A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(81)

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I said with a gasp. “Is she injured? Is she ill?”

Mrs. Mackay turned so that I could see Emma with my own eyes, lightly jostling her as she rubbed circles on her back. Her cheeks were red, and snot crusted the edges of her little nose, but her lungs sounded good and clear. That is, until she broke off from wailing to cough.

“?’Tis just a spot o’ catarrh. As bairns catch all the time,” she assured me. “?’Tisn’t cause for concern, but I thought ye should ken.” She observed the way my breath still sawed in and out of my lungs from my mad dash up the stairs. “Good heavens! What did Wheaton tell ye?”

“Just . . . that you’d requested I come to the nursery,” I replied somewhat sheepishly.

Her smile was kind. “And ye assumed the worst.”

“Well, I . . .” I had no explanation, but she seemed to understand regardless.

“The first illness is always one o’ the hardest. ’Specially when it’s yer first bairn.”

I reached for Emma, and Mrs. Mackay passed her to me, though it didn’t make my daughter stop fussing. “There’s truly no cause for concern?”

“None. See, her wee nose is already drainin’, and her snot’s clear.” Her gaze flicked up and down over my riding habit. “She’s like to get it all over yer gown if ye dinna take this.” She draped a small blanket over my shoulder and chest.

“But why is she so upset?”

“Weel, she doesna like havin’ a stuffy nose any more than the rest o’ us do. And she canna blow it oot for herself yet.” She brushed Emma’s hair back from her forehead. “Woke her from her nap, so she’s fashed, too.”

I sank down in the rocking chair, trying to take in everything she’d said while cradling Emma close. My daughter was not at death’s door, but I felt just as strong a compulsion to hold her as if she was, even if she was screaming.

“Could she want to nurse?” I asked.

“Couldna hurt to try. Though she might have trouble breathin’, so be prepared for her to get frustrated.”

I nodded, and she turned toward the door.

“I’ll just pop doon to the kitchens for some tea and tell Miss McEvoy you’ll require her in aboot half an hour o’ time.”

I thanked her and then set about soothing my unhappy child.



* * *




*

I wasn’t certain how much time had passed, but when I opened my eyes, it was to find Gage standing over me, gazing down at our daughter as she slumbered in my arms. It had taken numerous attempts and failures—and moving to the chair where I normally fed Emma—but eventually she had nursed and then fallen into a fitful slumber against my shoulder. Then apparently, I had also fallen asleep.

Gage’s gaze shifted to meet mine, soft with tenderness, and he lifted his hand to brush it gently over my brow.

“She has a touch of catarrh,” I whispered, perhaps unnecessarily, as Emma’s breathing whistled and rattled from the congestion in her nose.

“Mrs. Mackay told me. Shall I take her?” he offered, reaching for her.

I reluctantly allowed him to lift her from my shoulder. “I suppose. But it took hours to calm her the first time.”

She made a sound of protest before settling against Gage’s broad shoulder with a tiny mewl. I felt a pulse of resentment as she easily slipped back into slumber, and then told myself I was being ridiculous. I could hardly begrudge my daughter for finding her father’s strong arms to be comforting. After all, I found them to be comforting as well. And Gage was only trying to help.

I heaved a deep sigh and rubbed my eyes. “What time is it?”

“Half-past five.”

I sat upright in astonishment, not realizing several hours had passed.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I already spoke with Barbreck.” The deep, soothing tone of his voice did more than keep Emma asleep. It also calmed me.

“How could I mind?” I replied, for we’d only just jested about dreading doing so hours earlier. “Did he take the news well?”

“Better than I expected.” There was a glint of speculation in his eyes as he sank into the couch next to where I sat. “He’s mellowed in the past few days.”

I pushed to my feet to draw the curtains, lest the rays of the sun shining through the window over Gage’s shoulder wake Emma. The sky to the west looked like it promised rain. “Do you think he now regrets breaking his engagement with Miss Campbell?” I asked as I returned to the chair.

“I think he’s regretted that for some time, whether he would admit to it or not,” Gage surprised me by saying. “But the past few days have definitely given him more reasons to contemplate his fault in the matter, and the things that might have been.”

Empathy stirred in my breast. Despite the fact that Barbreck had been the author of his own unhappiness—placing his brother’s word, family honor, and his own pride above all else—I still couldn’t help but feel sorry for the man. After all, we all make mistakes. We’re all little fools in one way or another, especially when we’re young.

If only he’d not allowed the incident to wedge such a permanent obstacle between him and Miss Campbell. If only he’d not placed so much trust in his brother. Discovering and reliving those failures and mistakes over the past few days must have been hard for him. But if he’d emerged on the other side more mellow, as Gage had said, then perhaps he would be better off for it. Perhaps Miss Campbell would receive the apology that was long overdue.