“What has captured your attention so completely? I was able to come fully inside the nursery without you stirring.”
Her lips twitched then moved up as if she’d just remembered to smile. “Memories, Your Grace. Some hold on a little too tightly. I’m sorry I’m not attentive.”
Her voice was winsome, and Busick remembered the countess said she’d lost her own baby and husband. That had to be true, for sadness like this, those quivering leaky eyes couldn’t be feigned. Her season of stolen joy must be terribly sad and recent.
A knot formed in Busick’s gut, forcing him to think of his fallen lieutenant’s wife. No one could stop her from seeing her husband cut down by cannon fire. And no one, not even Busick, could prevent her when she took up her husband’s sword and charged the enemy.
He blinked, sniffed the orange polish, and forced away the remembrance of war. “My sympathy goes out to you, Mrs. LaCroy, but we must speak of our situation.”
Wide, delicious eyes, orbs of topaz with hints of honey gold and henna stared at him. It felt as if an assassin had marked him. A small part of him didn’t mind being in the line of fire, her fire.
“Yes, Duke. We’re not ready for your inspection.” She moved to the crib. Her steps were graceful—chin held high, shoulders level—so very tall for a woman.
“And Master Lionel, he didn’t seem to want to keep your schedule. He went to sleep after his sudsy bath.”
He looked again at the baby swaddled in fresh linens. The whisks of jet-black hair had been brushed to the center of his head and tied with a green bow, like Gantry’s. “The boy seems at ease, but was the ribbon necessary?”
“He’s too young for a top hat, and he’s c-catching his hair in his nails and scratching. The bow will work for now. He’s far too young for his first b-barbering.”
Her voice sounded stronger, but a few of her words meshed with stuttered breaths.
Busick started to rethink her termination. He didn’t want to be her next disappointment, the thing that made tears leave her sweet eyes. “At what age do you suggest cutting his hair?”
“Six. He’ll have a wonderful head of hair for the first trimming.”
“Nooo. He doesn’t have to wait until he’s breeched.”
She pivoted. Lines riddled her forehead. “He’s already born. How can he go back to be a breeched baby? What do you know about infants?”
How did the conversation change to be about Busick? He swayed a little as he lifted his hand to his temple. “You’re not from England are you, LaCroy? For a boy to be breeched is a term of elevation. At age six, he transitions from pinafores to pantaloons. Where are you from?”
“A little colony of no consequence.”
“You’ve never been a nanny before. Have you, LaCroy?”
“Never needed to be one.Sir.”
The way she tossed insirwas as if she remembered herself and who was employer and employee. Well, employer for the moment.
“I suspect my Lionel will have his first set of man’s clothes and a haircut, early. Maybe in a few years. With my training, he’ll excel.”
He put his palm on the boy’s head. It was warm, not with fever but from rest. The lad was at peace. “So much to look forward to with this little one.”
When he glanced at her, there were more tears in her eyes. She blinked heavily. “Do we pass enough of your inspection, Your Grace?”
“You seem to be getting the nursery in order.” He ran a finger along the edge of the crib’s carved rail. “No dust.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, for now. There’s more cleaning to be done.”
Bad news was best served cold, direct, no emotion. But he had an emotion about her, about terminating a teary-eyed woman who’d polished bed rails and put bows in his ward’s hair. Wrong. It felt wrong.
Good thing he never listened to feelings. “How long did you intend to go along with this act, footman?”
Mrs. LaCroy brushed at her face, that cleft in her chin. “As long as it was convenient.”
He kept his jaw from dropping. “I didn’t think you’d admit to things so easily. At least humor me and ask how I figured it out?”
She clasped her bony elbows as if needing to do something with her hands. “If you must, tell me of your brilliance. You never forget a face, especially one brought in such close proximity.”
