“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.”
