“About the child,” he clarified. “About her family, the one she was supposed to have.”
He looked away, toward the small knitted blanket, the cradle, anything except her.
“There was no mother waiting in tears. No guardian knocking on doors. No hopeful soul searching for a missing heiress.” His voice roughened. “Whoever left her did so with no intention of returning.”
Beatrice’s breath caught. “Oh…”
Edward swallowed, the admission scraping its way out. “I will keep looking. But until I have proof, we are… responsible for her. For now.”
As though deciding the moment had grown far too serious, a loud hiccup sounded from somewhere in the house, most likely the nursery. The sound was sharp enough to startle them, even separated by the wall.
Beatrice froze mid-breath. “Oh?—”
Edward’s composure fractured in the same instant. His jaw relaxed, his shoulders dropped, and something warm flickered in his eyes. Exhaustion did not dull it. If anything, it made the instinctive tenderness shine brighter.
Without thought, they both turned toward the library door. And then their eyes met.
They stepped into the nursery, the room warm with lamplight and the faint scent of lavender.
The maids flocked toward Beatrice at once, all fluttering hands and anxious curtsies, but it was Mrs. Hart, solid and unmovable as an oak tree, who efficiently dismissed them with a firm clap.
“Let the poor mother breathe,” she muttered, already adjusting the swaddle.
Beatrice attempted to mimic the woman’s swift, confident motions… and produced something that resembled a crumpled pastry. The baby kicked one little leg free as if in condemnation.
“Drat,” Beatrice muttered under her breath.
A shadow came closer.Edward.
“I can—” she began, but he was already beside her, his fingers brushing hers as he took the corner of the blanket.
“Here,” he murmured, his voice unexpectedly gentle. “You’ve twisted the tuck. It’s meant to go under, not around.”
She stared at him, incredulous. “How do you know that?”
“My younger cousin,” he replied, his eyes on the blanket. “His parents died young. I spent half my childhood helping my mother raise him. Swaddling was… unavoidable.”
The knot came together neatly under his hands—clean, secure,perfect. Of course it did.
The baby responded by letting out a small wail of protest.
Edward winced like he had been struck. “Oh no, don’t do that. We’re doing this correctly, I promise?—”
Beatrice had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.
He shifted immediately, rocking the cradle gently until the little girl’s cries faded into soft, sleepy breaths.
And Beatrice found herself staring.
Edward looked so strangelyrightthere—sleeves rolled, head bent, soothing a child that startled at the world. A man she had only known as chaos and charm suddenly revealed a capability she had not dared imagine.
The realization startled her enough to make her back stiffen.
Foolish.
Edward glanced back at her and cleared his throat. “If she had stronger lungs, she’d wake half of Bath.”
“You are the only one loud enough to accomplish that,” she shot back, folding her arms.
