Edward shut the ledger with a snap. “Very well, I’ll go myself.”
He didn’t wait for acknowledgement. He was already moving, his long strides carrying him out of the study and through quiet corridors warmed by hearths.
He stopped before the nursery door, soft lamplight glowing beneath it.
Beatrice sat in the rocking chair by the window, her spine ramrod straight despite the tremors of fatigue in her shoulders. The swaddled baby slept against her chest, tiny fist tangled in her gown as if anchoring herself there.
Outside, dusk had turned the sky a deep lavender, and the last strip of light washed over Beatrice’s face, softening the dark crescents under her eyes and casting her in a fragile grace. The fire had burned low, leaving the air cool, while the room was illuminated by the faint lamplight. The newly employed nanny, who sat in the corner, stood up upon seeing him and step out respectfully with a curtsey.
Edward leaned against the doorframe, his arms folded. A posture he hoped looked casual, even though worry had driven him up the stairs the moment he heard the baby had taken ill.
“You’ve been here all day,” he said, more gruffly than intended.
Beatrice started slightly. “She wouldn’t settle. I thought?—”
Her words were cut short by a low, unmistakable growl.
Edward’s frown smoothed when he realized it hadn’t come from the baby. “Was that?—?”
Beatrice’s cheeks pinkened. “I’m fine.”
Her stomach disagreed loudly.
Edward fought the ridiculous urge to laugh. “You’re starving.”
“I have managed quite well without your commentary,” she hissed, mindful of the baby sleeping against her chest.
He raised an eyebrow, savoring the faint flicker of life in her eyes despite the dark circles beneath them. A smile tugged at his mouth, but he quickly suppressed it. “Seems my Duchess has forgotten she’s human.”
She shot him a glare. “It’s not amusing.”
“Ah, but I must disagree.” He stepped closer, careful not to disturb the tiny bundle in her arms. “Sacrificing your well-being for the child’s, it is a rather theatrical gesture. Quite in keeping with your flair for grand displays.”
“Please don’t make a scene,” she muttered, glancing at the sleeping child.
His voice softened instantly. “I’m not. But you’ve had nothing to eat since morning. You’ll be of no use to her if you faint.”
“I wasn’t thinking about myself.”
“Clearly.”
That earned him another glare, though weaker this time.
She looked exhausted. He noticed the faint tremors in her hands, and something in his chest tightened painfully.
You foolish woman.Why must you always push yourself to the limit?
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You should’ve sent for something. Or for me.”
“I didn’t think you’d want to be disturbed.”
He huffed out something between a laugh and a groan. “You’re my wife, Beatrice. Disturbing me is in your job description.”
Her lips twitched. “How noble of you.”
He arched an eyebrow, a retort hanging on the tip of his tongue, yet something in her expression gave him pause. The silence stretched, gentling the air.
“The fever was mild,” Beatrice whispered, her gaze drifting to the baby’s chubby face, “but she was frightened… and she is sosmall. Too small to face anything alone.” Her fingers trembled where they cradled the baby’s head. “And I could not just?—”
