Page 61 of The Duke's Promise to Her Child
She looked up at him and shook her head. “No. I simply do not like it when you raise your voice. I do not like it when you assert your authority in such a manner.”
He ran a hand through his hair. He was not sure how to take this. What had she expected him to do — stand there and let the steward rob them blind? Say nothing while the man spoke to him in that fashion in his own house? He had let the fellow go and the man had not taken it kindly. There was no way to resolve such a thing quietly.
And yet Helena was looking at him as though he were the worst of men for it.
“I understand that you must manage the estate as you see fit,” she said. “That does not mean I am obliged to like it.”
“Helena.” He paused, choosing his words with care. “I have noticed you reacting this way more than once. When a door slammed during our tour of the house. At the farmers’ tribunal. At Almack’s with Lord Henry.” He looked at her steadily. “Something has made you very uneasy around any show of temper. What has happened to you to make you react in such a way?”
“I do not wish to talk about it,” she said. “I only wish for you to be less waspish.”
He stepped back. He could not argue with that without raising his voice further, which seemed rather to prove her point, and he was not going to do that. But he wanted it noted — if only to himself — that there was nothing waspish about him. He had always been even-tempered. Even when Cassandra had made a thorough fool of him, he had never raised his voice at her. He had never laid a hand on her.
“I… I must say….”
He got no further, because she turned and hurried away, and he was left staring after her in complete bewilderment.
* * *
He returned to the study and gathered his papers. He sat down at the desk and attempted to work, but found he could not. Helena’s expression stayed with him — the wide eyes, the rigid set of her shoulders, the way she had pressed herself into the corner. Something was not right. Something was considerably more wrong than a disagreement about the steward.
He got up and went upstairs. As he neared her chamber, he heard quiet crying through the door, and Mary’s low voice. He stood there for a moment, then turned and nearly walked straight into Miss Marlena, the new governess, who was coming along the corridor with Lavinia on her hip.
“Your Grace,” she said. “I was just bringing Miss Lavinia back to her mother.”
“Her Grace is unavailable at present, she is unwell,” he said. “I shall take her.” He held out his arms and Miss Marlena transferred the child to him, looking slightly uncertain about the arrangement.
“I was going to give the little lady her bath, Your Grace.”
“I will do it,” he said. She looked at him as though she could not quite decide what to make of this, and then apparently decided to take the free afternoon while it was offered.
“Baba,” Lavinia said, with satisfaction.
“Indeed you shall have a bath,” he agreed.
He rang for the valet and had a child’s tub brought up to the upstairs drawing room, along with hot water, a towel, a wash ball, and cloths. Once the maids and footman had gone, he sat and stared at Lavinia, who was sitting on the floor attempting to insert her big toe into her mouth.
How did one bathe a child? He had absolutely no idea. It had been a very long time since he had been small enough to require it, and he had no memory of the process whatsoever.
He supposed one must undress the child first. However, Lavinia was wearing a cloth nappy. What was one to do with it if it had been used? Throw it away? Set it aside? He tested the water with his hand — warm, not hot, which seemed right, though he had no great confidence in his own judgement on this point. And was he to wash her hair with the wash ball, or only her person?
Lavinia looked up at him. “Giddy. Baba.”
“Yes,” he said. “One moment.” He began attempting to undo the small buttons at the back of her yellow dress and found that his fingers were not equal to the task. One came off, bounced across the floor, and disappeared under the chair.
Why did you send the governess home?he thought.That was among the most foolish things you have done in recent memory.
A knock at the door interrupted this grim reflection. He had hoped it might be Helena, but it was Mrs. Strom, who put her head around the door with an expression of benign inquiry.
“Your Grace. I heard you were attempting to give Miss Lavinia a bath and wondered whether you might require some assistance.”
“I would be most grateful for it,” he said. “My first difficulty was the nappy. My second was a button, which is now somewhere under that chair. My third is that I am no longer certain the water is the right temperature.”
Mrs. Strom came in, rolled up her sleeve, and submerged her forearm in the tub. “It has gone cold, Your Grace.” She put her head out of the door and called for a footman to bring another bucket of hot water. “As for the nappy — it is set aside for the maids to deal with, as everything else is. And we shall find the button later.” She looked at him. “Shall I help you?”
“I should be most grateful,” he said, with considerable relief.
With practiced hands she removed the dress, the underdress, the small cotton pants, and the nappy, while the footman poured the fresh hot water in. She swirled it with her forearm, tested it, nodded, and placed Lavinia in.
