Well," Martha said in hard, practical tones, "you can't change what's done, miss. Miss Cally is gone, and that's a fact." She arose from the bed. "I got to go and fetch the duke for the doctor. Dry your eyes and wash your face. Then go find the old dowager. She'll need a bit of comforting to get over this shock." Martha stamped from the room, leaving Aurora alone once more.

The servant found the duke in his library and requested that he await Dr. Carstairs, beating a hasty retreat before Hawkesworth might ask her any questions. She met the doctor coming down the staircase as she was hurrying back up.

"Find the duchess's maids, Martha," he told her, "and do what you can to make her look presentable." Then he moved on down the stairs and entered the duke's library.

Valerian Hawkesworth came quickly to his feet, looking anxiously at William Carstairs. "My wife, the child?" he said, but from the look on the doctor's face, he knew the news would not be good.

"I am very sorry, your grace, but they are both deceased. The labor was extremely difficult for your wife. She was unable to birth the child, and her poor little heart just gave out. I opened her belly surgically to save the infant-it was a girl-but it was dead, its cord wrapped tightly about its neck. I sewed up the incision, leaving the child with its mother. You have my deepest sympathies."

The duke nodded silently. Vain, foolish Calandra, he thought. She is dead, and our daughter with her. Poor girl. At least she will never again have to endure my attentions. A daughter. I would have enjoyed a daughter, but I needed a son. "I understand, Dr. Carstairs," he finally said. "We could all see that Calandra was having a difficult time these past months." He walked over to the mahogany sideboard and poured two tumblers of whiskey, handing one to the doctor. "I hope her suffering was not too great. Sit down, Doctor. You look tired."

"I am" came the admission as the doctor sat opposite the duke in the chairs that flanked the blazing fireplace. The fire was warm, and between it, and the excellent whiskey he was sipping, William Carstairs asked the question of Valerian Hawkesworth that he had been dying to ask him ever since he had entered the house. "I was always given to understand, your grace, that you were to marry the heiress of St. Timothy, and yet your wife was Calandra Spencer-Kimberly. How, may I ask, did your marriage come about?"

"I did marry the heiress to St. Timothy," the duke said. The poor doctor was obviously tired and confused.

"No, sir, you did not" came the firm reply. "Aurora Kimberly is the heiress of St. Timothy. I lived on the island, in the Kimberly house, for ten years. I was the only white man of breeding with whom Mr. Kimberly could speak, and we did so each evening after the meal was over. We sat either on the veranda of the house or in his library, drinking fruit juice and rum, and discussing all manner of things. He confided in me the betrothal agreement he and his good friend, Charles, Lord Hawkesworth, had arranged between their children even before Miss Aurora was born. He had not told his wife of the matter, for he hoped to make an equally good match for Calandra one day, and he wanted no jealousy over Aurora's match until he had a marriage set for his stepdaughter.

"I came to St. Timothy from Jamaica with the Kimberlys when they were first married. It was hoped in those days that his third wife might give him the heir he wanted, and so he desired a doctor on the island for emergencies. There had been none when Emily Kimberly died. I watched both Miss Aurora and Miss Calandra grow up. I left the island only five years ago to return to England. I would know them if they were my own daughters, your grace. Your duchess was Calandra Spencer-Kimberly, Robert's stepdaughter, not Aurora, his daughter, and his heiress, of that I am absolutely certain."