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“Language, my lord. A child is present.”
With all the noise the baby was making it couldn’t hear what he said if he bent down and shouted in its ear. “Perhaps we can drop the infant off at a foundling house.”
Bridget shook her head. “No. The woman, whoever she is, trusted us with the baby. We can’t just drop it off somewhere and go on our merry way.”
Throughout the wailing and screaming, he tried to make sense of the situation. One thing was correct. Constance would be more help than either he or Bridget were. In fact, there was a nurse at Constance’s house who looked after her children. “Come. Bringing the baby to Dunmore’s is a good idea.”
Before he could change his mind and run screaming from the entire mess, he gripped Bridget’s elbow and walked her out the door, down the steps, and into the carriage. “The door. I forgot to lock it.” He jumped from the carriage.
“You better not run the other way, Cam. I’m watching you.”
He locked the door and returned.
The baby continued to scream.
There was no way to attempt conversation, with nothing being heard but the baby’s wails. Bridget attempted to rock the babe, sing to it, shifted it into different positions, but nothing worked. Finally, she held the bundle out to him. “Here, you try.”
“Me!” He backed up, afraid to touch the wailing wonder. Bridget slid forward on the seat until her bottom almost landed on the floor. “It’s your turn.” She dropped the child in his lap.
Gingerly, he picked her up, and she ceased crying. The silence in the carriage was strange after all the racket. He glanced over at Bridget, both of them holding their breath. The little girl placed her fist in her mouth and sucked. When no food was forthcoming, her little face screwed up, and the bellowing started again.
The ride to the building had not seemed very far, but the return trip took forever. Bridget took to placing her palms over her ears, and Cam jiggled, patted, talked, and even—the horror of it—sang to the baby. Nothing helped.
As soon as the carriage arrived at Dunmore House, he shoved the baby back at Bridget and opened the door before a footman could do it. He turned and helped her down, and they hurried up the steps.
It was quite unfortunate that Dunmore’s neighbor across the green, Lady Applefield, one of the most notorious gossips in the ton, was just descending her steps as they arrived. He cringed when she raised her quizzing glass to her right eye and stared in their direction.
He hurried Bridget and the noisemaker into the house and closed the door. “Constance!”
“My lord, may I be of assistance?” said the man at the door, who Cam probably knew, but his brain was not working quite well due to the racket coming from the baby.
“Yes. Please find Lady Dunmore and ask her to meet us in the drawing room.”
The man bowed and strode away, most likely trying to get as far from the noise as possible. Cam and Bridget entered the drawing room, where Bridget proceeded to walk up and down, jiggling the baby.
“Oh my goodness. What is all this noise?” Constance stood at the entrance to the drawing room, her hands over her ears. “And where did you get that baby?”
“Never mind where we got her. We need your nurse. I believe the infant needs nourishment.”
Instead of hurrying away, Constance stood there, a huge smile on her face. “For heaven’s sake, Cam, only you could get yourself into such mischief. Is she yours?”
He reared back as if he’d been slapped. “No! Of course she’s not mine. I may have my faults, but I am not in the habit of leaving children scattered all over London.” He gritted his teeth. “Just get your nurse, please?”
With an even wider grin, Constance left them, then returned shortly with a middle-aged, somewhat plump woman dressed in an outfit that higher-level servants wore. “Oh my goodness. Look at this precious little darling.” She took the baby from Bridget, not seeming at all disturbed by the din.
“Of course you are hungry, I can see that. Poor, sweet dear.”
Sweet dear?
The nurse continued to mumble soothing words as she walked from them, bringing delightful silence to the room.
Cam collapsed onto the settee, breaking all Society’s rules by sitting while the two women stood. Within seconds, Bridget joined him.
Just as Constance opened her mouth to speak, he held up his hand. “I need a brandy, I believe my cohort in crime here needs a Scotch whisky, and then we will tell you why we are in possession of that bundle of earsplitting joy your nurse just took away.”
His sister grinned. “I believe I will join you with a cup of tea. I have a feeling this is going to be quite an amusing story.”
…
