His answer came too late. “No.”
Philip’s expression did not alter.
“That lie,” Philip grinned, “was even worse than the one before.”
Chapter Nineteen
“May I see her?” Emma suddenly inquired.
Frances looked up from the tea tray. For a moment, the question seemed too simple to have produced the sudden tightening in her chest.
Emma stood near the window, with the pale afternoon light softening the line of her profile. She had removed her gloves some minutes ago, as though she had no intention of being a guest merely passing through. Her bonnet lay upon the chair beside her, and there was something in her expression that made Frances think of childhood sickrooms and whispered confidences beneath bedcovers.
“Her?” Frances asked, though she knew perfectly well whom Emma meant.
Emma’s mouth curved faintly. “The baby, Frances.”
Frances returned the tongs to the tray with unnecessary care. “She is resting.”
“All the more reason to see her quietly.”
“You have already seen babies before,” Frances said, reaching for the teapot. “You possess one yourself.”
“Yes,” Emma replied, coming nearer. “That is why I asked.”
Frances glanced toward her. There was no pressure in Emma’s tone, no bright curiosity of the sort society would have worn while pretending tenderness. There was only gentleness, and Frances found that far more difficult to resist.
“She… is very small,” Frances said.
“Most babies are.”
“This one is particularly small.”
“Then I shall be particularly careful.”
Frances looked down at the tea she had poured and realized she had forgotten to place a cup beneath the stream. Tea spread in a dark, shining pool across the tray.
“Oh, bother.”
Emma did not laugh. She only took a napkin and began to help her without remarking upon it, which was somehow worse. Frances could have endured teasing. Teasing gave one something to strike back against. Tenderness left one defenseless.
“She is in the nursery,” Frances revealed. “Or what passes for a nursery, since His Grace has decided an entire suite must be rearranged because one infant has entered the house.”
“That sounds very like him.”
Frances arched a brow. “You speak as though you know a great deal about his domestic tyranny.”
“I know that men who pretend to be calm are often the most ridiculous when frightened.”
Frances almost smiled. “Then you know His Grace very well indeed.”
They left the sitting room together and made their way down the passage. The house was quieter than it had been that morning, after the commotion of Emma and Philip’s arrival had settled into something almost ordinary. Servants moved with careful steps, doors opened and closed softly, and somewhere below stairs Philip’s low voice could be heard speaking to Andrew.
The nursery door stood ajar. Frances slowed before it, though she did not mean to. From within came no crying, only the faintlittle sounds that had, in the space of days, become more familiar to her than the ticking of any clock.
The nurse rose from her chair when they entered.
“My lady,” she greeted softly.
