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Cook whacked the duck into portions, “As long as he’s not in eternal slumber.”
“Goodness, do not ever wish that upon us!” Jane said, struck cold by the glint in Cook’s eye and the reality of the accidental words he’d spoken. She had to change the topic, and fast. “We need afternoon tea in the summer room, please make sure Abigail sees to that.”
Whack, whack, whack! “Right you are, my Lady.”
******
Upon reaching the summer room, Jane found the Reverend and Lady Jardine chatting about the dreadful weather as they gazed out the window. It overlooked an expanse of meadow, which would have been dancing with flowers if not for this incessant rain.
Mama stood as Jane entered, “My dear, come and sit by the fire and warm yourself. I fret that you are tending to your husband at the risk of your own robust health! Should we get Abigail to draw you a hot bath?”
“You are too kind, Mama, truly. I appreciate your continued concern. But I am a married woman now and that means I must put my husband and his needs first.”
Mama replied, “What a dutiful wife you are, and what a loving mother you will soon make.”
All of this was, of course, for the benefit of Lady Jardine and the Reverend.
Abigail appeared with a tray of hot tea. Another kitchen maid Jane did not yet know followed immediately after, with a tray of cups and saucers and honey biscuits. They placed them on the table and with Mama’s gentle nudge, Jane stepped over to pour the tea for her guests.
She caught sight of Mr Foote taking up his position by the door, and nearly spilled the tea.
The Jardine daughters trotted into the summer room, each taking a seat near the fire. They were followed soon after by Lord Jardine. The girls spoke loudly and noisily with each other, continuing a topic of conversation they must have begun in another room. There was no chance of Jane participating. Lord Jardine and the Reverend appeared to already know each other, based on their greeting and immediate descent into a familiar topic between them.
There was no way of knowing what Epiphany and the Reverend had talked about in Jane’s absence either, although perhaps Mama might have overheard some of it, so she would find out later.
Chatting amiably amongst themselves, the Jardine girls were such sweet little versions of their papa. As Jane looked from the girls to Lord Jardine, she recognised the easy smile, the same deep tone of brown eyes. Their eyes reminded her of Mr Foote, but his were a softer brown, kinder. More comforting. The Lord’s hair was a shade of dusty blonde, the curls brushed forward at the temples to cover his thinning pate. The girls had inherited his colouring, with their paler tresses set in delicate drop curls. How sweet their countenances. A pang of longing for children of her own took Jane by surprise. Warmth grew behind her ribs. Jane breathed away the shock of it. Since she’d learned there was little chance of her being with child, and knowing the Jardines would send them off with fleas in their ears, she had become desperate. There truly was no time to make any other plans. She only prayed that Mr Foote would be able to complete the act, as she still did not truly know how it was done. It couldn’t be that difficult, surely? The Jardines had managed it four times; surely she could manage it this once?
Turning to Lady Jardine, Jane noted the mother of the brood has passed on her delicately pointed chin to her daughters. All things considered, the girls were blessed with the very best aspects of their parents and were truly beautiful children.
The way Lady Jardine held her son was truly an image of perfect maternal care. A Viscountess holding her infant in her arms was a warm and loving sight to behold. The babe began to fret, and tiny mewling sounds followed.
“He must need feeding,” Lady Jardine said, to nobody in particular. “Fetch the nurse.”
Mr Foote, standing by the doorway, nodded his head and set off.
Lady Jardine turned her attention to the window, where the view showed only more pouring rain. She and the Reverend struck up fresh a conversation about future services at the church, and the future christening of the Baron’s only male heir.
The reverend agreed.
“The next Baron Ealing should receive all of his sacraments at the local church, so that he may grow to be well-versed in the local district.”
That seemed odd to Jane - what about Viscount Jardine’s parish? Being a Viscount held more rank than a Baron, and if Lady Jardine had her way, her child would be both.
Mr Foote returned with the nurse and Lady Jardine handed over the bonneted babe.
The wet nurse took the mewling babe with her and moved to another room. Burning with curiosity about what her own future might hold, Jane followed. She caught a glimpse of Mr Foote as she exited. His eyes flickered to her, then he looked directly ahead.
The nurse took a seat in the hall near the scullery, then freed a breast and attached the babe to it. “My lovely one,” she said in a sing-song murmur.
What a beautiful bond they had. What a wonderful nurse she was. Jane’s heart soared. She cleared her throat and offered, “May I get you anything?”
The nurse coloured.
“Small beer, if you have it, my Lady, this gets to be thirsty work. And a cup of water, if it’s not too much trouble.”
Jane looked up to see Mr Foote approaching. Heat spread through her again, but it was not unwelcome.
“Do you require assistance?” He asked, dutifully, being the footman he was.
