The Earl's Wet Nurse

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  Catherine was led down another short hallway and into an anteroom off the elegant curving stairway. She remembered having been carried up that same stairway yesterday, but because of her attention to the chandelier that was the dazzling centerpiece of the grand foyer, she hadn’t noticed how beautiful it was. Gleaming white balustrades were capped by a dark rich mahogany rail, polished to a sheen so deep that it reflected the images walking by. It continued around the open rotunda and on to the other side where several maids were conversing and passing off piles of linens. On the lower level, a footman could be seen giving instructions to a young messenger boy. The household was buzzing with activity. She sensed both excitement and dread. A lot would be happening in the next few days. There was a baby to attend to, the arrival of the earl’s mother, and likely his in-laws, as well as the memorial for the baby’s mother. Somewhere in the mix, a nanny was due to arrive.

  “Well, here we are. Carry a smile with you, he’s not an ogre.”

  Chapter Nine

  The housekeeper ushered her into the cavernous room and stood beside her on the intricately woven Persian carpet.

  The earl—for with the clearly present air of propriety and regal bearing he possessed, he could be no one else—was sitting at a table with his head bent, writing on a note card. He turned when they entered and stood. Catherine’s eyes followed him up . . . and up. Lordy, he was tall. No, tall was inadequate, Catherine decided—he was imposing. With a full head of sable hair in moderate disarray, broad shoulders filling out a fine riding coat, long legs encased in buff breeches, and well worn, mud splattered leather boots on his feet, it was clear he had just returned from a ride not many moments ago.

  He strode over to claim her hand, and she could smell the pine of a forest mixed with the scent of freshly turned earth . . . and sweet smelling sandalwood. His hand was warm and encompassing, making hers feel impossibly small. It was not smooth as she had expected, but rough and capable. Something tingled inside her making her momentarily light-headed as he held her hand in his for several long moments while his eyes met hers.

  “Mrs. Cottingham, I am very pleased to meet you at last. My upstairs staff has told me what a great help you’ve already been with my son. I thank you for that. Won’t you please have a seat?” He indicated a chair in a small grouping on the right. He gave her back her hand, but he did not relinquish the contact with her eyes as he walked her to a plush-bottomed chair. His eyes fairly burned into hers before lowering and taking in the rest of her.

  Catherine would have happily sat in the chair provided and stared into those dark irises all day. The intelligence, the aura, and the regal honor that were all about him enthralled her. She didn’t doubt that even if she met this man in the dark, she would have known he was commanding and imperial by the way he seemed to captivate the very air around him.

  “Mrs. Cockrell, will you please see that this is delivered to Cook and that a footman is sent to get these things for my mother? We can’t have her doing without her favorite tea and afternoon bonbons now, can we?” His smile seemed forced as he handed over the notecard he had been writing on, then nodded his dismissal to his housekeeper.

  “No sir, we certainly can’t. We truly can’t,” the housekeeper added, and with her answering smile departed. Catherine got the idea that the earl’s mother was not one to displease.

  “And please ask Joseph to prepare a bath,” he called after her.

  He turned to direct his next comment to Catherine. “I rode to the casket makers at dawn but then on the way back, decided I should be the one to prepare the plot.” His voice quavered, but he continued, hoarse with the effort. “I’m afraid I’ve had quite the early morning work out. Please forgive my appearance.”

  When the housekeeper had left the room, closing the door behind her, the earl effortlessly spun a chair in Catherine’s direction and took a seat directly across from her. She had a chance to focus on his face. And my what a nice face it was. Glinting brown eyes under expressive dark brows drew her in, made her want to stare longer than was proper. Smooth tanned skin showed the hint of perspiration while his strong jaw was covered with the shadow of a beard along with a fresh abrasive scratch. This was a man of means who toiled. How impressive! But it was his lips that drew her gaze and held it—well formed, defined as if drawn by Caravaggio, they were generous enough to make him seem approachable, not stern and dour as she had expected.

  Looking up at his disheveled hair she smiled, “Not more than a few moments ago, I was in panic over my own appearance.” She lifted the fabric in her lap, drawing attention to the slim skirt of her lovely dress. “Mrs. Cockrell is a miracle worker. She found this for me to wear as I had ruined my only skirt.”

  “I don’t know what I would do without her. Especially now.” There was silence for a few moments then he went on, “But I am not the only one who is grieving now. I understand you recently lost your husband, and now your child as well.”

  “Yes.”

  He watched her as she hung her head. So fresh, so lovely for such awful events to have occurred in her young life. He wished he could reach over and lift her delicate chin, for he wanted to see those beautiful bright green eyes again. And that hair, my God, there was so much of it . . . longing to be caressed, smoothed away from her face, lifted from her neck. He mentally shook himself to return to task.

  “Am I to understand that you are alone in the world then? No other family?”

  “My parents are both gone, they drowned when a bridge they were crossing collapsed when I was twelve. I have an aunt, but she and I are not fond of each other. We have vastly different beliefs about how one should live one’s life.”

  “What is her belief, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “She believed I should spend my life on my knees.”

  The earl’s eyes went wide and he made a sputtering choking sound.

