“He was very particular about it, Ma’am. Shall I take the baby, My Lady? A wet nurse has arrived.”
“A nurse?” she asked, and the maid nodded.
“Yes, His Grace sent for her. He told us of…” she grew red in the face as she considered how to express the sentiment. “He told us of… your troubles.”
Her troubles? What in the world had he told them?
“Shall I take him? We can change him, too.”
Clara drew the baby closer for a second before remembering that she had absolutely no idea how to change a child or indeed much about caring for a babe at all. She ought to be grateful for the assistance.
“Yes,” she said and handed the child over.
“I have been assigned to your service as a lady’s maid, if that suits,” the maid added. “My name is Nell.”
“Very well, Nell,” she said. “Were you here last night? Stoking the fire?”
The young girl nodded. “That was me. Yes, Ma’am.”
“Thank you,” she said, once again wondering if this Nell suspected anything.
“You are welcome. I shall take the baby to be changed and then return to help you dress.”
“I do not require assistance dressing,” Clara said. “I spent the last year in Scotland with my godmother, and she did not keep a lady’s maid, so I managed myself.”
“I see,” Nell said, her eyes widening slightly at a disclosure she clearly found distressing. “That must have been a great hardship, My Lady. Especially with the babe.”
“Yes,” Clara said, remembering a half-second too late that she was supposedly the one who had given birth to little David and raised him through his earliest weeks. “Fortunately, my godmother was very well versed with children and was able to help me immensely. I shall be eternally grateful to her.”
“Of course, My Lady,” Nell said. Then she walked away with the baby, and Clara let out a long, slow breath.
It occurred to her, now that she was alone, that Julian must have had to come up with some explanation as to why a wet nurse was required. If she were the biological mother of this little boy, she would be producing the milk to feed him herself. What on earth had Julian told them?
She dressed quickly and made her way downstairs.
She found him in the breakfast room, slicing into a bread roll with precisely the air of a man for whom this was the most ordinary morning of his life. A generous spread was arranged before him, and a teapot steamed beside a neat row of jams. He looked up when she entered and offered her a smile.
“I trust you slept well?”
“I did,” she said, for surprisingly, she had. “Nell told me a wet nurse has arrived.”
He looked up. “Yes, I spoke to her briefly. I told Richmond she was a household arrangement.” His tone displayed a hint of irritation which confused her.
“And he believed it?”
He shrugged. “I imagine that he does. We must trust that he does. We must trust everybody in this household, Clara. David’s safety, and Arabella’s, depends on it.”
“Yes,” she said. “Of course. That is what matters most.” She paused. “The maid, Nell. Do you think she might suspect? She assured me last night that babies David’s age could eat gruel, as if she suspected that I did not know.”
He wetted his lips. “If so, she will keep our confidence. I am sure of it.”
She took her seat and reached for the teapot. “I wonder if the news has spread already.”
“I am certain it has,” he said. “You know as well as I do that the ton has nothing it likes better than a scandal to set everybody talking.”
“We do not want a scandal,” she said. “We want a rational explanation for why we supposedly did what we did. We do not want to alert this mysterious man. Massimo must not know.”
“Massimo?” His bushy eyebrows rose.
