Chapter 3
Two days after the baby arrived, the scandal had reached town and already acquired a paternity angle. Leopold read the society page with a weariness that felt newly familiar.
He stood at the study window with the paper in one hand and a cold cup of tea in the other, looking out over the gravel drive as if it might offer some explanation for itself. It did not. The morning was gray, the trees bare, and the village beyond the estate lay quiet under a thin wash of frost.
The article had managed to say very little and imply quite a lot.
An Infant at Belgrave.
A Mystery on the Duke’s Steps.
Rumors Circulate Regarding the Newest Addition to the Household.
Leopold lowered the paper with a look of flat disgust.
“It is impressive,” he muttered, “how quickly they can become tiresome.”
The door opened without a knock, which told him who it was before he looked up.
His mother entered dressed for the morning but composed as though for battle. “You have not sent it away.”
Leopold set the newspaper down with deliberate care. “Good morning to you as well, Mother.”
“Do not be flippant. I have read the same paper you have.” Her gaze moved to the discarded pages, then back to him. “An Infant at Belgrave. Do you understand what that will do to this family?”
“I understand what an empty nursery would do to a child who has done nothing wrong.”
“That is sentiment, not sense. The scandal is growing, and you feed it more with every day she remains under this roof.”
“The story will write itself regardless of where she sleeps.”
“Not if she is placed somewhere quiet until this passes.”
“No.”
His mother’s chin lifted. “You are making a mistake.”
“Perhaps. She stays until I know where she came from. That is not a position I intend to argue further.”
“And how do you propose to manage an infant in this house, when you cannot manage your own correspondence?”
“I have written to an agency. I expect candidates for a nursemaid today.”
“How efficient of you.”
“I thought so.”
She studied him the way she might study a ledger that refused to balance. “You will regret this.”
“Then I will regret it as the Duke of Belgrave, not as a man who sent a child away because it was easier.”
His mother said nothing further. She turned and left the room without argument, and without closing the door behind her.
Barnaby appeared in the doorway a moment later and looked toward the hall.
“Your mother has the air of a woman who has just lost an argument and intends to make everyone pay for the inconvenience.”
Leopold picked up the paper again. “She wants the child gone.”
“Yes, I gathered that from the temperature she left behind.”
“She was alarmed before the scandal reached print.”
Barnaby’s amusement faded. “That is worth noting.”
He paused, growing serious. “I have been looking into the shawl.”
Leopold looked up. “And?”
“The stitching is old. The style too. Thirty years at least.” Barnaby set the folder on the desk. “It was not chosen by chance.”
Leopold’s hand stilled on the newspaper.
Barnaby went on, quieter now. “Someone with access to this house wrapped that child in something old, specific, and unmistakably Belgrave. Then sent her here.”
Leopold’s glance was sharp enough to say he had reached that conclusion, too.
“I will keep looking,” Barnaby finished.
Before Leopold could answer, Mrs. Pritchard appeared at the door.
“A young woman has arrived, Your Grace,” she said. “For the nursemaid position. Miss Phoebe Redmond.”
Leopold rose. “I will receive her myself.”
Barnaby’s brow lifted.
“Your mother will surely wish to speak with her as well.”
Leopold sniffed, thinking briefly about his mother’s odd behavior since the baby’s arrival.
“Every decision about this child is mine,” Leopold said as he went to the door. “If it were up to her, she would surely send the child to an orphanage. In Scotland.”
Barnaby chuckled, despite Leopold’s static, unamused face.
“You sound as though that would be terrible,” he said.
Leopold did not answer. He would not examine his choices too closely. He understood the scandal that was spreading through England. But he also understood that his mother had been behaving strangely since the baby turned up on the front steps.
If it were up to her, the child would likely turn up at someone else’s front door before an orphanage, he thought. That is a situation I cannot abide. Part of him believed that explanation, but not the part of him that could not forget about the blanket.
