Rexanne Becnel by The Heartbreaker Read Free Book Online Page B

“Wait here by the fountain,” she told Helen. “This shouldn’t take long.” Then up the wide stone steps she went, and gave the door knocker three smart raps.
    Four minutes and twelve additional raps later, the door jerked open.
    “I’ve come to see Lord Farley,” she said to the maid who answered the door. Then she just stared. The maid was a disheveled mess, with her hair falling down from her mob cap and a big green stain on her apron.
    “He’s gone for a walk,” the girl said, wiping her eyes. “Around back, I believe.” Then she shut the door—slammed it, really—leaving Phoebe aghast at her rudeness.
    What in the world? The situation here was worse even than Mrs. Leake had described.
    But she hadn’t come this far to be turned away. So around the house she strode, her boots crunching the gravel as she wondered where Viscount Farley had gone off to on foot when his household was so obviously falling apart.
    The baby’s wails, weaker, but just as heart-rending, led her to him. At first when she came around the clipped yew hedge, Phoebe just stopped and stared. He was so tall and broad-shouldered, and in his grasp the baby seemed tiny. Or maybe it was the other way around: the tiny child made him appear bigger than she remembered.
    In any case, it was a profoundly moving sight. Phoebe had never seen a man playing at nursemaid before. To her best recollection, her father had never once cradled the baby Helen in his arms like that. He’d certainly never shown any particular attention to her or Louise.
    But here was the high-and-mighty viscount once again in his shirtsleeves, with his hair mussed and the shadow of a beard on his face, pacing back and forth on the gravel walk, jiggling a dark-haired baby on his shoulder and singing some song that didn’t sound like any lullaby she knew.
    “…the ships sail in, the ships sail out; they never bother me…”
    His voice was hoarse and tired, and whether he was in tune, she couldn’t determine. Still, the sound of his singing to the child loosened some tight little knot in Phoebe’s chest. He was trying so hard to comfort the unhappy child. From the weary look of him, he’d been trying a very long time.
    “May I?” she asked, approaching him with arms extended.
    He looked up, startled, then obviously relieved. Without a word he passed the baby to her and sagged back onto the stone half-wall that encircled the herb garden.
    “She won’t sleep,” he said, rubbing one hand across the back of his neck. “She won’t sleep more than an hour or two at a time, and unless you’re walking her or jiggling her, she cries.”
    Phoebe did a quick check but the baby wasn’t wet. “Does she have a rash? You know, on her bottom?” Not that she actually expected him to know.
    “No. Nor any fever. The doctor has been out twice to check her and he says she appears healthy. He reckons it’s the change of climate.”
    Phoebe shook her head at that. “Is she eating well?”
    “She acts hungry. But then she fusses.”
    Phoebe hugged the baby, a sweet-smelling little armful, and nuzzled her silky hair. “What’s her name?”
    “Leya.”
    “Leya.” Foreign sounding. But it suited the olive-skinned little girl. “Hello, Leya,” she crooned to the momentarily silent child. “Aren’t you the beauty.”
    At once Leya’s face screwed up. But before she could let out a fresh wail, Phoebe turned the child in her arms, balancing Leya’s backside against her hip, and holding her steady with a snug arm across her belly. To her relief, the wail never came.
    Continuing to walk back and forth, Phoebe smiled at Lord Farley’s amazed expression.
    “What did you do?”
    “My niece was a fussy baby, but she always felt better when I held her like this. Leya’s stomach is probably upset and the pressure of my arm eases the pain. What has she been eating?”
    He stood and began to walk beside her. “I don’t know. Some sort of gruel. Mashed vegetables. But mostly