by Regina Scott
Kendall caught up with her before she could seize the latch. “Allow me. We wouldn’t want to startle her.” He opened the door slowly, as if expecting a lion to leap out at them.
The curtains had been drawn against the sun; only a glow appeared over the top and around the sides. The light came predominantly from a fire that burned much too hot for a summer’s day. Sitting in an oak rocker beside it, a heavyset elderly woman calmly worked at a bit of lace, pleated cap covering her hair. A younger woman, not much older than Daisy, flitted here and there as if she didn’t know what to do next.
Ivy knew. That crib against the far wall. The cries came from the depths. She started forward, and Kendall touched her arm. She looked at him askance. Even in the dim light, she could see that he had paled.
“A moment,” he said.
A moment? Why did he wait? Didn’t those ragged cries touch his heart? She could barely force herself to stand calmly.
And why were neither of the nursery staff moving to help the baby? Both had stopped what they were doing when Ivy and Kendall had entered. Now the girl bobbed a curtsey, and the older woman climbed to her feet and did the same.
“Lady Kendall,” her husband continued, though he had to raise his voice over the wails. “May I present the nursery staff?”
Ivy couldn’t take it any longer. “No,” she told him. “Someone needs to see to poor Sophia. Now.”
~~~
Her words fired another arrow into his heart. Every time he called her Lady Kendall, a voice in his head labeled him a traitor. There was only one Lady Kendall, and she resided in the graveyard at the back of the church. Yet if his staff were to respect Ivy, he must lead the way.
“Nurse Wilman, if you would be so kind,” he said.
Nurse Wilman drew herself up, wrinkled face determined. “Babies will only cry all the more if they are held every time they squall. Anyone who has raised children knows that.”
“Nonsense,” Ivy said, breaking away from him and heading for the crib. “I’ve raised two, and my sisters never cried for attention.”
She was bending over the crib before Kendall could reach her side. One look at his daughter only tightened the knot in his chest. Those wide blue eyes that so often swam with tears, the black curls, the soft skin—she was Adelaide in miniature. At the sight of him peering over the carved railings, she scrunched up her reddened face and howled, thrashing about under the cover of the blankets.
“There, now.” Ivy reached in and picked her up, then began unfurling the thick flannel. “Were you too confined, my sweet girl?”
He stiffened, every part of him crying out to take his daughter from her. Yet he’d married Ivy for this purpose. He had told his staff he trusted her with all household decisions. He must trust her with Sophia as well.
“My lord, I protest,” Nurse Wilman said, huffing up to them. “I raised your father, you and your brother, and your two cousins as well. You cannot replace me with this untried stranger.”
Ivy paid her not the least attention, rocking Sophia and cooing to her. Were his daughter’s cries slowing? He’d heard them so often he could no longer tell.
“And Becky has been the best of the lot,” his nurse continued. “She’s a bit flighty, but she does just what I say.”
As if determined to keep her distance, the brown-haired nursemaid took another step back, bumping into the wall.
“I’m glad to hear Becky is helpful,” Ivy said, smoothing Sophia’s hair back from her face. “Becky, open the curtains and a window.”
Nurse Wilman yelped. “Do nothing of the kind. The light hurts Lady Sophia’s eyes.”
Did it? Doctor Penrose had never mentioned she had a weakness in her vision. Kendall kept his chin up to keep from searching her gaze.
Sophia rubbed her face against Ivy’s chest, plucked at her gown. But now he was certain. Her crying was softer, punctuated by sniffs.
“The light may indeed sting, if she’s been kept in the dark for days,” Ivy allowed. “But she will grow accustomed to it. And it is entirely too hot in here.”
He couldn’t argue there. He wanted to throw off his coat and roll up his shirtsleeves.
Nurse Wilman thought otherwise. “Babies need warmth and dark,” she protested.
“The only thing that grows in warmth and dark is rot,” Ivy countered. “Becky, open the window.”
Becky swayed from foot to foot, gaze darting from one woman to another, then appealing to Kendall for aid. Though he knew he had to allow Ivy to fight this fight, he inclined his head just the slightest. Becky edged toward the window.
