“Thank you, Mrs. Hart. Show them to the morning room.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Beatrice followed soon after, smoothing her gown as she entered.
The elder of the pair had a sensible face and steady eyes, the sort of woman who had likely soothed a hundred fretful infants and twice as many anxious mothers. The younger was softer—round-cheeked, warm-eyed, her voice gentle as she bobbed a quick curtsey.
They exchanged introductions, and after a brief assessment, both women seemed perfectly capable. At Beatrice’s invitation, Mrs Hart still at her side, they moved together toward the nursery.
Once there, the elder nurse set to work immediately, her manner brisk but reassuring. She began asking questions about feeding frequency, sleep temperament, colic—the usual litany. Beatrice answered, but her gaze kept returning to the cradle, as if something might happen the moment she looked away.
“Your Grace,” the elder nurse said, straightening, “we are honored to be considered for the position.”
Beatrice gave a polite smile. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
The younger nurse stepped closer to the baby, her hands careful, her expression tender. “What a beautiful girl,” she murmured. “And so alert.”
Beatrice’s chest tightened.
Alert.Yes, the baby always stirred when she heard Beatrice’s voice, her small fists waving in what she almost fancied was recognition.
“May I?” the younger nurse asked gently, her hands extended.
Beatrice hesitated only a heartbeat. “Of course.”
But the moment the woman lifted the baby, something shot through Beatrice—swift, bright, protective. Her hand twitched before she could stop it.
“Mind her head,” she said sharply.
Both nurses blinked. Mrs. Hart looked over in quiet surprise.
The younger nurse adjusted her hold at once, her smile untroubled. “Of course, Your Grace. I have nine years of experience with infants. She’s quite safe.”
A flush crept up Beatrice’s neck. “Yes… Yes, I know.”
She clenched her hands to keep from fidgeting. The nurse was perfectly capable. They both appeared gentle and confident, exactly what one would wish for. And yet, for some reason, the sight made Beatrice’s heart squeeze.
She pressed her lips together and stepped back.
When the interviews ended, she thanked them politely and watched them leave. The moment the door closed, she exhaled and turned back to the cradle.
The baby was kicking lightly, her fists curling in the air.
Beatrice bent down, her voice softening. “I’m afraid I frightened them off, little one. Or perhaps it was you.”
The baby gurgled, and a small smile broke through Beatrice’s fatigue. She brushed her thumb over the child’s cheek, the skin warm and impossibly soft.
“You’ll have the best care,” she whispered, shaking her head. “They are capable women. I should have felt at ease, but I didn’t. Some part of me still doesn’t trust them, and I don’t know why.”
She straightened her gown, glanced once toward the door, and sighed.
“Well,” she muttered under her breath, “there’s only one other person who will have something to say about that.”
A few minutes later, she was on her way to Edward’s study.
CHAPTER 10
Beatrice didn’t bother knocking twice. The door to the study swung open with a soft creak, letting out the scent of ink, paper, and the faint trace of sandalwood that always seemed to cling to Edward.