  Catherine looked at him askance, momentarily confused, then closed her eyes tight before adding tersely, “In prayer.”

  The earl sighed audibly, nodded and then smiled in understanding, as if trying to make her believe that was what he had been thinking all along.

  He cleared his throat, “Well then, maybe you have found a home here. I am grateful to you for offering to help me with my son. The entire household is grateful it seems, and so is at your service, day or night. You only need to ask and it will be brought.”

  “Thank you, milord. Your household has anticipated my every need.” She indicated the dress and smiled.

  God when she smiled she was incredibly lovely, he thought. What man would leave her to go to sea?

  He cleared his throat again. “I’m told it takes a while to establish this um . . . feeding thing. But once my son is on a schedule of some kind, I would like to find a way to include him at meals. I want to be close to my child. I do not want to raise him in the typical aristocratic manner despite his station. I want him to know who his father is. So it is important to me that we share meals, the evening meal especially. Although I would dearly love to start my day with twenty or thirty minutes to monitor his progress, I understand from Mrs. Cockrell that mornings can be hectic times for those tending a child. But once you have him on a schedule, maybe you can find a way to accommodate me for the morning meal as your time allows.

  “Of course, you can be assured that a shield or partition will be arranged for your privacy.” He stopped, drew a deep breath and continued, “Until the nanny arrives, two of the upstairs maids have been assigned to assist you with my son. Sadie and Emily will bathe and change him and see to laundering his clothing and bedding. The rest of the staff will fill in as needed.

  “Are there any questions? I assume you have already received your first month’s pay from the midwife, Miss Madeline I believe, but I often confuse the two of them.”

  Catherine had to swallow her surprise. That pouch of coins ha
d been for only a month? She had thought that was for the year. So had the midwife. What was it he had said about the midwife? “Yes. Madeline. Her sister is Marguerite. It is amazing that they are still identical at their age.”

  “I have known them all my life. They’ve aged together. Of course, they do everything together, always have. The women of Merseyside are fortunate to have them. So, no questions, then?”

  “No, I am thankful for the time I will have with your son, it will ease my grief and according to the midwife, help my body to heal quickly.”

  He looked at her in the dark green dress that fit her to perfection. He remembered seeing it on the Duchess of Everly last year at a house party he and his wife had held in the spring. It had looked tight and inelegant on her. On Mrs. Cottingham, it looked as if it had been made for her slender curves. His new employee did not look as if she had just delivered a child the day before. Well . . . except for the bust. There she looked like she had the necessary apparatus needed to feed his son rather well.

  He had to steer his thoughts or he would never be able to get out of this chair. “Oh, my mother has just recently arrived. Please be aware that she likes to control all aspects of my life, and that of those around me. If you let her, I’m sure she will tell you how to breathe. In your case, she will certainly tell you how to eat, as I’m told how you eat will affect her grandchild. I do not like her meddling, but as I do not know the protocols involving death, nor those involved with the birth of a child, I’m sure she will be indispensable for the time she is here. That said, my advice to you would be to steer clear of her or subject yourself to her unending scrutiny. She can be quite the prude, so I apologize in advance if she does not find you a suitable substitute to feed her grandchild. Let me assure you that I do, and that is all that matters in this household. Mrs. Cockrell is my advocate when it comes to my mother and she will try to interfere, as she is able. Please come to me if it becomes difficult dealing with Mother. It is important to all of us that you not be upset, especially when you’re with my son.

  “I am of course, deeply sorry that you lost your own child, and regret that you have not had sufficient time to recover from your grief before assuming this role. I, and my entire household, am in your debt. Please make yourself at home at the manor—as time allows, avail yourself of the library, the solarium, and the gardens.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the position and the opportunity to nourish your child for you.” She rose to leave and made it halfway to the door before he stopped her.

  “Mrs. Cottingham, before you go . . .”

  She turned back to him. He was magnificent as he stood there watching her leave.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, had you chosen a name for your child?”

  She blinked at the surprising question. “Yes,” she whispered. “Jonathan for a boy child, Julia for a girl.”

  It was his turn to blink. “It is interesting that both you and my wife had chosen the same name for a son. Would it bother you if my mother and I decided to use it?”

  “Of course not. I would be honored.”

  “Then I like the name even more. Good day, Mrs. Cottingham.”

  “Please call me Catherine. No one calls me Mrs. Cottingham. Each time I hear it, I feel disjointed, as I am no longer anyone’s wife.”

  “Of course. I understand, as I am no longer anyone’s husband either.”

  “We both have a lot to accustom ourselves to.”

  “You are to be admired Catherine, for carrying on so well.

  “It’s not like I have much choice.”

  He nodded. “I will check on you and the baby later today. And you can expect that the moment my mother is settled that she will want to attend to her grandson.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  Chapter Ten

  Catherine waived off the maid who was waiting at the door to lead her back, happy to find the way on her own. Leaning over the wide rail and looking down into the grand foyer, she could see that the footmen were busy bringing in the dowager countess’s trunks. As she stood there taking in the bustling activity, she counted eight matching steamer trucks, four huge hampers, six triple-shelved hat cases, and so many boxes wrapped with ribbons and cords that it kept a staff of housemaids busy handing them off and running them up the stairs for several exhausting minutes. My Lord, was she staying a year?