“Doctor Penrose won’t like it,” Nurse Wilman threatened. “He left strict orders.”
“I would like to see them,” Ivy said, bouncing Sophia up and down in her arms.
The nurse glared at her. “He told me personally. I’m the head of this nursery.”
The two women locked gazes. In the silence, he heard a coal settle in the grate.
The silence.
Panic made him seize Sophia at last, pulling her out of Ivy’s grip and gazing into her little face. Was she having a fit? Had she died?
In the dim light, his daughter blinked big blue eyes, then widened her mouth. He readied himself for the roar.
Instead, she smiled at him.
Smiled. For the first time. He wanted to shout, he wanted to dance, he wanted to throw up his hands in praise to a merciful God. Instead, he carefully remanded his precious daughter back into Ivy’s arms.
“Becky,” he said, “do whatever Lady Kendall tells you to do. Nurse Wilman, I expect you to do the same, without complaint or hesitation, or I will return you to a well-earned retirement.”
The nurse gasped and clutched her generous chest, but the maid rushed to the south-facing windows and yanked open the curtains to let sunlight flood the room. His daughter blinked again. He glanced up to see Ivy’s smile.
“Thank you, Kendall,” she said.
“No,” Kendall said, gaze returning to his beautiful daughter. “Thank you. Thank you with all my heart.”
Chapter Six
That was the first time Ivy had caught him in a lie. As the nurse continued to bluster, Ivy shook her head. Kendall’s relief at the smile on his beautiful daughter’s face was evident by his look of awe, but he couldn’t thank Ivy with all his heart. His heart wasn’t involved in their partnership.
Sophia began to fuss again, and he stiffened. Ivy set about rocking her in her arms. She was so tiny. Her little hands would barely wrap around one of his fingers. Tuny had been small, but not like this. Ivy just wanted to sit in the rocker and hold the baby until they both found some peace. But the wiser course was to determine the cause of the crying.
“Has she been changed recently?” Ivy interrupted the nurse’s tirade.
Kendall shifted on his feet as if none too comfortable with the question. Nurse Wilman snapped her mouth shut and adjusted her skirts as if trying to determine a polite way to respond to the interloper in her domain.
“Not an hour ago, your ladyship,” Becky put in from the safety of the far wall.
So, not that, then. Indeed, she felt no undue warmth against her arm. “When was the last time she ate?”
Kendall answered that question. “Doctor Penrose advised a strict schedule, to help her gain weight.”
Nurse Wilman raised her head. “Gruel every four hours, day and night.”
How odd. Their mother had breastfed Daisy until she turned one but had begun weaning her at six months onto greater sustenance. They hadn’t been able to afford a live-in wet-nurse for Tuny, and Ivy hadn’t been willing to place her out, so her little sister had had to go on gruel when their mother had died. Ivy still remembered boiling and straining the liquid into the little boat-shaped bottles. She’d had to feed Tuny nearly as frequently as the nurse was feeding Sophia at first. But not at seven months.
“No solid food?” she pressed.
“She’s far too sickly to abide solids,” the nurse declared.
Perhaps. But perhaps one of the reasons she was sickly was because she needed more than weak gruel. “And she cries like this often?”
“Too often,” Kendall murmured, brow furrowing as if he felt his daughter’s pain.
“She had the colic at first,” Nurse Wilman explained, widening her stance. “Babies with colic cry. You just have to get through it.”
She’d been blessed that neither Tuny nor Daisy had been struck with colic, but she’d talked to mothers near them in Birmingham who had lived through the ordeal. Still, most babies had outgrown the cruel stomach pains by now.
She studied the baby in her arms. Lady Sophia studied her back, blue eyes unblinking. What was going through that little mind? As Ivy watched, the baby grimaced, and one hand moved up to rub at her jaw. Ivy peered closer.
“And there’s your culprit at the moment,” she said, straightening. “She’s teething.”
“What?” Kendall bent over the child in her arms, sable hair brushing her cheek. She caught the scent of something spicy, like the sandalwood fan her mother had owned. Was that his cologne? She wanted to breathe in deep.
“I don’t see it,” he said, scanning his daughter’s face. Sophia offered him a watery smile.
