“Unfortunate. Children should learn independence from birth. Coddling creates weakness.”
Iris’s smile faltered. “She’s barely four months old.”
“Old enough to begin proper training. Crying strengthens the lungs. Immediate response to tears creates demanding children.” Miss Hartley’s blue eyes swept over her, clearly finding her wanting. “I assume you’ll want to wean her from night feedings immediately. Unnecessary after two months.”
“The wet nurse said?—”
“Country wisdom, no doubt.” The dismissal was clear. “I follow Dr. Churton’s methods. Scientific. Proven. The child will cry for a few nights, but she’ll learn.”
“Learn what, exactly?”
“That tears bring no reward. Self-soothing is essential for proper development.”
Iris thought of Evie’s different cries and of how she’d learned to distinguish hunger from discomfort from the simple need for contact. The idea of ignoring those cries, of leaving Evie alone to ‘self-soothe,’ made her stomach churn.
“What about affection?” she asked carefully. “Surely babies need love as well as structure?”
Miss Hartley’s expression grew even more pinched. “Affection has its place. Ten minutes in the morning, ten in the evening. More than that creates dependence.”
“Twenty minutes a day?”
“Sufficient for bonding without spoiling. The rest of the time should be spent on beneficial activities. Fresh air, proper feeding times, and scheduled sleep.”
“And if she needs comfort outside those times?”
“She’ll learn not to.” Miss Hartley straightened her already rigid spine. “I’ve trained dozens of children, Your Grace. None of them grew up weak or demanding.”
Iris wondered how many of them grew up feeling unloved.
She thought of her childhood and the distance that had grown between her and her parents after her brother’s death. Each of them had wedged their grief into acceptable portions, leaving no room for a little girl who just wanted to be held.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Hartley. I’ll consider your application.”
“Consider?” The woman’s voice sharpened. “I understood the position was mine if I wanted it. Lady Morrison was quite clear?—”
“Lady Morrison was kind to recommend you. But the decision is mine.” Iris stood up, which forced Miss Hartley to do the same. “I’ll send word within the week.”
Miss Hartley’s expression could have curdled milk. “I see. Well, I hope you find someone who meets your… standards, Your Grace.”
The implication was clear: Iris’s standards were foolishly high and probably misguided.
She maintained her smile until the woman left, then slumped in her chair.
“Dreadful woman.”
She looked up to find Mrs. Pemberton standing in the doorway with a tea tray in hand.
“You heard?”
“Enough.” The housekeeper set the tray down with unnecessary force. “Twenty minutes of affection a day! As if babies were plants that only needed occasional watering.”
“Grace’s sister swears by her.”
“It sounds like Lady Brentwell’s sister also keeps her children in the nursery and sees them once a week for tea.” Mrs. Pemberton poured her a cup with practiced ease. “Is that what you want for Lady Evangeline?”
“No.” The answer came immediately. “No, I want… I want her to know that she’s loved. Every moment of every day.”
“Then trust your instincts, Your Grace.”
