The Midwife's Baby. Fiona McArthur

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      ‘Would it help if I told you I think we would deal very well together? Much better than expected?’

      ‘Much better than whom?’ She shook her head. ‘You and Tayla? Two selfish, immature, rich people who think marriage is a sham or an excuse to wear feathers?’

      He held up his hands. ‘The feathers were not my idea. In fact, a condition of marrying me is that you are not allowed to wear feathers.’

      ‘I’m not marrying you, Max.’ She turned her shoulder on him. ‘I’m not even sure I like you after this conversation. And I can’t believe that Harry was a part of this whole sell-my-daughter-to-aloveless-marriage thing.’

      ‘Harry wanted to have Tayla safely married before he was much older.’

      He saw the moment she understood, and the sudden sadness in her eyes as she sat back against him, all else forgotten. ‘Why the urgency?’

      ‘That’s for Harry to tell, not me.’ It was Harry’s secret, not his.

      ‘Poor Uncle Harry.’

      He squeezed her shoulder. ‘Leave it. He is dealing with this in his own way.’

      She stared and shook her head. ‘So that’s why Harry agreed?’

      ‘One of the reasons.’ He smiled sympathetically and then went off at a tangent again. ‘I do have one burning question that’s puzzled me.’

      She raised her eyebrows and his arm slid away from her shoulder so he could look at her fully.

      ‘Did you want a place in the wedding party or did Harry lean on you?’

      She grimaced. ‘Who wants to be a pregnant matron of honour? Harry was so pleased that Tayla was settling down, and he wanted to see that, as cousins, his daughter and I were friends. Knowing he’s unwell explains why he was so insistent. I wanted to please Harry and the idea that I did have a family was comforting.’