There had been several interruptions—small bursts of wailing that had pierced the night, each time pulling her from the edges of slumber. Now, as she sat up, the house was still, and the absence of those cries seemed almost disconcerting.
It hadn’t been the cries themselves that disturbed her, but an irrational guilt—having watched the mother leave the babe on the step—that she ought to have offered to help the duke in some way.
She couldn’t. Of course. She knew that.
Her restlessness definitely didn’t have anything to do with the duke himself, or that she’d fallen asleep to mental images of his rolled-up shirtsleeves and tousled hair. He’d seemed overwhelmed, cradling the helpless infant hesitantly and with unexpected tenderness.
She’d found him aloof and arrogant upon their first meeting, and although she had also found him, well,attractive, he’d also been more than a little intimidating.
Last night, he’d obviously been out of his element. Something about that had been… endearing.
Melanie shook her head and threw her legs over the side of the bed. Such musings were proof of her lack of sleep—that she wasn’t thinking clearly.
She bit her lip.
Now that she’d seen him up close, she couldn’t deny that he was rather good looking.
Gorgeous, in fact.
But he was, first and foremost, a man who owned a brothel. For heaven’s sake, he was the Duke of Malum!
She fluffed her pillows with perhaps more violence than necessary, and then hastily pulled up the coverlet.
Since Eloisa was busy assisting her mother and Josie, which wasn’t at all out of the ordinary, Melanie donned one of her favorite gowns, hoping it would lighten her mood. It was a lovely lemon-colored frock, perfect for the early spring weather, with delicate floral embroidery along the hem and neckline.
Catching her reflection in the mirror over her vanity and seeing that her curls were even more unruly than usual, Melanie grimaced and then went to work taming them. The mixture of rosewater and lemon oil felt like silk in her palm, and as she raked it through the ends, it smoothed out enough so that she could pin most of it into a simple knot at the back of her head.
The style was more than adequate for a person who rarely, if ever, left the house.
Satisfied, she then descended the staircase to join her mother and Josephine in the breakfast room, where the scent of fresh bread and eggs filled the air. Melanie half expected to hear complaints from both her sister and mother about the disturbance coming from the duke’s townhouse. It would almost have been a relief to know others were aware of the situation. But they either hadn’t heard the cries or they hadn’t cared.
And the conversation was typical.
Lady Roland discussed her plans for the day, a fitting with Madam Chantal followed by a drive through the park, and later, Lady Covington’s daughter’s recital.
Josephine picked at her food in distracted silence.
Melanie couldn’t pay attention, really, as her thoughts continued to wander back to the house across the street. Was the baby alright? Surely the duke had hired a nursemaid by now.
When she’d finished her toast, jam, and tea, she excused herself and returned to her chamber. The moment she opened the door, her ears caught it again—the baby’s crying, faint from behind the closed window, but persistent.
She crossed the room and tentatively peered through the curtains. The nursery window was open, and she could see a woman inside, standing at the cradle with her hands on her hips. So the theoretical nursemaid had arrived.
Yet, still, the baby continued crying.
The duke would have hired a professional. The woman must know what she was doing… Mustn’t she?
Nonetheless, whereas Melanie normally spent much of the day in the library or in the drawing room, she couldn’t bring herself to return downstairs—not while the baby sounded distressed.
Keeping one eye on the window, Melanie retrieved an embroidery hoop and set to work. Her needle moved deftly, filling in the last stitches of a delicate floral design with satin stitch and French knots. Once finished, she smoothed the fabric and set it aside.
Still restless, she turned to mending two gowns, her needle gliding through frayed seams until they were tight and smooth, and wishing she could do the same for her nerves.
The fussing and whimpers, originally erratic, gradually turned long and unbroken.
Whatever the nursemaid was doing to soothe the baby, it wasn’t working.
Just as Melanie began considering how to address the problem, a sharp knock sounded on the door. After a short pause, it was pushed cautiously open, and upon seeing Alfie, a boisterous border collie who she considered her nephew, the knot in her chest loosened slightly.