  As all the maids were now busy attending to the newly arrived dowager and unpacking all her trunks, she took her time and wandered the hallways. It was an attempt to get her bearings and stretch her legs as well as a chance to see if she could even find the suite of rooms where she, the soon-to-arrive nanny, and the earl’s heir would be residing. Once the earl was assured his son had settled in properly, this could become her new home. It was awfully exciting.It was also more than curious that her new living quarters were the very same chambers that had been her ladyship’s. Why had the earl chosen those particular rooms out of all the rooms available to him to house his son?

  As she walked slowly down the long corridors, she found that most of the doors were open or at least ajar, so she made a point of sneaking a peak into each one. All were luxurious guestrooms; none resembled anything fashioned for a child. But then, hadn’t someone mentioned that the nursery that had been prepared before the birth of the child was located above stairs on the next level?

  When a wide corridor opened onto an expansive hallway that looked familiar, she realized she was back at her wing, where her ladyship’s suite had been. The last set of doors intrigued her. Tall and imposing, they did not open off the hallway, but off a separate wall located at the very end, set some twenty paces away and directly facing her. The lustrous deep red carpeting that covered the length of the corridor disappeared under the inlaid wood panels that made up the imposing double doors. Her interest piqued, she sauntered toward them.

  Alas, they were not open, not even the slightest bit. She put her ear to the door to listen but the dark wooden doors were so thick that not a sound could be heard from within. Timidly, she knocked. She could always feign being lost, she mused. But there was no answer. She turned to go back to her assigned rooms, but had only taken a few steps when her inquisitiveness won out, as it almost always did. An avid explorer with a keen interest for the unknown and an imagination that never stopped, she put her hand over her racing heart, and with her hand on the levered handle, she listened again. Knocked again. Then pushed against the wood panel. The door easily swung open, and as the opening widened, so did her eyes.

  The largest bed she had ever seen was set against the far wall, on a generous platform of its very own. The bedstead was so opulent, so ornate that it looked like a bed designed for a king. The intricate carvings curled around the headboard, the footboard, and then wrapped around every post that led up to the high, filigreed gilt dome. Matching furniture, equally as ornate as the bed, lined the walls around the room. An elaborately detailed silver serving set, on a polished and mirrored tea trolley was parked in a corner. Notably, it had a variety of filled crystal decanters arrayed on the lower tier.

  A set of double doors led off to the left, and another impressive set opened to an area on the right. A series of wall sconces followed the dark paneling around the room. From where she stood she could make out bookshelves filled with leather-bound books. An overstuffed armchair, prominent and masculine, commanded a cozy alcove. A shepherd’s crook bearing a lantern that would cast a warm glow around its occupant stood sentinel by the chair. All this bespoke a man used to every comfort for his leisure. Shifting her eyes she saw a huge fireplace, that when lit, would roar as it caught. This was a room for a man who demanded comfort. This was the earl’s bedchamber. There was no other room this could be.

  She was about to turn and flee when she noticed a silver hairbrush on the dresser. She walked over and picked it up. It was identical to the one she had used just this morning
. She stroked the bristles and pulled out several long dark hairs—the earl’s sable tresses.

  Yes, yes it was his, and it was the very same type of brush that was on the dresser in her room, identical in fact. On closer inspection, she decided the painting she had noted earlier was actually a lacquered crest. This must be the crest for the Earl of Borough Sefton, she thought.

  She had just replaced the brush back on the dresser when she heard two men talking as they walked down the hall—toward her! She spun and looked for a place to hide. Seeing none, she dashed through the open doors that led to the sitting area, the one so masculine and filled with tall bookcases. She ran through that room to the next door. Opening it, she saw that it led to a smaller room, one with a settee and side tables. It also had a door. She opened that one as well. And found herself in the newly refurbished nursery.

  The baby was not in his bassinette, nor was anyone else around. She silently closed the connecting door behind her, and then leaned against the sturdy panel to catch her breath. The earl’s bedchamber was right next to hers!

  How improper could this be, she wondered as she took in the differences between the two suites—his so masculine, dark and brooding—her ladyship’s, all light and airy, and reminiscent of a spring garden.

  How was she going to sleep at night knowing that he was so close—that only two closed doors separated them? The impropriety was one thing, but the knowledge that the earl would be so close when she was sleeping, bathing . . . feeding his son, made her nervous, made her insides twitch and flutter. Surely the housekeeper would not allow this close proximity between master and servant. Not unless . . . No! That could not be. They did not have that kind of arrangement!

  She pushed off from the door and made her way to the bed that had been assigned to her, the bed that had belonged to the little heir’s mother. The other, the recently placed daybed, would be the nanny’s whenever she deigned to arrive. Of course, now it made sense, she sighed. The earl and his countess would have to have had connecting rooms; otherwise there would have been no baby. And upon realizing his wife was no longer of this earth, ready to care for the babe, the earl certainly would have wanted his only son close.