Chapter Seven

"She asked what?" Lady Aurelia covered her mouth with her hands, realizing she'd raised her voice in her excitement. "There, there, love," she crooned, leaning over the cradle. Knowing what her babe needed, she gently rubbed her son's back until he quieted again.

In a voice just barely above a whisper, Mrs. Jones apologized, "I'm so sorry for waking Master Edward, your ladyship." She repeated what she had just said: "Miss Amber asked if everyone could just call her Amber until she remembers her name."

Aurelia nodded. "I cannot imagine how difficult this is for her to navigate. Injured, alone, and no idea who she is or why she is in Sussex."

The housekeeper agreed, then said, "She remembers a few other things."

"Oh?" The countess turned to meet the other woman's gaze. "What else did she recall?"

"Her mother is from Scotland, loved heather-scented soap. She passed away some time ago, and her father likes to remind Amber that she resembles her mother." Mrs. Jones paused, then added, "Though they do not share the same auburn locks."

"The poor thing—to be able to recall bits and pieces of her life, but not enough to tell us who she is and why she was alone when O'Malley found her." Staring down at her babe, fussing and wiggling, trying to find a comfortable position, Aurelia whispered, "I know what it feels like…to be without a mother…and a father." She drew in a breath and let it out. "Anything else that might help us discover who she is?"

"She mentioned a Lady Agnes, and from the expression on her face, I take it the memory was not a welcome one."

The countess searched her memory, sorting through the plethora of names of the ladies of the ton she had been introduced to. For reasons she could not explain, she concentrated on those who had been eager to spread the horrible rumors that had been fabricated about herself and Edward…before and after they wed. "Lady Agnes Sullins."

"That name sounds familiar, your ladyship. Is she a friend of yours?"

Aurelia huffed. "Not even an acquaintance, though we met on one or two occasions before it was discovered that she was among those spreading those lies about Edward and me."

"Now that you mention it, I do recall her name along with a handful of others added to the list…"

Aurelia stared pointedly at her housekeeper. "What list?"

Mrs. Jones closed her eyes and shook her head. "I beg your pardon, your ladyship, but I was not to mention it. Forgive me for doing so—it is because of this frightful situation."

The countess put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. She wanted to raise her voice, but did not dare. Her darling babe had finally quieted down. "You'd best tell me. I shall insist to his lordship that I forced the information out of you."

The housekeeper placed her hands to her waist as if to steady herself before answering, "The duke's men have a list of names that are the first individuals they suspect whenever a new rumor, wager, or threat arises."

"I see." And Aurelia did, though she did not appreciate being left in the dark regarding such matters. "Thank you for telling me."

Her babe started fussing again, and Mrs. Jones asked, "Is his tummy upset?"

The countess nodded. "This happened the last time I ate some of Mrs. Wyatt's delicious mutton stew a few hours before feeding him."

Mrs. Jones walked over to stand beside her. "Are you certain?"

"It was the first time he woke screaming and drawing up his little legs to his bottom as if he were in pain." Aurelia sighed. "It has not happened again until today. While I've been trying to coax him back to sleep, I've been trying to think of what could have possibly been the cause."

"Do you think his stomach upsets are related to what you eat?" Mrs. Jones could not hide the skepticism in her voice.

"I had not given it much thought before Persephone gifted me with a copy of the journal her nanny Gwendolyn has been keeping. Patrick O'Malley's wife is a marvel. Do you know she has been recording bits of information gathered over her years working as a nanny?"

"As all people are not the same, it would stand to reason, all infants are not either," the housekeeper remarked. "I would imagine it has come in handy on more than one occasion."

"From the innate way Gwendolyn has understood our niece and nephew from the beginning, I would venture to say it has." Aurelia felt the twinge that twisted into a definite kink in her lower back. Ignoring it, she continued to lean over her son's cradle. Her arm was tiring, but her little one was quieting, so she kept up the circular motions that seemed to soothe him. Her darling babe need to sleep… She needed him to sleep!

"Gwendolyn was the one who solved Persephone's teething woes with her twins. I never would have thought of soothing sore gums with whiskey, nor did I believe a babe's jaw could be so strong." She lifted her right hand and flexed her fingers. "My knuckles were sore from him biting down on them." Worry filled her as exhaustion threatened again, but, pushing it aside to care for her son, she whispered, "It's a very good thing babes cannot remember the pain of stomach upsets and teething."

The housekeeper agreed. "Shall I send one of the footmen to fetch his lordship?"

The babe chose that moment to lift his head and wail pitifully. Aurelia scooped him up to soothe him, but he kept screaming. "Please, though I do hate to interrupt Edward's meeting with the men."

Aurelia tried to remember exactly how her husband had held their babe, which seemed to calm him the last time. It had been the only thing that worked. She shifted him further up to her shoulder, but he still screamed. Poor little darling—this was one of those times that only his father could soothe him.

Mrs. Jones came back into the nursery. "He's getting a bit louder, isn't he?"

Aurelia jiggled and crooned, paced from the window to the door and back again. Tears filled her eyes at the thought that she was such an incompetent mother, she was unable to soothe her babe. She refused to let them fall, rationalizing that all she needed was five minutes to gather her composure.

The knock on the door had relief flowing through the countess. She was closer to the door and yanked it open, only to stop short and stare at Dermott O'Malley.

"I heard the screams, yer ladyship. Can I be of help?" the guard asked.

