The baby did not seem to know how to cry softly. She shrieked, and the pitch was quickly rising. Melody wanted attention, and she was getting it. But could Victoria provide her with relief? She rose from her sitting position and began rocking the child, as she whispered words she hoped were soothing.
“Hush, little baby,” she murmured, but her rising panic made her voice tremble and her rhythm fast. The baby continued crying, her cries becoming gasping sobs.
Incompetent.
That was what Victoria was. And the more she internally chided herself, the more her palms sweated, and all her good intentions flew away.
Wilhelmina rose and stood by her side.
“Allow me, Vicky,” she said gently, reaching out for the baby.
Mina took Melody, and instead of holding her stiffly vertical like Victoria did, she had the baby nestling against her shoulder. Then, she began making a gentle, rhythmic movement. Confidence and experience helped her reduce the cries to mere whimpers. Thankfully, Melody started drifting back to sleep.
“Oh, there now,” Mina cooed, handing the baby to Mrs. Davies, who must have felt it necessary to be nearby at that moment. “I believe she needs to nap in a quieter place.”
The housekeeper disappeared with the baby, walking up the steps toward the nursery.
Melody’s nursery.
Victoria felt like a failure. It had never happened before. Once the baby’s weight was gone from her arms, she felt empty and horribly inadequate.
She was a duchess. She didn’t care much for titles, but she was happy to have a home of her own. Managing the household felt easier than soothing a crying baby. It seemed that Melody had ended in the worst possible arms among the Brighton sisters.
Truth be told, Victoria had never considered motherhood a possibility. She adored her nieces and nephews, enjoyed playing with them, but mostly did more of her loving from a distance. Now, destiny had handed her a life she was to be responsible for, and she was ill-equipped. It was a terrifying thought.
And her mind kept drifting back to Richard. He denied everything. He left the room. Still, with all self-trust gone, how could she be so certain the man who left their marriage was telling the truth about his fidelity?
Victoria did not expect to feel pain over something like this. It was an unfamiliar feeling. She had always thought she might be an inadequate wife and mother, but now it seemed that things had shifted.
If Richard had lied about the child, it meant he was a coward, and she could not remain bound to such a man who hid his faults through deception.
Their new and untested fragile connection might be fraying. On the other hand, if the child were someone else’s, it might bring them closer together as they solve the mystery.
Victoria needed to know the truth. She’d rather face a brutal truth than live with beautiful lies.
Chapter Five
“Finally, Hawksford!” Jonathan exclaimed, sitting upright. “By all that is sacred, I was wondering when you’d ever leave the country for civilization.”
Finally, Richard met with his friend Jonathan in a private room at The White’s Club. The club was known for being a citadel of masculine privilege, one that the duke did not feel grateful for at the moment.
Still, the place served as a momentary refuge. The heavy draperies served as a shield against the world outside. Here, there was relative silence, although he would have to deal with his friend’s teasing. Jonathan Trupleigh, Marquess of Cotswell, had a favorite hobby: making fun of himself.
There was a time Richard did not mind it. He and his friend complemented each other. Jonathan always looked at ease, with his tousled hair and relaxed demeanor. He’d carry around avolume of poetry he was, in no way, reading. It was part of his charm. The ladies loved it.
“Hawksford Hall is civilized,” Richard grumbled.
“Ah, but still, it is not London, and it isn’t where your wife lives. I hope you have truly come to your senses. Tell me that you have finally decided to stay here to enjoy your wife. It’s a shame, too! She is, after all, the most beautiful woman of the season!”
Jonathan was exaggerating. No such determinations were made. However, Richard had to admit there was some truth to it. His wife was beautiful, and she stood above many other young women with her wit and audacity. She was not afraid to speak her mind, and she was certainly not out in society to impress. It also made her call for help even more alarming. For her to be afraid of what the ton would say meant one thing: she knew just how grave the consequences could be.
“This is not merely a social call, Cotswold,” Richard said, ignoring the teasing as much as he could. “I am here to seek your assistance.”
“Oh. A crisis?” Jonathan asked, setting his glass of brandy down. He looked slightly more serious, sensing Richard’s serious edge. “Is it a failing investment? A tenant uprising? A debtor?”
“No. While those are certainly unsavory, I admit that it is something more serious than that,” Richard admitted. “It’s a baby. Someone has left a female infant at our doorstep here in London.”
“A baby. At Hawksford House,” Jonathan said, almost reverently. However, it was clear that he understood how serious things were.
