The Earl's Wet Nurse

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  And of course, that would have necessitated his food source be kept just as close. Factor in a nanny who would surely be here any minute now and it made sense. She should not be worried. With so many maids, the nanny, and the housekeeper always about, there would be no reason to feel unchaperoned or at a disadvantage. She smacked herself on the cheek, why ever was she thinking this way to begin with? The earl was grieving over a wife he had clearly adored by all reports. She should not be concerned over the sleeping arrangements. She should be grateful she had a roof over her head, a warm bed to crawl into each night, and food in more abundance than she could ever have imagined. And just as she thought it, two housemaids came in carrying two trays loaded with food.

  “Luncheon is served,” one called over to her.

  “Where is the baby?” Catherine asked.

  “He’s with his grandmum. Do you need him? I can get Sadie to fetch him for you.”

  “No, no, that’s all right. When he’s ready, I’m here. I should probably take the time to eat now before he’s brought back. How is he getting along?”

  “Oh, he’s just fine. Last I saw he was sleeping in her lap and she was practicing names on him. They have the first one picked out.”

  “The first one?” Catherine asked.

  “Oh la, they each get five. One will be Sebastian that’s for sure, as it was the old earl’s name.”

  “Trevane could be another,” the other maid piped up. “T’was his other grandfather’s name. I think he be still livin’.”

  “Aye, he is. Expecting them tomorrow we are, according to Cook.”

  “So what is the first name, the one they’ve already selected,” Catherine asked.

  “Jonathan,” the older maid said with a big smile. “A fitting name, one I hear the dead countess was particularly fond of.”

  Catherine felt a shiver go through her body. Her own boy would have been called Jonathan. Would she truly be okay with this? Not that it mattered. She had told the earl that she’d be honored. How long would it be before she would stop associating the name with the source of her overwhelming sadness?

  One of the maids woke her out of her reverie, “Come and eat while it’s hot. Cook made a nice rice pudding for you for dessert. And a special tea Miss Madeline sent over to help with your cramping.” Catherine was ushered over to a small table that was already set up for her.

  “We’ll leave you to it then. When you hear the baby cry it won’t be long afore he’s in your lap. If he’s wet or ‘ungry, the old countess won’t want anything to do with him, you can put your coin on that.”

  They left and Catherine began eating. Soon she began crying as well. How was it, that in a house full of people, she was so miserably lonely?

  An hour later, a stack of packages were delivered to her room. She recognized the name of a store in Southport on the glossy wrappers. The footman who brought them said they were for her, and bade her open them as soon as possible so she could send word to the butler should anything be amiss.

  Eagerly she unwrapped the first package and pulled at the tissue tucked inside. It held a lovely mauve skirt complete with petticoats. The second package contained a crisp white blouse with a lacy jabot. A soft gauzy chemise was wrapped inside the double-breasted opening. There were two sets of stockings and a pair of ankle-high boots in the third package. The fourth held two books, one called Aristotle’s Masterpiece, the other a small book of Celtic lullabies.

  Of a certainty, the housekeeper had ordered the lot, but it was the earl who must have instructed her to do so. She smiled. A man as thoughtful as he was did not seem the type bent on manhandling her. It appeared to her that he was only eager to keep her in his employ, and thereby feeding his son. She stroked the fine fabric of the skirt. It was serviceable, no doubt about that, without the pouch reserved for the modest bustle that was now the current style, therefore it must be more of a uniform than an outright day skirt, she mused. It was such a lovely color that Catherine took an immediate fancy to it and changed into it right away.

  Houses as grand as this usually had sewing women come to the house once or twice a week. She had heard that they had been summoned to the manor and asked to work throughout the next few weeks making clothes for the new heir. She had seen some of their handiwork already, as many of the maids were proud to show off the sewer’s skill. They made clothes for everyone at the manor: cotton underwear with tucks and ruffles; serviceable blouses; vests and tunics; plaids, all manner of furs, and long nightshirts for the chilly nights. She had seen some of the petticoats made for her ladyship when they had been removed from the drawers to make room for her and the nanny’s things. She had admired the lacy edges and the embroidered smocking. It seemed the earl had a machine and the women loved adding embellishments to aprons, insets of lace to pillow slips, and woven ribbons around mobcaps.

  Cambric, muslin, and good white cotton sheeting were bought by the bolt, one cotton was called Cloth of Gold and had a fancy seal on the edge. It was used for Jonathan’s tiny dresses and sweet little collared shirts.

  Mrs. Cockrell had shown her a fancy flapper-styled dress that was in her ladyship’s summer closet. It had veil-thin overlays, made of crêpe and chiffon for the tiered skirts. There was a jacket of silk taffeta to match with an accordion pleated placket and cut-out cashmere sleeves with a soft lace collar and French enameled buttons. It had been the pride of all the seamstresses when it was presented to Annaliese as a Christmas present to wear during the following summer. Sadly, she had never had a chance to wear it, as when summertime came upon them, she was quite large and so ungainly with child that she had mostly been confined to the manor. It was sad to know that her ladyship had never had the pleasure of wearing such a lovely dress.

