Chapter Eleven
M rs. Knagg was a godsend. It was a phrase—truth—Verda would utter until her dying day. Her insides quaked uncontrollably, but no one seemed to notice because the elderly housekeeper had just entered Verda’s chamber holding a small glass cylinder filled with what she assumed was milk. It looked like milk. Watery milk.
Julius’s cries had worn down to simpering. But his little body shook with tired hiccups that broke Verda’s heart.
Noah’s lips quivered and his eyes held a suspicious glimmer, yet not a drop slipped free.
Verda wasn’t sure what was going on with herself because her own eyes couldn’t seem to focus very well.
Noah cuddled Julius to his chest. “I’ll do it, Mrs. Knagg.”
Mrs. Knagg moved to stand in front of him. “You’re too small. Give ’im over, Noah.”
The young master proved too stubborn, and his bottom lip took on a mulish line. “No.”
Verda studied the glass in her gnarled hand. “What is that thing atop the cylinder, Mrs. Knagg?”
“It’s a spout. Ain’t got no nipple. There’s prob’ly one in the stall. We’ll worry on that tomorrow.”
“The stall?”
“Where they keep the goats an’ ’orses. Now, ’and over that child, Master Noah.”
“No.”
A standoff ensued that had Julius’s cries gaining new momentum. It was Mrs. Knagg who let out the sigh of defeat. “Aw’right, you little bug—er, lemme show ye how this works.” She settled on the settee next to Noah. “Hold ’im jus’ so, up, so’s some gits in ’is lil’ tummy.” She moved the spout to Julius’s quivering lips.
Verda did not see how this could work. Noah was huge in spirit but so much smaller in physical ability. She shocked herself by moving forward. “Would you like me t-to try?”
Noah’s lips trembled almost as violently as Julius’s, but after a long, trying moment, the ten-year-old boy whom one could mistake for a mother figure nodded slowly. One of those tears of his slipped free even as he lifted his precious Julius to her own shaking hands. Only he had to show her how to hold him with both arms and how to support his head as if she were the child and not Noah. The baby was just so tiny.
Shockingly, Julius suffered through it all unfailingly. As if he could tell someone different held him and was uncertain in how to handle the fact.
“That’s it, miss. Hold ’im up now.” Mrs. Knagg set the spout to the babe’s mouth and he suckled as if he’d been deprived of milk for days on end. “Careful, now, young Julius. Easy. Easy. Don’ take too much too fast.”
Mrs. Knagg rose and moved away, leaving Noah to quickly slide into her place. “You’re doing real well, Miss Fairclough. I think my Julius likes you.”
The tension in her arms was the only thing holding the baby in place.
“We need to release the air in his stomach. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Knagg?” Noah said.
“ What ?” Verda wondered if she would ever not feel this sense of impending doom that had taken over her normally well-ordered life, picturing a teeny Julius flat on his back with her pushing on his little stomach until he’d deflated to the depth of a rose petal.
“I’ll do it,” Noah said, taking Julius from her. He laid the baby over his shoulder, thankfully, with Mrs. Knagg’s close physical supervision. “See, Miss Fairclough? There’s nothing to it.” He patted Julius’s back.
Sure enough, Julius let out a less-than-gentle belch and with, what appeared to be, half the milk of what he’d just consumed.
Noah jumped up with an “auuuck,” still holding Julius.
“What the devil’s going on here?”
All eyes turned to the growl from the open door.
Verda now saw what she hadn’t noticed in Mrs. Lyall’s chamber: the powerful shoulders filling a black silk banyan, his bare calves, and black slippers that covered large feet.
For all of a second, silence ensued. Then…
Julius sucked in a sharp breath and let out a heralding cry that could shatter the windows.
Mrs. Knagg jumped.
Noah gasped and dropped the baby into Verda’s lap. She instinctively clutched him with her hand to keep him from rolling to the floor.
“That is quite enough, Mr. Oshea. There is no need to howl like a lion.” Her comment stopped both Noah and Mr. Oshea, slowly pinning her with their too similar, cynically amused eyes that matched the storm clouds hovering over a churning sea.
“Lions don’t howl, Miss Fairclough.” The gentleness of Noah’s tone contrasting with the messy contents Julius had cast all over his nightshirt left her disoriented.
Heat infused her skin from her bare toes to her cheeks in a raging inferno. “No, they don’t, do they? A wolf howls, and I vow that is what I am about to do.” She spoke firmly. Pointedly. “You all seem to have forgotten this is my chamber.”
She speared her gaze on Noah. “You! Change your nightshirt. And bring whatever clothing the babe needs.” She turned to Mrs. Knagg. “Prepare another concoction so we shall have something in the event of an emergency. Lizzie, accompany her to the kitchens and bring it back to save Mrs. Knagg the trouble.” She frowned. “Julius has cast up most of what he’d downed in the first place.”
Saving her most scathing scold for last, she met Mr. Oshea’s fired-up gaze with one of her own. “You, sir”—she pointed—“will cease your dictatorial manner while standing, inappropriately, I might add, in my bedchamber.” It was suddenly all too much. The backs of her eyes stung. She was shockingly and dangerously close to tears. The last time she’d cried had been when she’d been eight years old. This was unacceptable.
She dropped her gaze to Julius and picked him up—he’d fallen asleep—laying his head on her shoulder, as she’d seen Noah do. Each small maneuver gave her confidence, the lift she needed. “Master Noah, you and Master Julius shall sleep the rest of the night in my chamber. You are all excused.”
