Rose Brandon- Her Mother's Daughter.

Chapter 8

Throughout my entire pregnancy, John was mostly completely indifferent to me. He occasionally asked me of my health, and I knew he received regular reports from my physician of mine and the babies health.
It felt far too soon, when, 9 months later, I lay, screaming in the birthing room. Preparing to push my child out. I knew that John could hear my screams, but he had had 8children before, he was used to it. The midwife mopped my brow, telling me to push. I pushed one last time and felt a slippery body slide from between my thighs. I leant back on the pillows, sobbing. A dead silence went about the room.
"What is it?" I asked fearfully."Is it a boy?"
"A beautiful baby girl, your grace." The midwife gently said, laying the baby on my chest. I bit my lip, I knew how furious John would be. I reached my arms out, and held my baby. A feeling of bliss overcame me, and I hugged her tight. She began to wail.
"Most likely she is hungry. A lot of babies are hungry after birth." The midwife reassured me.
"Shall we send for your husband, your grace?" A maid asked. I sighed.
"Yes please Winnie." I said, hugging my child closer. She hurried out of the door, returning shortly after with my husband. He stalked in, glaring at me.
"A girl. A useless fucking girl. What use do I have in girls?" He spat.
"I won't apologise John , I love her." I said firmly.
"The next one will be a boy, Rose."
"I have some news about that." The midwife interjected. "Due to her harsh labour, I don't think her grace will be able to safely bear children any more." The blood drained out of Roberts face. He spat in my face, and walked out. I felt a sense of relief overcome me. No more children. I would never have to go through that agony again. The midwife noticed my somber face, and smiled merrily at me.
"Don't worry dear. Even if you can have no more babes, you still have your beautiful girl. I'm sure your husband will come round. What shall her name be?" I looked down at her, her brown hair, with the electric blue eyes. She looked remarkably like my father.
"Charlotte. Lady Charlotte Dudley." I said, naming her after my father. The midwife nodded and gathered up her things, curtsied and walked out. I was glad that the midwife had cleaned me and changed me into a fresh nightgown. My father strode in, and stood beside my bed.
"A daughter." He said.
"Yes." My voice trembled as I looked up at my father. " I've named her Charlotte." His eyes softened and he held out his arms for her. I passed her gently into them and he cradled her close.
"I wish I had had this moment with your mother when you were born." He looked at me strangely.
"You could've had." I said weakly.
"Yes. But a daughter is not good enough. If she'd been meek, named you after me, and apologised, then I would have been less angry. I would have taken you in my arms and blessed you as my daughter." He looked down at my daughter before passing her back to me.
"A daughter is not good enough." His face hardened and he lifted up his hand to slap me across the face. He did so, and walked out. I lay there, shocked at his sudden change of mood. I looked down at Charlotte, and imagined her growing up like I did, a lonely child at court, a heiress, prey to cruel men. But she would have me, I would protect her. I realised that my husband would soon request my presence for a banquet that evening, and got up, crying out at the soreness between my legs. I washed and dressed hastily, in a gown of emerald green, before combing my hair until it shone like spun gold. I looked down at my daughter, realising I would have to leave her with a wet nurse whilst I attended the banquet. I didn't want that, I wanted to spend every minute of every day with her.