  The women were known as the Circle Guild, as they often sewed together in straight-backed chairs placed in a circle so they could see each other while they sewed and talked.

  Catherine could not wait to see all the wondrous things they would make for Jonathan. She was told they were the most talented group of seamstresses in the country, all having had a specialty that they shared with the group, and then each competing to outdo their friends.

  Mrs. Cockrell had gone on and on about a toque they had made for her on her birthday, saying it was the finest panne velvet, in a rich dark burgundy. It even had an ostrich feather on top, she had said, beaming with unabashed delight.

  So, whether it was kid gloves, banded hats, bonnets or corsets, no job was too demanding for the Circle Guild. And they were all excited to be making Jonathan’s first wardrobe . . . his tiny booties with the clocking on the side, the soft sweaters made with the tiniest knitting needles imaginable, and the blankets trimmed with satin and covered with moss green leaves embroidered throughout. They had promised to make her a dress of her own as soon as she was down to the measurements she would keep.

  It was all too much for her. She had to sit on the edge of the bed with her new treasures and weep with thankfulness. She had truly not known what course her life would take just a short day ago.

  Betsy found her sound asleep, surrounded by piles of tissue and scattered boxes. She smiled and gently covered her sleeping form. She could tell she had been crying about her babe again. She bent and cleaned up the papers from the floor then collected the empty boxes from the bed. Everyone thought it so sad that such a sweet young woman was having such a time finding happiness out in the world.

  That night, shortly after the baby had suckled, and just after the dinner hour—after another meal that she ate in solitary—her milk came in. She had been standing at the window looking out at the garden and had chanced to see the earl walking with a white-haired woman wielding a silver-tipped cane. The cane was infrequently put to the ground; instead it seemed to punctuate her thoughts. Was she angry, or just animated in her thoughts?

  The earl had turned and looked up at the house
and stopped when he saw her standing there silhouetted by the light coming from the fireplace behind her. Her breasts had engorged instantly, becoming hard and hot. She felt the let down Miss Madeline had spoken of, the sudden downward pull that sent milk dribbling out of her nipples and dampening her new camisole. She knew the earl had seen her sudden cause of alarm but there was no help for it. She quickly turned away from the window and went to get the baby.

  Five minutes later a maid came rushing up the stairs, saying the earl had inquired if everything was all right?

  Catherine sat in the big armchair, holding Jonathan to her breast as he greedily sucked. Her mother’s milk overflowed and ran down his chin and under the ruffle at his neck. She hadn’t been able to contain or direct the flow, so she was grateful Jonathan was doing his part.

  “My milk just came in,” she said excitedly. “Look, he’s eating!”

  Soon there were three maids standing over her shoulder and marveling at the happy event, the fourth had run back downstairs to tell the earl the good news.

  A huge bouquet of flowers, tied off with a ribbon was delivered not ten minutes later with the astonished proclamation that, “The earl picked these from the solarium himself!”

  Catherine smiled over at the beautiful blooms Sadie was arranging in a glass vase. She blushed and looked down at the satisfied little boy in her lap. As she lifted him to her shoulder, the way she had been instructed, and patted his back to get the requisite bubble burped, she saw the housemaid, Calista, frowning over at her. Leaning against the doorframe, she looked angry.

  When she noticed Catherine staring at her with a puzzled expression on her face, she quickly turned with a flounce of her skirt and a toss of her head. Catherine watched her disappear down the hall. They had been introduced for the first time this afternoon, when Catherine had come from the privy chamber, and found Calista sampling a berry muffin from a tray leftover from her luncheon. Betsy had entered the room at that moment, eyed the interloper with disdain and grudgingly introduced Calista as Lady Annaliese’s former lady’s maid. It was obvious to her that Betsy was uncomfortable around this woman, and she had wondered why. There had been animosity in Calista’s eyes. She was sure of it. Did she wonder about her position now that she had been displaced due to her ladyship’s unfortunate death?

  Catherine laughed at the ridiculously loud noise that came from the baby. She felt a sudden damp warmth on her shoulder. With a look of alarm, Sadie jumped to her aid as Catherine discovered most of what she had fed him was running down a cloth covering her shoulder and onto the back of her blouse. Sadie took him from her and carried him into the nursery to clean him up. Then he was rocked to sleep by a drowsy Betsy, who was yawning almost as much as the baby.

  “Betsy, I’ll take care of him tonight if he should wake, you and Sadie get some sleep. You do an awful lot more than me in the course of your day.”

  “Thank you, Miss, it would be ever so wonderful to get a full night’s sleep.”

  “Call me Catherine, please.”

  When the baby was settled and everyone had left her, she changed out of her clothes and donned the nightgown she had used last night. She climbed into the big bed and wondered for the fifth time when the nanny would arrive. She was about to blow out the candle when she heard a light tapping on the door.

  She scrambled off the bed, marveling at the way she was able to slide off and get her feet under her so quickly. Mayhap Miss Madeline was right and the babe was healing her just fine.

