Page 21 of The Cornish Bride

Chapter Nine

Ysella did as she had promised Morvoren and, the next morning, after breakfast, hastened upstairs and along the corridor to the nursery wing. Although the Abbey could not be truly said to have separate wings, being such a hodge-podge of additions, everyone always referred to different parts of it as being wings, out of habit. Hence the east and west wing, and the nursery wing, where she and Kit and their two older sisters had grown up.

Mrs. Jessie Jenkins, the wetnurse, was feeding a baby when Ysella breezed in, although which baby, it would have been hard to say, wrapped up as each one was in identical shawls. Nanny Boyle, who Kit had informed Ysella had stepped out of retirement and into the breach at very short notice, stood with the other baby over her shoulder, patting its back for some reason. The little nursery maid was stacking piles of clean napkins. Two babies must be getting through a lot of those.

“Good morning, Nanny,” Ysella said, beaming at her old nurse and looking with raised eyebrows from one baby to the other. “I’ve come to see my little nephew again, but I have no idea which he is.”

The baby Nanny was shouldering gave a loud burp, making his carer smile with satisfaction, her face puckering into even more wrinkles. She must be very old, as she’d been nanny for all of Ysella’s siblings, and Derwa was over thirty now. Which made her quite old in Ysella’s mind.

“This one is young master George,” Nanny said, transferring the baby with an adroit movement born of years of practice, and cradling him in her arms. “He has a name at last. His lordship informed me this morning. All nicely fed and changed and ready for his nap. Jessie’s just seeing to her own baby now.” She nodded to an armchair by the blazing nursery fire. “If you sit yourself down, I’ll put him in your lap for a moment.”

Ysella had never held a baby before, not even any of her sisters’ children, but she didn’t dare argue with Nanny. Years of automatically obeying her came into operation and she sat down in the chair with a thump. She held out her arms, willing the tremble in them to stop, and unsure whether it was to do with holding so precious a bundle as little George, or how she felt about Oliver, whose perfect visage she couldn’t oust from her head.

Nanny laid the tiny, swaddled bundle in her lap, his downy head held in the crook of Ysella’s arm. His rosebud mouth stretched into a wide, toothless yawn, and his eyes closed.

Nanny chuckled. “You have the knack, Miss Ysella. He’s off to sleep now, like a good boy, with his belly full of good milk.” She laid a gentle hand on Ysella’s shoulder. “You can tell Lady Ormonde he’s in good hands when you see her.”

“He’s so tiny,” Ysella whispered. “Look at his little face. Look at his eyelashes.” A tide of love swept over her, quite different to the love she felt for Oliver. Might she one day be holding a little creature like this in her arms with the features of Oliver stamped across him? The thought sent a current of excitement through her from her toes to the top of her head and back down again. She glanced at Nanny, sure she’d have noticed, but the old lady’s expression hadn’t changed.

“Best to put him in his cradle now,” Nanny said. “So he can have a peaceful sleep and learn that’s the place to do it, not the arms of his aunt or mother. Babies have to learn their place in the world.” She scooped baby George up with ease and transferred him to the old cradle in the corner that had once been Ysella’s, and before that Kit’s and Derwa’s and Meliora’s.

Ysella rose to her feet. “I shall go now and report on him to his mama.” She glanced back at Jessie Jenkins, but her dark head was still bent over her own child. “And Jessie?” The woman looked up, and Ysella saw with a start that she must be younger than she was. Just a girl. “I will tell her ladyship how well you are providing for her son.”

Jessie’s honest face broke into a contented smile. “Thank you, milady.”

Ysella laughed. “I am not a milady, Jessie, any more than you are. You may simply call me Miss Ysella, as Nanny does.” She put out a hand and stroked Jessie’s baby’s head—the hair thinner and fairer than George’s dark fuzz. “Your own baby is very beautiful, and very lucky to have so kind a mother as you.”

A quick trip along the corridor and Ysella was at Morvoren’s door, tapping on it gently with her knuckles. Loveday came to open it.

Morvoren was sitting up in bed with a breakfast tray across her lap, the curtains had been flung back, and the morning sunlight was streaming in. Her cheeks had gained some color, and someone had confined her hair in a braid, the whole making her look tidier and healthier than she had the day before.

“Ysella!” she exclaimed with delight. “You came. Have you been in to see my son?”

Loveday pulled a chair up beside the bed for Ysella. “I’ll just be off now to see to her ladyship’s laundry, as you’re here, Miss. Your mama did say as you could stay half an hour but not to tire her Ladyship out.”

Ysella sat down on the chair. “Of course I won’t. I’ll look after her while you’re busy, have no fear. Off you go.” Just what she wanted. Time on her own with her best friend.

Carrying a wicker basket of laundry, Loveday departed, the door closing with a satisfying clunk behind her.

“My son?” Morvoren repeated. “How is he? They won’t let me see him yet. They say I have to wait another day or two. They think I’m too weak, but seeing him would be such a tonic, Ysella. Tell me he is well.”

Ysella, not usually known for her tact, forbore from telling Morvoren she’d held baby George in her arms. “He’s thriving. Mrs. Jenkins the wetnurse is younger than me and both babies are doing well. Nanny Boyle is in charge…”

Morvoren nodded. “I know. Kit put her on standby when we found we were to be parents.” She wrinkled her nose. “She seems a bit of a dragon, and I’m still not used to the idea of letting someone else care for my child, but I daresay she will look after George with great care. At least until I’m fully recovered.”

Ysella nodded. “You only have to look at Kit and me to tell she’s a good nanny. George is in good hands. You needn’t worry about him.”

Morvoren glanced across at the long window. “If only I could get outside in the fresh air, I know I’d feel better quicker. But I suppose they’re right. I’m weak as a daisy.” She gave the breakfast tray a push. The remains of scrambled eggs and toast lay on her plate. “Can you take this away. And then, because I’m fed up with talking about being ill, you must tell me all about the season. Your letters have been sadly lacking in detail and, I have to say, very badly spelled.”

This was more like it. Ysella put the breakfast tray on the table by the window and sat back down again. With the half hour limit set on her visit, no beating about the bush was required. She needed to get straight to the point.

“Oh, Morvoren,” she half whispered, as though there might be an ear pressed to the keyhole. You never knew in a house this size with the number of servants they had, and she didn’t want gossip reaching Mama’s ears. “I’ve met someone.”

Morvoren’s eyebrows rose. “Do tell me all about him before Loveday gets back then.” She must be as aware as Ysella of how gossip could run rife in a servants’ hall.

Ysella leaned forwards and seized Morvoren’s hand. “He’s the most handsome man in the whole of London, I swear! And he loves me too. I can’t believe I’ve been so lucky.”

Morvoren gripped her hand, her eyes alight with pleasure. “He loves you? How wonderful for you. I take it you love him, as well? Where did you meet him and what is his name? Does he have a title?”