Page 20 of The Duke’s Untouched Bride (Regency Second Chances #3)
“ Y our Grace, I’m afraid Mrs. Pemberton has been taken ill.”
Iris looked up from her morning tea to find Sally wringing her hands in the doorway. From the nursery above, Evie’s cries were already beginning to escalate.
“Ill? What’s wrong with her?”
“Fever, Your Grace. The doctor says she needs rest. She won’t be able to help with Lady Evangeline for several days, at least.”
The crying grew louder. Iris set down her cup with more force than necessary sending tea sloshing onto the saucer.
“This is my fault,” she whispered. “I’ve been relying on her too much. I’ve had her up at all hours, helping with Evie because I couldn’t find a suitable nurse.”
“Your Grace, Mrs. Pemberton would never?—”
“She should be managing the household, Sally, not teaching me how to change nappies in the middle of the night.” Iris pressed her fingers to her temples. “If I’d just picked one of the candidates… but they were all so cold and rigid.”
The crying grew more insistent.
Sally looked toward the stairs with concern. “Should I draw her a bath as well, Your Grace? I know she likes the water a touch warmer than usual.”
Sally had been wonderful these past days, learning Evie’s preferences alongside Iris, but she had her regular duties which needed attending.
“No, just the bottles for now. You’ve done enough, Sally.”
“If you’re certain, Your Grace.”
“No, I’ll manage.” Iris stood up, already dreading what lay ahead.
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Iris climbed the stairs to find Evie red-faced and furious in her cradle. The moment she picked her up, the crying intensified.
“Oh, my dear girl,” she murmured, confused. “Why are you so inconsolable?”
She didn’t know what the poor child needed. If only Mrs. Pemberton were there…
What followed could only be described as a disaster.
First, Evie kicked her legs during the change, sending powder everywhere. Then, she refused the first bottle, turning her head away and wailing louder. When Iris finally got her to take it, she drank too quickly and promptly vomited all over her morning dress.
“Wonderful.” Iris looked down at the milk stains that were rapidly spreading across pale yellow muslin. “This is going splendidly.”
She managed to get Evie cleaned up and into fresh clothes, but the baby remained fretful. Walking helped for approximately three minutes before the crying resumed.
“What would Mrs. Pemberton do?” Iris paced the nursery, bouncing Evie with increasing desperation. “She’d know exactly what you needed. But I’ve exhausted her, and now we’re both paying for my incompetence.”
A knock at the door made her turn hopefully. But it was only Tom, the youngest footman, looking terrified.
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but Cook wants to know about luncheon. Will His Grace be dining in?”
“I do not know. Please feel free to find the Duke in his study and ask him what he wants.” The words came out sharper than intended. “I’ll take a tray in my room. If I ever get there.”
Tom fled.
Iris immediately felt guilty. The poor boy was barely sixteen and clearly overwhelmed by the crying baby.
“I’m turning into a lunatic,” she told Evie. “Is that what you want? To drive me completely mad?”
Evie’s response was to cry harder.
By noon, Iris was exhausted. Her second dress of the day bore suspicious stains, her hair was escaping its pins, and Evie had refused to nap despite clearly being tired. Every time Iris tried to put her down, the crying reached new heights.
“Please,” she begged. “Just sleep. For ten minutes. Five. I’m not greedy.”
“Perhaps she’s still hungry, Your Grace?”
Iris turned to find Anna, the kitchen maid hovering in the doorway with another bottle.
“She’s had two already.”
“My mum always said that babies eat more when they’re growing up. Had seven of us, she did.”
“Seven?” Iris accepted the bottle gratefully. “How did she survive?”
“Said the trick was not expecting too much. Babies don’t run on schedules like the quality—I mean, like some think.” Anna flushed. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace.”
“No, please. Tell me more.” Iris sank into the rocking chair, managing to get Evie to take the bottle. “What else did your mother say?”
“Well…” The maid stepped into the room, clearly torn between propriety and sympathy. “She said babies can tell when you’re upset. Makes them fussier. And sometimes they just need to be held close, skin to skin.”
“Skin to skin?”
“When nothing else worked, she’d unwrap us and hold us against her chest. Said we could hear her heartbeat that way, like before we were born.”
It sounded primitive, nothing like the methods the interviewed nursemaids had espoused, but Iris was desperate enough to try anything.
“Thank you, Anna.”
The maid curtsied. “Your Grace, if you don’t mind me saying, you’re doing so well. Most ladies would have handed her off to the staff by now.”
“I tried,” Iris admitted. “Every nurse who came for an interview was either drunk or believed children should be seen and not heard. One wanted to feed Evie on a strict four-hour schedule regardless of hunger. Another said crying built character.” She shook her head.
“Mrs. Pemberton was the only one who understood that babies are people, not problems to be solved. And now I’ve made her ill with my demands. ”
“Oh, Your Grace, no. Mrs. Pemberton loves that baby. We can all see it. She’d be helping, whether you asked or not.”
After Anna left, Iris considered her advice. Evie had finished the bottle but still seemed restless. What did she have to lose?
She carefully unwrapped Evie from her blankets and loosened her own bodice.
The moment she settled the baby against her chest, skin to skin, something changed. Evie made a small sound, almost like a sigh, and her body relaxed.
“Oh,” Iris breathed. “Is that all you wanted? Just to be close?”
For the first time all morning, Evie was quiet. She wasn’t sleeping but seemed content, nonetheless. Her tiny hand splayed across Iris’s chest, and Iris could feel her rapid heartbeat slowing.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m not very good at this yet. Your real mother would have probably known exactly what you needed. And she wouldn’t have exhausted a seventy-year-old woman helping her figure it out.”
The thought brought frustration, exhaustion, and something deeper. She was failing at this.
Iris’s frustration built as she recognized that she was failing Evie, Mrs. Pemberton, and at the simple task of caring for one small baby.