  She opened the door and as soon as she saw who it was, she angled her body and hid herself behind the door. What could the earl want at this late hour?

  “I was just checking to see if you are all right. Do you have everything you need?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he asleep?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I see him?” he asked with the tiniest hint of a smile. She was not being very accommodating at all.

  “I have no wrapper.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I have nothing to put on to cover my nightgown.”

  “Oh, I see. Hang on a moment.” He turned and strode back to the double doors she had stealthily tiptoed through just that morning. Now they were open and casting a sliver of light into the darkened hallway.

  The earl disappeared into the room, and in moments, returned with a long burgundy dressing gown over his arm. “Here, you may use this. It will surely keep our sensibilities intact,” he said with a roguish lift of his brow.

  She took the robe from him and moved behind the door to don it. It was thick and warm, heavy with his scent and easily the nicest thing she had ever wrapped around her body. It was like dressing herself with a cloud. The lush velour sleeves hung over her hands, and the corded hem trailed along the carpet. Smiling impishly, she opened the door wide and made a grand gesture for him to enter. She left the door open and followed him through her bedchamber to where the baby lay sleeping in his bed in the nursery.

  As the earl looked fondly down at his son, he said, “He has a name now.”

  “I heard. Well . . . I heard part of it. Three names I believe, Jonathan Sebastian Trevane.”

  He grinned widely, “Yes, and two more have now been added. Wickham and Mooreland. Furthermore, he will one day be designated to add the title as the Sixth Earl of Borough Sefton.

  “A mouthful and more,” she chuckled.

  They stood looking at the peacefully sleeping baby.

  “He is beautiful, isn’t he?” he asked.

  She smiled over at him. “Yes, indeed he is.”

  “I suppose a boy is not to be thought of as beautiful. He should be handsome, but he really is quite beautiful. His skin is so soft.” He brushed the back of his knuckles over the baby’s cheek, and they were quiet again for a few moments.

  She broke the silence with a whispered, “I was surprised to discover today that my room is adjacent to yours.”

  He turned to her and frowned as if not understanding the implication. “That is typically how it is on the residence floor in a manor such as this. The husband’s suites are generally close to his wife’s. Upon learning of my wife’s death, I requested her sitting room be used as the nursery rather than having him being on the top floor with his nanny. I trust that you are not unnerved by my presence. I wanted to be close to my son should he require attention. I was also hoping that the nanny I hired would be in residence by now and allay any fears you might have.”

  “I have no fears. Just questions about impropriety.”

  He snorted. “Yes, so does my housekeeper. But as I told her, with my wife downstairs in the formal parlor in a casket with her wedding Bible in her hand, I doubt that I have the spirit for any sort of dalliance. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to your bed.”

  He strode with an angry air to the door. She ran behind him trying to get his robe off so she could hand it to him. She tripped on the hem, yelped, and was falling into him when he turned and just managed to catch her. He hauled her close, his arms encircling her. Her breasts grazed his chest.

  His glittering eyes met hers, their faces only inches apart as he sought to keep her upright. The thought occurred to him that he could easily make himself out a liar as he held this soft, pliant woman in his arms. His mind may not have the spirit for a dalliance, but his body was of a different accord. The wonderment he saw in those blue-green eyes shot right to his core.

  He carefully set her on her feet, holding her shoulders until he was sure she was steady. She had managed to lose the robe from one shoulder. He could see that a full breast was gently shaped under the soft baize material, and that a dark nipple was clearly outlined, its raised peak prominent and unmistakable.

  Catherine looked down in horror as right before the earl’s eyes she began to leak. She hurriedly reached over her shoulder and grabbed the ro
be to her chest. “I’ll be sure to return this.”

  As he walked over to the door he called over his shoulder, “There is an identical one in my wife’s armoire, please feel free to use it. It will surely fit you better.”

  After he had closed the door behind him, Catherine found a linen towel and placed it against her chest to catch the milk that was seeping from her breast. She tugged the robe tight to her and made her way back to the bed.

  The earl was an odd one, she thought. Clearly, he was already smitten with his new son. It made her remember Thomas and her own Jonathan, both in heaven, and she hoped with all her heart that they were playing and having a good time together. She blinked her eyes at the ceiling, banishing the tears that threatened to come, and said a prayer for them both.

  She fell asleep with the comforting hint of the earl’s masculine scent wafting over to her twitching nose. Cherry tobacco dueled with the essence of sandalwood and cloves as she burrowed her nose into the robe’s soft folds. Though she had been given leave to use his wife’s robe, she preferred to stay wrapped up in his.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Her milk is immature? She is too young? Mother do you realize the nonsense you are spewing?”

  “She is not experienced at all and she is so tiny. How do we know she will have the stamina for a vigorous little boy suckling her?”

  The image conjectured from his mother’s words had him turning back to face the roaring fire in his study. How was he getting hard from this argument with his mother, for God’s sake?

  “Everyone assures me that the size of a woman matters not. That she will produce as long as the babe demands it of her.” And judging from the size of Mrs. Cottingham’s breasts, he didn’t think she was going to have an issue with this.