Page 92 of A Baby to Seal the Duke’s Fate

He looked at Phoebe. “And you?”

She blinked. “What about me?”

Leopold gave her a sympathetic smile.

“You look exhausted.”

“I am fine.”

He gave her a look that made it clear that he did not believe that answer, but he understood it. She lowered her eyes to Cecily.

“You look rather tired yourself, Your Grace.”

Leopold shrugged.

“I was not yet asleep,” he lied, pushing thoughts of the business he had arranged to conduct in town over the next couple of days far from his mind. He could sign some papers and shake some hands with a bit of fatigue. Cecily mattered far more than a little extra sleep.

Phoebe gave him a look that was almost identical to the one he had just given her. He was surprised when, despite the severity of the situation, they shared tired, wry smiles.

The nursery became a flurry of chaos a moment later. Mrs. Pritchard and a maid who looked as though she had been dragged from her bed rushed around the room, bringing fresh cloths, more cool water, and lavender oils to try to help soothe the ailing baby.

The efforts were slow to offer relief, and Cecily’s cries continued, painful in their suffering. Leopold watched helplessly as the servants tried to help Phoebe comfort the child, and he did not miss how Phoebe grew more worried with each shriek and hiccup.

The physician arrived before the hour had passed, looking as though he had, indeed, been awoken by the call to visit Cecily.

By then, the child had grown a little quieter, though the heat of her skin had grown worse. Leopold silently ushered the servants out of the nursery, leaving only himself, the physician, and Phoebe, who refused to release Cecily until the physician put a gentle hand on Phoebe’s shoulder.

“It is all right, Miss,” he said gently. “I will ensure she gets the help she needs, and then I shall put her back into your arms myself.”

Phoebe looked reluctantly at the kindly physician, but she eventually allowed him to take the baby.

The physician carried out a careful examination, listened to her breathing, checked her pulse, and then glanced at Phoebe and Leopold.

“How long has the fever been present?” the physician asked.

“I am not sure,” Phoebe said. “Though she did not feel warm in the slightest when I put her to bed at around nine o’clock.”

“Has she taken anything?”

“No milk, and hardly any water.”

He nodded. Cecily squirmed and whined as he listened to her chest.

“Have you noticed anything else out of the ordinary?” he asked. “Rapid, uncontrollable movements, her vision becoming unfocused suddenly for no reason, tugging at her ears or throat?”

“No,” she said.

The physician nodded slowly, finishing his examination. He felt both himself and Phoebe draw in a breath and hold it in unison.

“She has no sign of anything more serious at present,” the physician said at last.

Leopold exhaled sharply with relief. Phoebe, however, appeared wary.

“There is nothing causing this fever?” she asked. “How can that be?”

The physician shook his head.

“I can see she has recently been teething,” he said. “Her lungs sound clear and strong, and her stomach feels perfectly soft and unobstructed. Her eyes, though tired, are alert and aware, and she reacts perfectly well to aural stimulus. I am certain that her fever is connected to her teething.”