Ivy gathered her thoughts and balanced the baby in one arm so she could thumb back Sophia’s lower lip with her free hand.
“A tooth!” Kendall grinned at Ivy as if they’d just discovered gold in the well.
“And another on the way, I expect,” Ivy said, warm in his regard. “Perhaps we could dip a rag in cold water for her to chew on. That should help with the ache.”
“A rag? A rag!” Nurse Wilman sputtered. “Lady Sophia will not chew on some rag.”
Kendall straightened with a frown. Did he too feel the suggestion too lowly for the daughter of a marquess? Well, princess or pauper, babies had the same needs.
“Make it silk if you prefer,” Ivy said, irritation building. “But she won’t stop crying if you do nothing.”
“Laudanum,” the nurse said with a nod. “A dose would put her right out.”
Kendall turned white.
Ivy thought she must be turning red. Certainly heat flushed up her at the mention of the drug that had sent more than one woman into oblivion. She didn’t think it was the temperature of the room. She was angry. She was rarely angry. That wasn’t her nature. But something fierce wrapped around her now. Was this how Matthew had felt when Mrs. Bateman had made his sisters’ lives so difficult?
She couldn’t react the way he used to react. She would not raise her fist. She seldom raised her voice. But she would do so now for little Sophia.
She moved away from the nurse. “You will not use the essence of opium on Lady Sophia. Not today. Not ever.”
Perhaps she had some of Matthew’s presence after all, for Becky pressed herself against the wall, and Nurse Wilman visibly gulped.
Ivy looked to Kendall, who was eyeing her as if wondering whether she’d turn on him too. “My lord, perhaps you and Nurse Wilman could step into the other room and discuss her retirement, as you suggested.”
The woman narrowed her eyes at Ivy. “I know when I’m not wanted. But Lady Kendall trusted me to take care of her daughter. She wouldn’t much appreciate you stepping into her place.”
Kendall stiffened, as if every muscle in his body had tightened. Very likely Sophia’s mother would be aghast that the daughter of a millworker thought she knew anything about raising the daughter of a marquess. But Ivy refused to back down. Kendall had married her to care for Sophia. Drugging a baby and then refusing comfort was no way to raise a child, aristocrat or commoner. She’d stake her life on it.
“Perhaps I might be of assistance.” Mrs. Sheppard moved into the nursery, color nearly as high as the baby’s had been. “If I might have a word, my lord, my lady. I’m sure Becky can watch over Lady Sophia for a moment.”
Ivy wasn’t nearly so sure. Neither was Becky, for she was shrinking in on herself as if she hoped to blend into the pale blue wallpaper.
“Sophia stays with me,” Ivy said, and no one argued with her as she carried the baby out into the corridor with Kendall and the housekeeper. Someone shut the door behind her.
“I take it Nurse Wilman did not live up to your expectations, Lady Kendall,” the housekeeper said, faint admonishment in her careful voice. “She has given good service, for decades.”
“Lady Kendall also has experience,” Kendall said, tone grave and implacable.
She would not hide behind him. “Nurse Wilman may have the greater experience, but she is mistaken about how to deal with Lady Sophia.”
“Indeed,” the housekeeper said, and the word committed to nothing. “And what would you advise doing differently?”
It was a challenge, though one laid down with a velvet glove. Ivy did not hesitate to accept it. “Give her light and air for one. Play with her. Offer her something to stimulate her intellect, encourage her to use her hands and legs. Start her on solid food—pureed at first—vegetables, then grains, then fruits. And I insist that if she starts crying, some effort must be made to determine why and rectify the matter.”
She could not remember speaking so forcefully. Kendall certainly had never heard her speak this way. He was regarding her with a slight frown, but at her attitude or her suggestions, she wasn’t sure.
“A sensible plan,” Mrs. Sheppard said. “Do you concur, my lord?”
He’d said he wouldn’t second-guess Ivy, but this was his child. Would he back her up against the woman who had helped raise him?
Kendall’s brow cleared. “My direction stands, Mrs. Sheppard. You have no need to appeal to me if Lady Kendall wishes to change things. I have complete faith in her. And I am willing to try anything that might help Sophia.”
