The Midwife's Baby. Fiona McArthur
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His gaze locked with hers. ‘I’d rather tell you that I have enjoyed the last four months with you more than any I can remember.’
Georgia’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘It must have been a hoot for you. You’ve enjoyed being woken up by a colicky baby ten times a night, and having a grumpy, sleep-deprived flatmate to live with.’ Why on earth would he?
‘Absolutely.’ The tilt of his lips confirmed that he had only pleasant memories, and though he spoke quietly his tone of voice sounded the truth. ‘I became acquainted with Elsa, and she’s gorgeous—like her mother.’
Georgia tilted her head. ‘Same temperament, you mean?’
Max nodded. ‘She’s determined and independent, yes.’
They were teasing each other, and she was beginning to enjoy it too much. This was far too dangerous for her peace of mind, and she tried to steer the topic away into more general waters. Maybe he did have an agenda with her after all—or he’d managed to beam in on one of her fantasies.
‘It is a glorious night,’ she said.
Max wouldn’t be diverted. ‘I’ve appreciated each and every vision of you at night since Elsa was born.’
A mother to five sons, FIONA MCARTHUR is an Australian midwife who loves to write. Medical™ Romance gives Fiona the scope to write about all the wonderful aspects of adventure, romance, medicine and midwifery that she feels so passionate about—as well as an excuse to travel! So now that the boys are older, her husband Ian and youngest son Rory are off with Fiona to meet new people, see new places, and have wonderful adventures. Fiona’s website is at www.fionamcarthur.com
The Midwife’s Baby
Fiona McArthur
TO THE MAYTONE GIRLS, FRIENDS INDEED, WHO INSPIRE ME.
CONTENTS
THE chapel floated like a snowflake against the backdrop of the lush Hunter Valley Gardens and the string quartet drifted silvery notes out over the waiting guests.
Max Beresford stood tall and straight at the front of the church and realised that despite the romantic venue he’d condemned himself to the type of loveless marriage his parents had.
Give me a sign, God. Am I a fool for going through with this?
The procession music started. Too late.
Max tilted his chin slightly as he watched the matron of honour walk haltingly towards him in some screechingly fashionable apricot material.
There was something about the dogged yet vulnerable expression on the woman’s face that aroused his sympathy because he’d approached the altar with just such a halting advance.
Max frowned. Was there a problem or was his new cousin-in-law-to-be unbearably nervous? Embarrassed didn’t make sense because she looked gorgeous—fertile with her baby bump bulging beneath the shiny fabric—but gorgeous nonetheless.
She paused again and seemed to suck air in through gritted teeth before she raised her chin and resumed her approach.
Max knew Tayla had been reluctant to include her midwife cousin, Georgia, in the wedding party but he’d thought that had been because of Georgia’s unfashionable pregnancy and some vague hint that she was depressed. Maybe there were other reasons.
Before he could ruminate on that thought his non-blushing bride staged her spectacular entry and the gasps from the congregation drew Max’s eyes towards his future wife.
Max could do nothing but stare as feathers rippled and parted in the breeze and held him spellbound.
He blinked in disbelief. Tayla seemed to have been devoured by a white duck.
Framed against the door for an extended moment, his bride’s shapely arms and legs stretched from beneath a strapless froth of feathers that only just covered her thighs at the front and fell in a frothy tail to the floor at the back.
A large apricot bow around her tiny waist matched the rose in her father’s lapel.
Good grief, Max thought, and suppressed a smile. He’d fallen into Swan Lake and he had never felt less like a prince.
His bride floated up beside him, as did one of the feathers that had come unstuck and drifted just ahead of her in an eddy, and went to hand her feathered fan to the matron of honour.
Cousin Georgia was not having a good day as she missed the one cue she’d been assigned. He could see Tayla remained seriously unimpressed with her attendant.
For Georgia Winton, being matron of honour had assumed the nightmare proportions she had hoped it wouldn’t.
The first unexpected labour contraction had hit her as she’d entered the church at the precise moment the whole congregation had noticed her entrance.
The next contraction had grown to such intensity she almost dropped the bouquet as her cousin handed it to her.
When she was able to, Georgia offered an apologetic glance at the bride and groom, which neither acknowledged. Tayla had tossed her head in disgust and Max had continued to stare, bemused, at Tayla’s dress.
Georgia clutched