When she shook her head, Dermott started to speak softly to her babe in what she now recognized as Gaelic. All the men serving in the duke's guard spoke in the musical Irish tongue—though more often than not, it was to curse. There were a few times they'd murmured endearments. She remembered the first time she met Sean O'Malley's wife Mignonette. She had heard him murmur tender words to her when he thought no one was listening.

Watching Dermott closely, she marveled that little Edward's hair-curling screams had turned to whimpers as her son leaned back to stare at the huge man. She braced herself, anticipating that, at any moment, her babe would throw back his head and let go of another spine-tingling scream. Instead, her son did quite the opposite—he reached for the big Irishman.

Dermott softly chuckled. "Well now, lad, mayhap ye should wait until yer da…er…his lordship arrives."

Edward's little face scrunched up, but before he could cry, Aurelia handed her son to Dermott. "I'm a desperate woman." Her babe stared at him. In the relative quiet after the storm, she heard a heavy footfall in the hallway that had her sighing in relief.

The earl stepped over the threshold and stopped in his tracks. "O'Malley?"

"Begging yer pardon, yer lordship, but—"

"I gave him no choice, darling. Our babe was screaming and only paused when he heard Dermott speaking. The musical sound of the words calmed our son until he quieted down."

"'Twas just something ma used to say to us when we were young: mo ghrá, mo chroí. Meaning: me love, me heart."

Lippincott watched the youngest member of his guard sway from side to side, speaking in a low, lilting voice to the heir to the earldom. "How is it that you are proficient with all manner of weapons—including your fists—and yet our son seems to trust you, when recently he will only let Aurelia or me hold him to console him?"

Dermott flashed a grin at the earl. "Da and me older brothers, Patrick and Finn, would line up to kiss Ma on their way out to the fields, leaving meself, Emmett, and Eamon to help her with our three younger sisters. The lot of them had powerful lungs. More often than not, Ma would hand Grainne, Maeve, or Roisin off to meself or Emmett."

The earl nodded. "What about Eamon?"

Dermott grinned. "The bug—er, little devil would make himself scarce until our sisters quieted."

"Is there anything else about your family that would surprise me, O'Malley?"

Dermott didn't lift his head to answer—he was too busy tracing the tip of his forefinger along the babe's one eyebrow and then the other. "Not that I can think of at the moment, yer lordship. If I do, I'll let ye know."

Aurelia smiled. "Persephone mentioned Gwendolyn taught her to do what you're doing right now, Dermott. Tracing your fingertip over the curve of one eyebrow and then the other. It always soothes Richard and Abigail to sleep. Did your mother teach you that?"

"She taught us to sway side to side. I watched me sister-in-law crooning to Their Graces' twins once or twice. Gwendolyn has a way with babes. 'Tis not just her excellent reputation that she brought with her to Wyndmere Hall. The first time I met me niece, she was screaming her wee little head off, but Gwendolyn just smiled and made soothing sounds, as she used her fingertip to stroke the babe's brows, mesmerizing little Deidre into a deep sleep."

"I haven't had a chance to read the next section of the journal yet. Persephone slipped a piece of paper between certain pages for me to read," Aurelia murmured. "When I have five minutes, I'll have to see if there are a few hints about what foods to stay away from—"

She glanced at her husband and O'Malley, biting her bottom lip before she blurted out the rest of what she was going to say. It was one thing to speak of nursing your babe to another woman or your husband—but to a man who was not her husband? Unthinkable!

"Thank you for calming him, Dermott," she said instead.

"Me pleasure. If it's tummy troubles he's having, Ma used to have us hold our sisters up against our shoulder bone—the angle used to ease some of their distress. Though I have no idea why."

Aurelia placed her hand on her husband's forearm. "Darling, why don't you see if that works—your shoulders are far broader than mine." She watched him shift their babe onto his shoulder, and a wave of love swept up from her toes. Aurelia touched his forearm and mouthed, I love you. The intensity in his brilliant blue eyes warmed her heart.

Before she lost her train of thought entirely, she told him, "I'm late visiting Miss Amber." She pressed a kiss to her husband's cheek and one to the top of their babe's head. "I shall return shortly."

"Seeing as how you have everything in hand, your lordship," Mrs. Jones said, "I was overseeing the household inventory when her ladyship rang for me. I'd best get back to it. Anderson will be anxious if I do not have the information for his quarterly reports."

Undaunted at the prospect of soothing his son, the earl nodded. "I believe our solicitors are due to visit in a few weeks' time. I'd best let you get back to the task, Mrs. Jones. I wouldn't want to annoy my brother by being late supplying the information he needs regarding Lippincott Manor and our tenant farmers."

When she swept past him, his son opened his eyes and gave him a gap-toothed, drooling smile. A heartbeat later, his face scrunched up and he began to cry. The earl swore beneath his breath and locked gazes with Dermott. "Do you think whiskey would work on a stomach upset, too?"

Dermott scratched his head. "I wouldn't be knowing about that, but I firmly believe a sip of the Irish can cure all ills."

The earl shifted his son slightly, hoping it would quiet him down. "Do you have your flask on you, O'Malley?"

Dermott reached into his waistcoat pocket, and was about to hand it over when the babe wailed.

"Use the glass on the table by the wardrobe," the earl instructed him.

Dermott found the glass and poured enough for the earl to dip his finger in and offer to his babe with enough left over for the earl. A glance at the worry lines between the earl's eyes, and Dermott topped off the short glass and nodded to it.

While Edward hiccupped and chewed on his father's whiskey-soaked forefinger, the earl reached for the glass with his free hand.

O'Malley lifted his flask. "Sláinte!"

The earl lifted his glass. "Sláinte, O'Malley!"