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“Since you have requested an explanation, my lord, I shall provide it. It gives me no pleasure to say this, my lord, no, not at all—“
“Out with it!”
Her chin pulled into her neck. “Your wife refuses to give up the child to the wet-nurse!”
He frowned.
Mrs. Brown’s heels clicked as she brought them together. “She is feeding the childherself!”
None of it signified in the moment; all he heard was that his wife and daughter were well, and he knew he had to see them.
“My lord, youmustn’t!” When he didn’t stop climbing the stairs, she followed. “Might I take the jewels, my lord, as you won’t be nee—“
Rounding on her, William allowed the full measure of his fury show. “Pack your bags and be gone. Your services are no longer required.”
Ignoring her sputtering, he was at the top of the stairs when she recovered and made her last attempt to sway him. “But the Dowager Marchioness! She will be most upset if I’m dispatched, and when she hears the news of your wife’s baseness! Nursing like a cow, my lord!”
His hands tightened on the polished jewelry case until the hinges groaned in protest, and he barely refrained from throwing the thing down the stairs at the housekeeper. “John!” he bellowed.
The footman ran up the stairs. “Yes, my lord?”
“Mrs. Brown is allowed one hour in her chamber, then she is to be removed and taken to the train station.”
By the time he neared the door to his wife’s chamber, all thoughts of the housekeeper had disappeared. The door opened and two maids departed with armfuls of gruesomely soiled linens.
“Congratulations, my lord!”
“Thank you,” he mumbled, stepping into the room, his eyes already searching for Bea. Choking at the sight of her cradling their newborn, he moved forward on weakened knees.
“My lord!” The midwife stepped in between him and the bed. “Congratulations!”
He listened to her accolades for his wife’s bravery, and hearing that all was well, he thanked her—then asked her and everyone else to clear the chamber.
Only when he sat down on the edge of the bed did Beatrice look up finally, so enthralled was she with their child. He noted with relief that, while tired, she looked well. Her dark hair was plaited and tied with a ribbon, the bed linens were changed, and she reclined against the pillows wearing a vibrant green robe.
His mouth fell open at the intimacy of the sight before him. Aside from the hints of cleavage visible when she wore a ballgown, William had never seen the smooth skin of his wife’s chest, let alone the ample swell visible thanks to her parted robe. Attached noisily to that mound was his daughter, and her tiny hand grasped Bea’s finger.
Perfect little hands. A perfect little nose. Perfect cheeks.
“Is she not perfect?” Bea said in an awe-filled voice.
“She is.Youare.” Overcome, he moved to her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She beamed at him for a moment before they both returned their attention to their daughter.
“She has so much hair,” he mused. “I wasn’t expecting that for some reason. Look at her fingernails—so tiny!”
“Feel her grip,” Bea urged. She gently broke their daughter’s grasp and moved the babe’s hand to William’s finger, which he gladly brought close.
With more force than he could believe, her little hand clutched him, and it was as if she was squeezing his very heart. “My God,” he choked out. When the tears came, joining Bea’s, he let them fall unabashedly.
After a few minutes, Bea asked him to look away, but he protested, not ready to leave just yet. Explaining she was only giving their babe “the other side,” he finally understood. Closing his eyes, he wondered whether he ought to be more shocked; if it was his duty to intervene. But when she gently informed him he could open his eyes, the tenderness before him crystalized his decision. He would not, could not, interfere. Not yet.
“These are for you,” he said, lifting the jewelry case.
Bea only glanced at it before shaking her head. “Oh, no, William—have you misunderstood? She’s a daughter.”
“I thank God for it, and for you, Beatrice. I know, and I want you to have the rubies.”
