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“Suppose,” Anna had started to say to the first candidate, a stout woman with an overly confident air and a smile that struck Anna as somehow too practiced, “That Lucy begins crying inconsolably in the middle of the night, and nothing you attempt seems to soothe her. The household is asleep, and no one else is near at hand. What would you do?”

“Why, I should simply let her cry herself out, Your Grace,” the woman nodded confidently, with the easy tone of someone entirely too pleased with her own answer, waving one hand as though the matter were of no consequence at all. “Children learn discipline that way. It builds character, and it does no lasting harm, regardless of whatever the fashionable physicians claim these days.”

Anna's expression did not change, though something in her chest went cold at the notion of Lucy left to cry alone in the dark, unattended, unheard. She thanked the woman politely and had her shown out within the minute, resisting the urge to say precisely what she thought of the woman's philosophy on the matter.

The second candidate, when posed with a hypothetical concerning Timothy's particular sensitivity to loud noise – a trait Anna described carefully, watching for any sign of impatience – suggested cheerfully that the boy simply needed to be exposed to more noise until he grew accustomed to it, and that coddling him would only make matters worse in the long run, weakening his constitution. Anna dismissed her just as swiftly, her jaw tight with disgust at the thought of subjecting her precious baby boy to sensations he abhorred.

The third, when questioned on what she would do if she suspected one of the twins had taken ill in the middle of the night, some fever or unusual listlessness, declared with great confidence that she would wait until morning to mention it, as disturbing the household over what was likely nothing would only cause unnecessary fuss and inconvenience. Anna's patience, by that point, had worn dangerously thin, and she found herself gripping the arms of her chair tightly in a bid to keep herself from flinging herself over the table to wring the woman’s neck like a dishcloth.

She was attempting to regain some semblance of composure in the midst the fourth interview – a talkative woman who, as it appeared, seemed to believe her primary qualification lay in the quality of the family she had previously served rather than any particular skill with infants – when the drawing room door opened, and Hudson stepped inside, clearly not expected to find the room occupied.

“My apologies,” he said at once, already taking a step backward, glancing between Anna and the departing fourth candidate with evident confusion and remorse. “I was not aware you were already conducting interviews. I shall leave you to it and return another at a later time.”

“No, wait – stay,” Anna called out, before she had entirely decided to do so, the words slipping free before she could ponder why she had been overcome with the need to voice them.

Hudson paused, brow lifting slightly in surprise. She expected him to make some excuse as to why he could not fulfill her request or claim to be busy. But he did neither, simply crossing the room to where she was before settling into a chair next to hers.

He turned his head to face her, regarding her with a concerned expression.

“Are you all right? You seem a tad… worn out,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.

Anna was surprised, blinking owlishly for a moment.

“I am fine,” she said eventually, mimicking his tone. “I just need to focus on this.”

He nodded in encouragement, noticing how she stared at him for a moment longer, then gathered her wits quickly enough to return to the interview at hand.

"Thank you, that will be all.”

The candidate frowned, clearly not expecting to be dismissed so soon.

“Is that truly it? I would have expected you to have more questions for me, Your Grace,” the woman stated with a confused expression.

“Perhaps, if you showed any signs of possessing any of the qualities I seek in the wet-nurse I want to have for my children. Alas, you do not, and as such, I have nothing further I wish to inquire from you. You may leave.” Anna responded tiredly, waving the woman away.

She rose to her feet with a look of irritation and quickly left the study, slamming the door behind her.

“My goodness,” Anna mumbled as Oliver opened the door with a look of concern. “It is all right; I'm fine. Send in the next one, please.”

As she waited for the next candidate to walk in, Anna took a drink of the water she had been served earlier, all too aware of her husband seated by her side, watching her with quiet curiosity as the fifth candidate was announced.

Anna still was not sure of the precise reason why she had asked him to remain. She tried to tell herself it was simply useful to have another set of eyes present, another opinion to weigh against her own, given how poorly her judgment seemed to have served her these last four attempts. She did not allow herself to question her actions too closely, though, instead choosing to revel in the small and steadying comfort she found in the fact of his presence beside her. She had no intention of admitting, even silently, how much easier it was to breathe with him there, how the tightness in her chest had already begun to ease simply from knowing he sat within arm's reach.

The fifth candidate entered – a slight, soft-spoken woman with kind eyes and gentle hands folded neatly before her, her manner unassuming in a way that struck Anna, distantly, as a good sign, though she was too wound up in that moment to fully register it. She was still quite tense from the previous four disappointments as she launched into her questions, which resulted in her voice carrying more sharpness than she perhaps intended, her voice clipped and rapid.

“Suppose,” she began with another hypothesis, “That one of the children refuses to settle no matter what you attempt. Suppose you have tried everything within your knowledge and ability, yet they still will not calm. What would you do then?”

The woman considered the question with evident seriousness, taking a moment before answering rather than rushing to fill the silence as the others had. “Then I shall send for you, Your Grace, or for whomever else the child trusts most, rather than persist alone out of pride. A child's comfort matters more than any nursemaid's wish to prove her own competence. I have learned that a lot of times, the child’s tears aren’t a sign of anything physically wrong with them, but rather a result of a distressing sensation they are not old enough to communicate about yet. During such moments, it is important that they are not left alone – under any circumstances – to deal with their discomfort. They should know they are loved and cherished and should feel as much due to the presence of their guardian or parent. The more love and attention they are showered with, the better, I always say.”

It was then that Anna felt it: Hudson's hand, warm and steady, coming to rest atop hers where it lay clenched in her lap, his fingers curling gently around her own. He had not interrupted the interview, had not attempted to take over or soften her questions on the woman's behalf, and did not so much as glance toward her. He simply held her hand, his thumb tracing one slow, grounding pass over her knuckles, and said nothing at all, offering only the quiet, wordless fact of his presence.

Anna shot him a glare, more out of reflex than genuine irritation, but she felt something in her shoulders loosen despite herself, the tightness easing from her chest with each steady breath she drew. And it was only then, with her mind no longer entirely consumed by anxious calculation, that she truly noticed the woman seated across from her.

Now that she had lost some of the edge bearing down on her, she could see the softness in her expression, could perceive the patience with which she answered each question without a trace of the zealous overconfidence the others had shown, and the genuine warmth that seemed to radiate from her without effort, entirely unforced. She had been too tense before to notice any of it clearly, too braced for the possibility of yet another failed attempt to recognize what success might actually look like when it finally appeared before her.

She continued through the remainder of her questions with a steadier voice, Hudson's hand remaining warm over hers throughout, and by the time the interview concluded, Anna had made her decision.

“You may begin at the end of the week,” she told the woman – named Angelica, who thanked her profusely, her relief evident, before being shown out, leaving Anna alone in the drawing room with Hudson.