Noah hurried past Mr. Oshea and Mrs. Knagg with Mrs. Knagg and Lizzie right on his heels, leaving Verda to face the lion all alone in her own den.
She was tired, she was scared, and worst of all, she was attracted to this very real threat of a man. The Rathbournes of the world she could handle. “I thought I excused you, sir.” She couldn’t decide if that tone in her voice sounded wary, petulant, or peevish. Peevish seemed the most appropriate option.
“I see you’ve overcome your fear of infants. I had no idea when I hired you as a governess for Noah that you possessed nursemaid skills as well.” Amusement poured from him that she did not find so amusing.
Besides, she had not overcome her fear. Not really. They went deeper than he could ever imagine. “You’ve no idea the things I’ve defeated,” she bit out. Julius stirred and she heaved in a deep breath to remain calm. It seemed the child resonated with the slightest effusion of emotion. “It’s late.”
“Yes.” The single, soft-spoken word raised the fine hairs on her arms and at her nape. The man meandered closer, sending her body into a jumble of conflicting palpitations. And Julius into a wriggling mass nearly sliding off her shoulder. Mr. Oshea’s large hand came up and steadied him before taking hold of him completely.
He cradled Julius in the crook of his arm, then pierced her with eyes that had taken on the gloomy darkness of the chamber.
Verda stood and took the two steps to the fire, absorbing its warmth, because the temptation in Mr. Oshea’s gaze was much too tempting. “You shouldn’t be here. What will people think?”
He surveyed the chamber, before settling his gaze back on her. “What people?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t care what people think,” he said with sudden seriousness. A seemingly deeper significance to his words vibrated through her.
Hugging herself, she rubbed her upper arms. Of course he didn’t. “I don’t suppose you do. Men don’t contend with the same stigma imposed on women.” Her gaze was drawn to the now-quiet Julius. “Why aren’t his eyes gray? From what I’ve noticed all of the Osheas, men and boys, eyes are gray.”
He tipped the child and studied him. “Both Lucius and Noah had eyes the same color as infants. I believe they change to their permanent color within the first year.”
“How odd.” How content the baby appeared. So content, Verda found herself wondering if those arms of his uncle’s were large and strong enough to calm the rioting flutters surging through her. “What is to be done with Mrs. Lyall?”
“She will be departing first thing this morning.”
“That is best, I suppose. But what of Master Julius? He must have nourishment. Infants do not eat like… like regular people. At least I don’t believe they do.”
He smiled. “No, they do not. I’m certain other children have survived without a mother’s milk and he will as well.”
Verda wasn’t so sure. Many babies died within their first year. Her eyes fell on him and blurred a little. Just those few moments of holding him had changed something innate within her. Her arms tingled.
“Do you worry something will happen to him, then?”
“Of course. Didn’t you see Master Noah’s nightshirt? He likely failed to retain anything in his tiny stomach.” She shivered.
Mr. Oshea smiled down at the babe. “He seems content enough to me.”
She stole another look. That was true enough. A streak of warmth pierced the constant ice that always seemed prevalent within her lately. She couldn’t tear her gaze from the tranquil Julius.
“That look on your face.” Mr. Oshea spoke softly. “It’s most… entrancing.”
Slowly, Verda lifted her eyes, meeting his. As if she couldn’t have, based on the lure in his voice.
“If I didn’t have my hands full…”
But he did. “If you didn’t?” Oh, lord. What the devil was she saying?
Noah burst through the open door clutching Julius’s basket. “I’m back,” he announced on a breathless rush. He slid to a stop in front of Verda. “Where’s my Julius?”
She took him by the shoulders and turned him to face his uncle.
“Oh. Shall I take him now, Uncle Sander? He might require changing.”
“Indeed, Noah,” he said with a smile in Verda’s direction.
Noah dropped the basket and stepped forward to take his brother. “Miss Fairclough, all his changes are in the basket. Take them out and I’ll show you how…”
“Er, Noah, I’m not sure—”
Mr. Oshea did the deed himself while Verda watched, fascinated, at the complicated business of pinning a napkin in place. Mostly, her eyes were on Mr. Oshea and his handling of the situation.
Moments later, Lizzie returned with the glass cylinder full and topped with the spout.
“Noah,” Mr. Oshea said as Noah rose from placing Julius in the basket, still fast asleep.
“Yes, Uncle Sander?”
“You will allow Miss Fairclough to hold Julius when it’s time for him to eat. Is that understood?”
“But—” Verda started.
He speared her with that dark look. “Or I shall find myself sleeping this night before the fire myself. Am I clear on this?”
His words had her swallowing any retort.
She knew he wasn’t speaking just to Noah, though his attention remained on his nephew.
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent, Noah. I shall find you more blankets, after which I will leave you all to your much needed rest.”
As if she’d rest after a threat of him sleeping in her chamber.
*
Sander sauntered out of Miss Fairclough’s chamber. His chest swelled with warmth that spread through to his limbs, fingertips to toes. Seconds later, a grin split his face and his thoughts ran amok. God, that hair of hers would drive him wild. The softened look in her eyes when he cradled Julius… She would make an excellent mother. Her instincts were quite sound. Her fears… What was it she feared?
She hadn’t killed her father like he had. The man still lived and breathed to wreak havoc on her life. Sander wanted nothing more than to wipe the worry from her face with kisses. Her forehead, her eyes, her lips.
He wanted to marry her but was it fair to subject her to a life with him, without her knowing the secrets he carried?
He pushed that train of thought out of his head and wandered the massive hall.
Where the devil did one find extra blankets in this monstrosity of a hovel?