Rose in the Dark - Logan Fox Page 0,2

is more than I could ever have hoped for…more, even, than I deserve.

Brandon

Either Mrs. Potter is out of earshot or the damned woman is ignoring me. She thinks I don’t notice when she does that. Stubborn as my father was, the old hag. Especially if I attempt to alter her routine in any way. In fact, I’m convinced that — had Rose not been close to starving — Mrs. Potter would still be attempting to feed the babe herself.

I glance over my shoulder, but the nanny is hidden behind the wall.

Rose has grown quiet again.

Fluke.

I shake away the thought and storm downstairs, hollering for Mrs. Potter every second or third step. I’m sure I’m making a terrible impression on our newest employee — Pippa, was it? — but best she knows now what kind of dysfunctional household she’s inserting herself into. The agency had been taken aback when I told them about my unique situation. They requested information I was not inclined to provide, but doubling their commission quickly soothed their concerns.

What does it matter how Lady Alaine passed? All that matters is that I need a woman who can convince my child to take a bottle, lest she perishes of hunger before the week is out.

“Mrs. Potter!” My voice echoes back to me as I throw it down the wide passage. From here, anyone in the library, the music room, or the den can hear me. But no Mrs. Potter appears. I turn.

The skin on the back of my neck crawls as I stare down the other side of the passage. Could Mrs. Potter be down there, perhaps dusting one of the disused bedrooms? I was content with her laying sheets over everything and leaving the rooms alone entirely, but cleaning every room in this manor is something Mrs. Potter is most stubborn about. To hear it from her, no one would want to purchase a dusty house, even one as grand as Dunnwood Manor.

I take a step down the hall, but my body pulls to a halt of its own.

The old nursery is down there. If I go any closer, I might catch a whiff of charcoal in the air. I step back, cup my hands over my mouth and—

“Ya called, m’lord?”

“Christ, woman!” I spin on my heel. Mrs. Potter’s standing a few feet behind me, wringing her hands as her shoulders stoop an inch further.

“Yes, m’lord?”

“Where were you?”

“In the music room, m’lord. Dusting the piano, m’lord.” Her dark eyes remain downcast, the corners of her lips turning down. “Would you like me to bring Rose’s things, m—?”

“Very much so,” I growl, dusting my hands as if she’s somehow transferred all the piano dust onto me. “And hurry.”

She’s already scampering away, her tall body hunched as if she wishes she could melt into the carpet. My gaze flickers to the stairwell. I should go back up there, but for some reason I feel that my presence would deter Pippa. Instead, I hover at the foot of the stairwell, itching to go up, but forcing myself to wait on Mrs. Potter so that I accompany her.

Blessed silence filters down from above. I’ve been this far away from Rose before, and yet I would still be able to hear her wailing. God knows where that tiny thing finds the energy to cry as much as she does, especially since she refuses to nurse.

Could it be that Pippa’s managed to quieten her down again?

Perhaps it isn’t a fluke.

Dear God, I pray it isn’t a fluke.

3

Pippa

It starts as a faint pressure. An uncomfortable fullness in my breasts. As soon as little Rose simmers down to unhappy hiccups, it fades away. Howie would be a week older than Rose, had he still been alive. Had his little body not eventually grown still under my pillow.

Rose lets out a surprised sound, and I realize I’m gripping her too hard, too protectively against my bosom. Before I can pull her away, Rose reaches for my breast, her tiny hand brushing my pale skin. I break out in shivers, and hurriedly adjust my grip.

“No,” I murmur, my voice barely audible. “Daddy is bringing your bottle.”

The words fall out of my mouth before I can censor them. A blush heats my cheeks, and I throw a guilty glance toward the dark, gaping archway that leads to the room where I first encountered Baron Dunnwood. What if he’d heard? I tuck Rose’s bright red hand behind her blanket and rock her a little. She glowers at me with