Page 53 of Duke of Iron
She walked home, letting the city’s noise scrub away the residue of too much conversation. The closer she got to Hanover Square, the more she wondered what waited inside. The baby, certainly. But also Logan, and the servants, and a house that still felt more like a set piece than a home.
May entered quietly, intent on seeking out Rydal for a dose of uncomplicated company. But before she could reach the stairs, she heard it—a wail, high and insistent, echoing through the halls with a ferocity unmatched by anything she had experienced at the luncheon.
Dashing upstairs, she found the nursery in chaos. The nurse hovered at the crib, white-faced and wringing her hands, while Rydal’s cries rattled the very windows.
Sixteen
What in God’s name?
May stared at the doorjamb as though it might sprout fangs and bite her for daring to enter. The noise was otherworldly—a scream worthy of a shipwreck. Somewhere in the fray, the wet nurse whimpered, “It’s not my fault, Your Grace, I only turned my back for a moment?—”
The rest of her confession was lost to the howling that shook the walls.
May’s first instinct was to retreat, to run for the sanctuary of her room and pull the covers over her head. But that was precisely what the Duchess of Irondale could not do.
She stepped into the nursery, the sound physically hitting her chest. Rydal was crimson, his fists drawn in tight as a miser’s, his mouth a pit of woe. The nurse hovered nearby, arms flailing almost as much as the baby’s.
May looked at the woman, who, to her horror, appeared on the verge of tears. “What happened?”
“I—he—he will not stop!” the nurse stammered. “I tried rocking, I tried the bottle, I changed him—twice! And the more I do, the worse he gets, and then he threw up on my apron—see?”
May did not see, and she did not care. She crossed to the crib, ignoring the way her hands shook. “Give him to me,” she said.
The nurse relinquished the child with the desperation of one handing over a lit grenade.
May cradled Rydal in her arms, surprised at how light and fiercely alive he was. She patted his back as she had seen her mother do for August on the rare occasions he had allowed it. “There, there. You can’t possibly have that much air in you,” she said, hoping he would appreciate the attempt at reason.
He did not, but after a few moments, the cry lessened from a shriek to a miserable wail, which was an improvement.
May moved to the rocking chair and began to sway. “There now. See? You’re not so different from the rest of us. You are upset, and you want the world to know.”
The nurse dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, I’ve never had a baby so willful?—”
“Nonsense,” May said, rocking more firmly. “If you wish to be of use, fetch a cool cloth. For his head, not mine,” she added, as the nurse made to blot her own brow.
Rydal hiccuped, burped with authority, and then fell into a wet, shuddering silence.
May stared at him. “Is that it? Have you made your point?” she bounced her knee gently. “Yes, I thought so.”
The nurse returned with a cloth. “Should I… take him back, Your Grace?”
May considered. “No. I think he prefers to be contrary.”
She ran the cloth over the baby’s forehead. For a moment, he regarded her with suspicious blue eyes, as if weighing whether she was worthy of further outrage.
The silence was both relief and accusation. The wet nurse hovered, and May could sense a question forming—a question she did not want to answer, not with her own heart still drumming in her ears.
“Thank you. I can manage for now,” May said.
The woman curtsied, gathered her dignity, and made her retreat.
May was left alone with the infant. The quiet was so sudden it rang in her head. She regarded Rydal, and he regarded her, two parties in an uneasy truce.
She rocked, humming, her mind wandering to the words of Lady Christie, “Is it true there is an infant at Irondale House?” Oh, if only thetonknew. The entire city would melt into a puddle of gossip and speculation.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” May said to the baby. “To be the topic of conversation at every breakfast table from Mayfair to Margate.” He made a face as if to say,not at all, but she doubted his sincerity.
For a few breaths, it was easy. Almost pleasant. But then Rydal’s face scrunched, his body tensed, and a shriek started up again, only worse this time.
