“Where is the physician?”
“He has been sent for.”
“She is too small for a fever.” His voice had roughened. He hated it. He could not stop it. “She is too small.”
Frances stepped in front of him then, but not between him and the baby. She was only close enough that he had no choice but to see her.
“Andrew,” she spoke his name again, forcing him to lift his eyes to hers.
She looked frightened. Of course she did. Her face was pale, and there was a tremor in her mouth she was fighting with everything she had. But her voice remained calm.
Then she took his hands. Her fingers closed around his where they held the baby’s blanket, warm and steady. He realized then that his own hands were shaking. The knowledge struck him with shame so swift he almost pulled away. Frances did not let him.
“Look at me,” she urged tenderly.
He did.
“The blanket,” she continued quietly. “Loosen it a little, not all the way. Just enough that she is not trapped in heat.”
He obeyed, because her voice placed the world back into order, one small action at a time.
“There,” Frances murmured. “Now hold her upright, like that… yes. Let her head rest against you.”
The baby’s cries hitched, then rose again.
Andrew swallowed hard. “She is still crying.”
“I know.”
“She will not stop.”
Frances’ hands tightened once over his. “Just hold her.”
The simplicity of it was almost unbearable. He was the one standing with the baby in his arms. He was the one who had commanded the house into motion. He was the one with the title, the authority, the promise. And Frances was the one holding him steady.
He opened his eyes.
“What next?” he asked.
The question came low, almost hoarse.
Something softened in her face, but she did not make the mistake of pitying him. “We wait for the water. Then we cool her gently. The physician will come.”
He nodded once. The maid returned with a basin, followed by another carrying linen. Mrs. Carter arrived moments later, tying her cap beneath her chin with brisk efficiency. Andrew began issuing instructions again, but now Frances remained beside him, translating his urgency into order before it frightened the servants senseless.
“Not cold water,” she said when one maid reached uncertainly for the basin. “Just cool. Wring the cloth first.”
Andrew looked down at the baby. Her cries had changed. They were still pained and insistent, but not quite as sharp. She turned her flushed face against his coat, her tiny fingers scraping uselessly at the fabric. He shifted her closer without thought.
“There now,” he murmured. “There now. You are not to frighten us like this.”
Frances glanced at him. He did not look back.
The minutes stretched cruelly. Every sound in the room seemed too loud. Every breath the baby took seemed both relief and warning. Andrew walked with her because standing still was impossible. Frances moved with him, not speaking, only present at his side whenever his breathing began to shorten again.
At last, the sound of wheels came from below. Andrew looked toward the door before anyone announced it. Dr. Meredith entered in a flurry of cold air and professional calm, with his medical bag in one hand.
“Your Grace. Your Grace.” He bowed first to Andrew, then to Frances. “Let us see the little patient.”