The hall was quieter than the study, light falling through the high windows in pale strips across the floor. Leopold rounded the corridor toward the entrance hall and stopped before he was seen.
A young woman stood in the entrance hall with her back half turned, her plain gray traveling gown wrinkled and worn, and her auburn hair pinned in a practical knot.
Her hands were too still, and her expression was too calm.
Whatever composure she possessed clearly cost her something.
Yet she was evidently determined to maintain it.
Then, she noticed him.
Something crossed her face before she gathered it back. Leopold noticed the gathering.
“Miss Redmond,” he said.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
He gestured toward the study. “This way, please.”
Leopold did not glance back as he headed for the study, but the woman’s footsteps seemed as uptight as her posture had been. Perhaps she was tired from the journey and nervous about her interview.
Barnaby was still there, standing by the fire when Leopold and Miss Redmond entered the room. His gaze flicked from Leopold to the woman and back again with obvious interest.
Leopold shut the door, glaring silently at his friend. He knew Barnaby had only stayed to satisfy his overabundant curiosity. But he would not bicker in front of a stranger. Especially one who had come seeking a job.
“Barnaby. This is Miss Phoebe Redmond, a potential nursemaid for the little one. Miss Redmond, this is my good friend Barnaby Henshaw, the Viscount Dunsmere, who I am sure has more pressing matters to attend to than our interview.”
Barnaby smiled at the young woman, ignoring Leopold completely. “Miss Redmond, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
She gave him a small nod and an awkward curtsey in return.
“Delighted,” she said.
There was a heavy silence. Leopold noticed that the young woman’s collected manner never outwardly faltered, but her face was pale, and he caught a nervous glance at Barnaby. Leopold stared at his friend, clearing his throat, but Barnaby continued to ignore him.
With a resigned sigh, Leopold went to the desk and picked up the letter from the agency. “The agency sent this.”
Miss Redmond stood with her hands folded neatly in front of her. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Along with a recommendation for Miss Phoebe Redmond.”
Her expression did not change, but he saw tension around her mouth. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“The agency warned that placement might be delayed, whether it be due to an illness, confusion, or too few acceptable applicants who would be willing to travel on short notice. You arrived earlier than expected.”
“Yes.”
He looked at her over the paper. She was, indeed, earlier by a few days. Still, they had promised Miss Redmond would come as soon as arrangements allowed.
He had expected delay.
He had not expected eagerness. “Why?” he asked.
There was a pause, brief but not empty.
“I took the earlier coach,” she said.
“Why?”
She held his eyes. “Because I wished to begin at once.”
Leopold studied her for a moment longer. “Most applicants prefer to wait until they are certain a position exists.”
“Most applicants are not told there is an infant in urgent need of care.”
“You were told that?”
Miss Redmond’s fingers tightened around her gloves. “The agency letter suggested as much.”
“Suggested?”
“It said the matter was pressing.”
Barnaby cleared his throat. “That is one way of describing a baby who has brought an entire ducal household to heel.”
Miss Redmond glanced at him despite herself.
Leopold ignored Barnaby. “And that was enough to bring you here ahead of schedule?”
“A crying child does not improve because adults keep to timetables, Your Grace.”
The answer was quiet but clean. Leopold found himself looking at her more closely than he had intended.
Barnaby made a sound that might have been approval or amusement. Leopold ignored it, just as Barnaby had been ignoring him.
Leopold read the letter more carefully. The hand was respectable, the phrasing ordinary enough, and the recommendation described Miss Redmond as capable, discreet, and experienced with children. The only discrepancy seemed to be Miss Redmond’s arrival date.
Leopold set the letter down. “You have worked in nurseries before?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“For how long?”
“Several years.”
“With what ages?”
“Infants mostly.”
“And where?”
She hesitated just long enough to make him notice.
“First in Wiltshire,” she said. “Then near Winchester. Then with a family in the countryside outside Oxford.”
The names meant nothing to him. What mattered was that she answered cleanly, without drifting or over-explaining.