“Then you no longer wish to keep Nurse Wilman in your employ?” the housekeeper asked.
He glanced at the closed door of the nursery. “I remember the lady fondly. I’m sure Wes does as well. But perhaps it is time she retired.”
Ivy wanted to hug him, but she snuggled Sophia closer instead. The baby sighed happily.
“I will make arrangements,” Mrs. Sheppard said. “Is Becky to be let go as well?”
Kendall looked to Ivy.
“Becky may stay,” Ivy said. “But she must heed my advice. And there are other arrangements that may need to be made.” She turned to Kendall. “Where am I to sleep, my lord?”
His frown returned, as if he had not considered the matter.
“Lady Kendall’s apartments are on the second story,” Mrs. Sheppard put in helpfully.
“Not there,” he said.
She could not argue with the swift response. She had no interest in usurping his wife’s place any more than necessary. “Certainly not there. Is there a spot near it where you can move the nursery?”
Mrs. Sheppard’s brows shot up. “Move the nursery?”
“Yes,” Ivy said, arms rocking the baby. “I don’t intend to be parted from Lady Sophia until we are all assured of her wellbeing.”
~~~
Mrs. Sheppard looked to Kendall. Of course she would, despite his requests to the contrary. He had made all the decisions regarding the estate since he had ascended to the title on his father’s death two years ago. He’d been trained to the role since birth. He knew the traditions, the protocols. A husband, newly married, would be expected to want his bride close, with no impediment like a crying baby between them. But he and Ivy had a different arrangement.
“My mother’s and brother’s rooms,” he said. “They are on the same floor as mine, but there is a connecting door between the two. Prepare one for Ivy and the other for Sophia.”
Mrs. Sheppard inclined her head. “At once, my lord. Let me speak to the staff about the matter, and then I will address the issue of Nurse Wilman. Would you like to see the rooms, Lady Kendall, to ensure they are adequate?”
“I’ll show her,” Kendall said, and the housekeeper went about her business, grey ski
rts flapping in her haste.
“I’ve caused her more work,” Ivy said sadly, watching her head down the stairs.
“All part of her job,” Kendall said. “And thank you for understanding about Adelaide’s rooms. I haven’t changed them since she died.” His throat tightened, and he coughed to clear it. Safe in Ivy’s arms, Sophia regarded him solemnly.
“Of course, my lord,” Ivy murmured.
“This way,” he said with a wave toward the stairs, and it wasn’t until the third step that he realized she had called him my lord again.
He glanced over to where she descended beside him, her gaze veering from the marble treads before her to the baby in her arms. How different she was from Sophia. His daughter was dark-haired, pale-skinned, tiny. Ivy was blond, creamy complexioned, and sturdy. She caught him looking and offered him a smile. The nursery wasn’t the only room that felt brighter by her presence.
“I believe an apology is in order,” he said as they reached the second story and he turned to the left on the carpeted corridor. “To you and to Sophia. Nurse Wilman raised me and my brother until we were breached. I had no reason to doubt Adelaide’s choice when she invited Wilman back from retirement for Sophia.”
“Sophia’s struggles likely made Nurse Wilman try different tactics than she used on you or your brother,” Ivy said. “She meant no harm. I just want to make sure Sophia took no harm.”
So did he. He reached the double doors that led to his mother’s apartments and opened them.
The rooms had not been used in more than twenty-five years, but the maids dusted and changed the linens regularly, as if anticipating a new marchioness to take up residence. His father had never married again, guests had always been accommodated in other rooms, and Adelaide had wanted to be closer to Kendall’s suite.
Now he glanced around the room. In keeping with the Italian theme of the house, the walls were painted in a mural of a Mediterranean countryside, complete with rolling hills, sweeping olive trees, and stone villas. The box bed in the center of the room had gilded cornices shaped like olive fronds, and olive-green ribbon tied back the white and green patterned chintz bed hangings. Small tables on either side of the bed and the wardrobe chest along one wall were lacquered in a more emerald green and painted with gold cranes standing gracefully in shallow blue depths. A mother-of-pearl-backed brush and comb lay waiting on the walnut dressing table.