Madeline bit her lip. “I… I didn’t know. How kind of him.”
“Will you wear the gold and white one?” Anne asked eagerly.
“Well, it seems a shame to waste it just on wearing it around the house.”
Anne shrugged. “I never think a pretty dress is a waste, as long as you feel beautiful in it. Lots of people might see it, but my Ma always said that the most important eyes on yourself were your own, resting on your reflection in a mirror.”
Madeline gave a short laugh. “Your mother sounds like a wise woman. Very well then. The brocade. I’ll wear that today.”
An hour later, clothed in her marvelous brocaded gown with its wide sleeves and low neckline, which skimmed the tips of her shoulders, Madeline ventured out into the hall. She had been directed to the nursery by Anne, who had stayed behind to straighten up the room and put things away.
As Madeline approached the nursery, she could hear Joan’s voice lifted in a soft little song, a lullaby of some kind. No, not a lullaby. It was a folk song, one that Madeline had heard sung before.
“I’ll sing you one, oh, Green Grow the Rushes, oh. What is your one, oh? One is one and all alone and evermore shall be so.”
She reached the doorway and peeped inside.
The nursery had been freshly papered, clean, fresh, and pretty. Thick carpets covered the floor to keep in the warmth, and there were toys of all kinds piled up in boxes everywhere. A huge rocking-horse sat in the corner, far too big for a baby. There was a crib in the corner, a large, ornate thing that had probably been specially commissioned.
Joan sat in a rocking chair by the window, cradling baby Adam to her, staring out of the window, and singing in a low voice.
A floorboard creaked under Madeline’s feet, and Joan abruptly stopped singing and glanced up.
“Ah, it’s yourself, Your Grace,” she beamed, getting to her feet. “Have you come to see the little man? He’s not long had his breakfast, and he’s in the perfect mood for some entertainment.”
“I did come to see him,” Madeline confessed. “That song you were singing… Does he like it?”
“Children love music,” Joan confirmed, gently transferring the warm weight of Adam from her arms to Madeline’s. “They like long songs and don’t much care if they’re silly or not. It soothes them, and it soothes me, I think.”
“I suppose so. I always think thatGreen Grow the Rushesis a sad song, however,” Madeline admitted.
Joan tilted her head. “How so?”
“Well, that line. One being all alone. It goes from twelve things all the way down to the core of the song, which is a single person alone. It’s lonely.”
“I suppose you could think of it that way,” Joan responded. “But I simply sing it the other way—one all the way to twelve.”
Madeline had to smile at that. “I suppose I cannot argue with that. I thought I would take Adam to the library, if you don’t mind.”
“IfIdon’t mind?” Joan repeated gently. She glanced down at Madeline, eyes shrewd. “You are the duchess, Your Grace. You’re this little fellow’s guardian. You must do what you think best. I’m only here to help you.”
Madeline flushed. “I don’t feel like a duchess.”
“Maybe not yet. However, if you want to take the little master to the library, I think it’s a fine idea. I’ll get some chores done in here, tidy up a little, and you can bring him back if he cries. I suspect you have a knack for babies yourself, eh?”
“I certainly hope so. I plan to read to him,” Madeline added in a rush. “I know he can’t read yet, or even… even really understand words very much, but he’s learning all the time. Papa said that reading to babies—and singing to them—is the finest way to teach them.”
“I think that is a marvelous idea, Your Grace,” Joan answered, sounding pleased.
She turned to go, then paused, glancing back at Joan.
“Joan, if His Grace, the duke, told you to take Adam away from me, would you do it?”
Joan paused in the act of folding a blanket. “Why, good gracious, whatever would His Grace do that for?”
Color rushed to Madeline’s face, and she regretted asking the question. She gave her head a tight shake. “No reason. I… I’m sure he wouldn’t. It’s just that…”
She trailed away. She couldn’t possibly say to Joan what she wanted to say.
