Then he remembered Deb’s warnings. “Does anyone know about babies?”
Evans, one of the footmen, said, “My sister’s had one.”
The others were silent.
Could this day be worse? He really needed his tea and Port.
Swearing under his breath, Mars charged forward, bare feet flying over pavers. The servants parted as if he was Moses and they the Red Sea. He took the front stairs two at a time.
As he moved, a thousand thoughts ran through his head. Deb wouldn’t be the first mistress to lie. They were never reliable and she was obviously worse than others. She did like to gamble—so, what if she’d gambled she could latch on to him with a claim of a child?
What if she was at the end of the drive, waiting for him to call her back? It would work. Hemight be a rake and a bit of a rascal but he wasn’t completely irresponsible and Deb knew it.
He entered his bedroom. The crying baby was right where she’d been left, except she had rolled over and kicked off her blankets. She was obviously very angry at being left alone. Highly insulted even. Oh, yes, this was Deb’s child.
But was shehis? Because he could tell. Eddingtons always knew their children, and that could be the hitch in Deb’s plans.
Nelson and Gibson had followed him up the stairs. He looked to his two most trusted servants. “What do I do to make her stop?”
“Pick her up, my lord?” Gibson suggested as if uncertain.
Yes, that was good advice. Mars approached the bed. He reached for the child and lifted her, his hands under her arms. Her weight surprised him. She was heavier than he had anticipated. She looked at him with an expression of outrage and possibly even hurt feelings, her mouth in the deepest frown he’d ever witnessed—but, blessedly, she stopped crying.
The two of them took each other’s measure.
Her long dress was a light green with lacy sleeves. Her feet in wee leather shoes dangled in the air. Her skin was hot and slightly sweaty from the exertion of her temper. The dark, spiky wisps of her hair were now plastered around her head. She reminded him of nothing more than a miniature Caesar in a gown.
She didn’t appear impressed with him either.Her brow furrowed in an expression as critical as that of any self-important dandy or discerning mother in Almack’s.
“Menadora,” he said, tasting the sounds.
Brown watery eyes considered him solemnly and it was as if he could read her mind and he nodded. “You believe it is a ridiculous name as well. Cheer up. She could have named you Nymphodora.”
Her whimper let him know this situation was as difficult for her as it was for him, and he understood. Uncaring mothers were the worst. They had at least that in common.
He walked into his dressing room. There was a full-length looking glass in the corner. Menadora’s head turned as she noticed the reflection of the glass. She was a bright and alert little thing. Holding her against his chest, he stood so that he could see both of them in the glass.
Shock held him still.
There was a painting in the downstairs hall of himself at about this age and she could easily be an exact copy for him in spite of her dark hair and brown eyes. Except she was more intent and focused than he could ever have been. She seemed to study their reflection and form her own conclusions, one he sensed wasn’t flattering.
Dread coupled with an inexplicable excitement. This was not what he wanted. Oh, no. Not him. And yet, hehadto know.
Mars pulled off her shoe, then tugged onthe stocking. He found five perfect toes. He reached for the other foot and did the same, and his breath caught.
The left foot was not perfect. There were five toes but they were not aligned. The toe before the little one looked a bit deformed and appeared to be growing out of the toe beside it—just like his father’s had, and his grandfather’s, and all the Eddingtons before him.
Just like Mars’s own.
It was proof that one was a true Eddington.
Thiswashis baby.
His daughter.
To his surprise, a sense of wonder filled him.
He’dcreatedher. She was a new soul in this world, in his life. This little being with a silly name. He hadfamily.
