And Mars felt even more incompetent since there was something else he would not have known to do. “Why do you pat her on the back?” he asked.
Mrs. Warbler answered. “It eases any intestinal vapors.”
Intestinal vapors?
“So they don’t have stomach bloat,” Mrs. Summerall added.
You had to unbloat babies?
Dora finished the bottle. Miss Taylor carefully removed it from her lips. Dora made sucking movements and then with a soft sigh, seemed to fall deep into sleep.
And Mars wished he was holding her.
Mrs. Warbler spoke up.
“Who is the mother?” Of course she would ask. The matrons would be alive with curiosity.
“No one of importance,” Mars answered and could feel their frowns of disapproval. He kept his gaze on his daughter.
Mrs. Summerall said in her gentle clergyman’s-wife way, “My lord, we are not unsophisticated women. Your activities are well-known.”
“Aye, we have known you as a randy one for a long time, my lord,” the always direct Mrs. Burnham agreed, half laughing.
Such was life in Maidenshop. “I keep my business to myself,” he answered, unrepentant.
“Not any longer,” Miss Taylor murmured. As Dora had nursed, he’d moved deeper into the room to watch. Only now did he realize he stood right by Miss Taylor’s shoulder. He took a step away.
“Have you given any thought to what you are going to do with Dora?” Mrs. Warbler asked.
“Thought?”
“Are you going to farm her out?” Miss Taylor sounded angry. She referred to the practice of passing off unwanted children to yeoman’s families and the like. Many a nobleman had used the practice for their bastards. It was considered a responsible action...
“No,” he answered, genuinely insulted. “She ismychild.”
The tension eased in the room. Mrs. Burnham got a silly grin on her face. “Miss Eddington. I like it.”
Mars did, too. Miss Dora Eddington.
He also had a sense that, at last, he haddone something that earned the approval of the ladies in the room, including Miss Taylor.
“Well, then,” Mrs. Warbler said, “you shall need a nurse for this child.”
He nodded. He would.
“And I have the right person in mind,” Mrs. Warbler continued. “Miss Taylor.”
Clarissa Taylor?Under his roof?Where he would see her daily?Mars’s first instinct was a resounding,No.
Except before he could answer, Miss Taylor said in that crisp, matter-of-fact voice of hers, “That is a terrible idea.”
“Terrible?” Mars was offended.
She shot him a look. “You don’t like me. I don’t like you.”
“Although she is very good with the baby,” Mrs. Summerall pointed out. The three matrons were lined up on the opposite side of the table from the two of them. Mars was the only one who stood. Well, save for the maid Jane who lurked in the doorway, her facial expressions giving away that she sided with the women.
“Also there isn’t anyone available to take the position,” Mrs. Warbler observed.
