“Don’t you think I know that?” But her own weariness from the journey had crept over her, making it harder to remain calm. “Anna has already tried, but she won’t stop crying.”

Stephen held out his arms and took Victoria. The baby wriggled in his grasp, arching her back and howling. “Here, now,” he said gently. “What seems to be the matter?” He patted her on the shoulder, but it did nothing to soothe the infant.

Emily itched to take the baby back from him, but she dared not. He wanted to help, and she owed him the chance to try.

Just as before, Stephen settled Victoria into a rhythm of walking, holding her close and rubbing her tiny shoulders. His deep voice murmured words of comfort to the baby.

“Go to our room,” Stephen instructed. “I’ll be there as soon as she’s asleep.”

“But what if she doesn’t? What if—”

“You’re tired. I’ll look after her until she falls asleep.” He settled Victoria against his chest, and the baby wept with fatigue. His eyes gleamed. “You could always await me naked in bed.”

She didn’t respond to his teasing. Desperately, she wanted to accept his help, but she hated the thought of leaving. “Are you certain you want to stay with her?”

“Go.” He kept up his pattern of walking, and Emily left them alone. The crying slowed, and Victoria emitted whimpering noises.

Emily closed the door and waited with her ear pressed up to the wood for several minutes. The crying didn’t stop, but she felt a rhythmic vibration on the floor from Stephen pacing. Though he had told her to go back to the room, she couldn’t until she knew Victoria was asleep. She sank down against the door, her weight resting against the wood.

As time drifted on, she hugged her knees to her chest, exhaustion weighing down on her shoulders like a heavy woolen blanket. Minutes drifted into hours, and at last she fell asleep when Victoria’s crying faded into silence.

“Lady Whitmore?” a male voice asked. Emily opened her eyes and saw Farnsworth standing before her. Her back ached, and she had no idea what time it was. But somehow it was morning. Farnsworth carried a tray with a teapot and at the sight Emily longed to snatch it from him. Nothing seemed more inviting than a hot cup of tea.

“I shall take the tray to the earl,” she volunteered, rising to her feet. Her neck felt as though someone had hammered it repeatedly with a mallet, but she accepted the tray.

Farnsworth waited, and Emily nodded toward the room. “Open the door for me, if you please.”

He did, and after he closed it behind her, Emily gaped at the scene she beheld. Stephen lay stretched out, his feet propped up while he sat in a stuffed wingback chair. Upon his chest, Victoria snored, her body draped across his.