The Duke Found His Maid’s Secret Baby in the Gallery No One Was Allowed to Enter—Then She Raised Both Arms Toward Him. He Had Come to Fire Her Mother, but for the First Time in Years, He Lowered Himself to His Knees.

 PART 4

Clara said nothing.

Julian rose and walked past her.

By ten, Arthur Pembroke sat across from the Duke’s desk with a notebook.

“I need the names of the best nurses and governesses within a day’s travel.”

Arthur’s pencil stopped. “Nurses… your grace — for children?”

“I know what nurses are.” Julian gave him a look.

Arthur lowered his eyes to the page. “Of course.”

“I also want information about St. Agnes Day Nursery in Westbridge village. Mrs. Bellamy runs it.”

Arthur glanced up. “May I ask for whom?”

Julian looked through the open study door toward the distant service corridor.

“For Lily.”

Arthur wrote the name carefully, and did not smile. That was one reason he had remained employed for eighteen years.

By the following afternoon, Julian had reports on three nurses, two governesses, and St. Agnes. He read every line.

Mrs. Theresa Bellamy had spent twenty-seven years caring for children — first as a governess, then as matron of a parish nursery established for widows and working mothers. The nursery was clean, well regarded, and full.

By the next morning, it was no longer full.

Julian did not threaten anyone. Arthur arranged a generous donation to the parish roof fund, quietly endowed two places for village mothers, and asked Mrs. Bellamy whether one more child might be accommodated.

She agreed before luncheon.

On the third day, boxes began arriving at the servants’ entrance. Clara noticed them but said nothing.

That evening, Julian returned from the estate office shortly before five and found her standing in front of a small room beside the morning nursery. The chamber had been unused for years. Once it held hunting ledgers.

Now the floor was covered by a thick woven rug. A white crib stood against the wall. A low rocking chair sat near the window. A basket held cloth animals and picture books. There were wooden blocks, a wool rabbit, a rag doll.

And in the center of the crib, a long-legged cream-colored giraffe with brown stitched spots.

Julian had chosen the toy himself from a catalog Arthur left on his desk. It was the only item he refused to delegate.

Clara heard him and turned. Her eyes were already wet.

“Your grace, I cannot accept this.”

“It is not for you.”

She looked back into the room. “Lily cannot possibly need all of this.”

“Need was not the standard I used.”

“Then what was?”

Julian considered what she should have.

Clara pressed her lips together. A small movement near the floor saved her from answering.

Lily crawled into view from the passage, caught the hem of Clara’s skirt, and pulled herself upright long enough to see the room.

Then she saw the giraffe.

Her entire face changed. She dropped to her hands, crawled across the rug with sudden speed, pulled herself against the crib rail, and stretched toward the toy. She missed. Tried again. Missed again.

Julian stepped into the room, lifted the giraffe, and placed it in her hands.

Lily fell back onto her diaper and hugged it against her chest.

Then she laughed.

The sound filled the small room.

Julian felt the fracture inside him widen again.

Clara wiped quickly beneath one eye. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I am able to.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the only one I have.”

He nodded toward the rocking chair.

“St. Agnes has a place for Lily beginning Monday.”

Clara stared. “St. Agnes?”

“Mrs. Bellamy. I have reviewed her history, the staff, the building, and the parish records.”

“You reviewed a nursery?”

“Yes. There is a waiting list.”

“Not anymore.”

Clara’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

“Nothing illegal.”

“That is not reassuring.”

Julian almost smiled.

“There is also a fund for working mothers. You will use it.”

“I never applied.”

“Arthur has the papers.”

“Your grace—”

“And beginning next quarter, your wages increase.”

“No.”

Julian actually smiled this time.

“No. It is too much.”

“It is a wage adjustment.”

“For what? I am doing the same work.”

“You are raising a child while doing it.”

“That is my responsibility, not yours.”

Julian held her gaze.

“Clara. I have negotiated with railway directors, judges, mine owners, and men who arrived at meetings with pistols beneath their coats. You are not going to defeat me over household wages.”

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. Small. Surprised. Almost shocked at itself.

Lily laughed too, simply because her mother had.

Julian looked away first.

Monday arrived cool and gray.

Clara entered the main hall in a clean blue dress Julian had never seen before. Lily was bundled in a knitted coat against her shoulder. Clara’s hands shook while she fastened the child’s bonnet.

“I will take you,” Julian said.

She looked up. “To St. Agnes?”

“Yes. I can walk.”

“I know. It is less than a mile.”

“I know that too.”

“Then why?”

Julian picked up his gloves.

“Because today you are leaving your daughter with someone else for the first time in nine months. And you will spend the entire walk pretending you are perfectly calm. I would prefer you do that in my carriage.”

Clara stared at him, then almost smiled.

“You do make kindness sound like an order.”

“It saves time.”

In the courtyard, Julian opened the carriage door. Clara stopped.

A padded traveling cradle with high wicker sides had been fixed securely to the carriage floor with leather straps. Its interior was lined with wool and small cushions.

Clara looked from it to him. “What is that?”

“Something the saddler assures me will keep Lily from being thrown across the carriage if we take a corner too quickly.”

“You arranged it?”

“Yes.”

Julian did not mention that the saddler had returned twice because he disliked the first design. He also did not mention that Arthur had found him in the carriage house after midnight, pulling at every strap with both hands to make certain none would loosen.