He studied her. “You are well spoken.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Leopold glanced briefly at Barnaby, who watched the woman with mild curiosity.
“How long have you worked with children under one year old?”
“Since I was eighteen,” she said.
“And you have no objections to a difficult household?”
“No, Your Grace.”
“Nor to an irregular schedule?”
“No.”
“Nor to a child who cries for reasons no one can identify?”
Her expression changed, but not for long enough for Leopold to understand why. “No, Your Grace.”
Leopold looked at her hands again.
They were still steady. That mattered more than he cared to admit.
Cecily had been crying for three days, and every nursemaid he had pictured had seemed too delicate, too likely to flinch at the first wakeful night.
Miss Redmond did not look as if she would flinch.
She looked as if she had come prepared for trouble.
The exact kind of trouble that baby Cecily had been with everyone else.
Leopold folded the agency letter once and set it aside.
“Very well,” he said. “Come with me.”
Her brows lifted slightly. “Your Grace?”
“To the nursery.”
Her composure shifted, as if she suddenly had to work to suppress a new reaction. It seemed obvious only to him. But he saw the change in her breathing, the stone set of her face, the way something in her eyes seemed to lock into place and then shiver a little.
Miss Redmond had recovered by the time Leopold opened the study door, but he had seen enough to know the moment had mattered.
He led her down the corridor, past the portraits and the tall windows, toward the nursery.
Mrs. Pritchard appeared at the far end of the corridor.
“Lord Belgrave,” she said, “the child is awake.”
Leopold turned. “Good.”
“Not,” Barnaby murmured, “the tone of a man prepared for this.”
Leopold gave him a flat look and opened the nursery door.
The room was warm. The fire had been banked higher than usual, and the scent of soap and linen and milk hung in the air.
Cecily lay in the cradle with her blanket half kicked away, one tiny fist moving fitfully in her sleep.
When she heard the door, she stirred and let out a small, dissatisfied sound.
Leopold had expected Miss Redmond to remain composed.
Instead, the moment she saw the baby, every guarded line of her face faltered.
Her expression changed before she could stop it, raw and vulnerable.
She did not speak. She did not move. Leopold looked at her sharply, then back at the child. But he said nothing.
She lifted Cecily with practiced care. The baby settled against her shoulder and stopped crying immediately. Barnaby remained in the corridor, where he could no doubt hear everything and still be far enough away to not be accused of eavesdropping.
Miss Redmond stood with Cecily resting against her, one hand at her back, the other beneath her bottom, the baby settling, eyelids drooping, mouth slack against the woman’s collar.
Leopold spoke first. “She does not seem to take to strangers.”
Miss Redmond’s throat moved once, but she did not look at him. “No, Your Grace.”
He had not expected that answer. She sounded sure, as if she could not be more certain.
“Have you cared for fussy children like her?”
Miss Redmond seemed to remember herself, as if she had almost said or done something she had not intended to be heard or seen. She gave him a quick smile, but she hid it immediately against the baby’s face.
“Yes. I am familiar enough that I know how to console almost any bad temperament.”
Leopold saw Barnaby’s face in his mind and knew his friend would be watching with great interest. He caught Leopold’s eye and gave him a satisfied smirk, as if he himself had told Leopold that Miss Redmond would be the very person to comfort the restless infant.
He realized, in that instant, that there was no point pretending otherwise.
“You may have the position,” he said. “If you have not decided that you do not—”
“Thank you,” she said before he could finish speaking.
Leopold nodded, noting her quick reply. “You will speak with Mrs. Pritchard about the room and the schedule.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
He held her gaze a second longer than necessary and found that he could not, for the life of him, determine what it was she was trying so hard not to show.
Her experience with children was rather evident in the way she had instantly handled Cecily, so he did not believe she was lying. Still, the moment would not leave him. Miss Redmond had looked at Cecily as though the sight of her mattered more than any position ever could.