Wait,a baby’s cry?
CHAPTER 2
The young man’s breath came in short bursts. He clutched the basket as though it might vanish if he loosened his grip.
“Begging your pardon, miss—my lady,” he stammered, his eyes darting between Beatrice and Cecily. “I’m looking for Miss Verity. Someone left this at the print house, saying it was to be delivered to her. I was given an address in this part of town, but I-I can’t find it.”
Beatrice’s stomach twisted.
Miss Verity.
The name struck her like a stone dropped into still water, small yet sending ripples everywhere at once.
“I’m sorry, you said—?” Cecily began, her voice sharp.
The young man tugged at the blanket and lifted the cover. Beneath it lay a tiny bundle. It was impossibly small, wrapped in fine muslin, its faint breath fogging in the cool night.
Beatrice gasped when she saw a tuft of dark hair. A fragile hand twitched once, then stilled.
“Oh!” Cecily stepped closer, her hand flying to her mouth. “Beatrice—oh heavens, it’s really a baby.”
Beatrice could barely breathe. Her pulse thundered in her ears, and her mind spun between disbelief and something far colder—fear.
The young man swallowed. “I only take deliveries, my lady. Didn’t know what was inside at first, I swear it. But I can’t keep it. The note said that Miss Verity would know what to do.”
Beatrice swallowed thickly. “I see.”
The words came out even, astonishingly so, considering she felt the ground tilt beneath her. She reached for the basket before Cecily could speak, her hands trembling.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “You’ve done your duty. I will see to the delivery myself.”
Relief flashed across the young man’s face. “Truly, my lady?”
“Yes. You can leave.”
He looked relieved to be rid of it, sketched a quick bow, and took off down the street, vanishing into the shadows.
The baby whimpered—a fragile, bewildered sound that made Beatrice’s heart twist in ways she couldn’t name.
Cecily turned to her sharply. “Beatrice, what are you doing?”
“I—” Beatrice looked down at the sleeping infant, then back up, her composure assembling itself by sheer force of habit. “It’s cold, Cecily. Whatever else we decide, we cannot leave it here.”
Cecily hesitated, only for a moment, before nodding curtly. “Very well, bring it inside.”
Beatrice pushed the door closed, her arms aching beneath the basket’s weight. The moment they crossed the threshold, the baby let out a wail that rang through the entrance hall like a bell.
The sound echoed off marble and gilt, far too loud for midnight.
Within seconds, footsteps sounded upstairs. Lady Moreland appeared at the top of the staircase, a candle in hand, her night robe trailing behind her.
“Beatrice?” Her voice caught halfway between confusion and alarm. “What on earth?—”
Beatrice turned slightly so the light fell over the basket. The wailing grew sharper, a plea that made her heart twist.
“Oh, heavens.” Lady Moreland descended quickly, before setting the candle on a side table. “Tell me that isn’t?—”
“It is.” Beatrice steadied her voice, though her heart was racing. “A boy from the print house brought it. He said it was left for… for Miss Verity.”
