His eyes, like stars in the gray skies, watched her, a thin frown creasing his handsome face.

Unsure of what to do, she stood stiffly before him.

“You're awake,” he finally said, his gaze never shifting from her.

She wasn't certain what it was that rendered her speechless, but for some reason, she could neither move nor speak.

“You must forgive Elizabeth, she's having a rather tough evening... as usual.” He motioned downward.

Tearing her gaze off of his mesmerizing eyes, she looked down to find an infant nestling against his chest with her thumb in her mouth. She had been so engrossed in the man before her that she had failed to notice when the child's loud crying subsided.

“Well, is she alright?” She managed to speak past the lump that was now clogging her throat.

“I'm not certain we shall ever know.” He said matter-of-fact as he turned from her and leaned down to place the baby in the crib. When he turned back around, fatigue shrouded his features, his shoulders immediately sinking as the baby began crying once more.

Releasing a loud breath, he ran his hands down his face.

“God knows I've asked that same question times without number and every single damn time, there seem to be no sufficient answer.” He half growled, his hands falling to his side as he hung his head.

She stared at him, suddenly feeling sorry for him.

Crossing the carpeted floors slowly, she reached his side and glanced down at the wailing child. Teary silver eyes stared back at her, her little arms outstretched toward Gretchen as she laid on her back crying.

“Perhaps she's hungry?” She frowned, observing the baby who appeared a little too thin.

“She won't eat,” he mumbled beside her.

Straightening, she turned to him. “No?”

He shook his head. “Not in the slightest bit. There is no nanny in all of England willing to stay and care for her. I'm her father and perhaps it is a cruel thing to say but even I have considered dumping her on the doorstep of an orphanage.”

She frowned, turning back to stare at the child whose desperate cries only seemed to intensify with every second that went by.

Unable to refuse the child's demand to be carried, Gretchen reached down and lifted her out of the crib. She held her close, her hand moving gently up and down the child's back to try to ease her tears.

“There, there,” she murmured. “It'll be alright, little one.”

Gretchen felt a strange connection to the child in her arms; like Gretchen, the child was alone. She not only had the sour memory of several nannies walking out on her, she had a father who was threatening to do the same thing.

Tightening her hold on the child, Gretchen swallowed a sob and leaned her chin against her head.

“It'll be alright, little one.” She said, rocking the child in her arms as she turned toward the window. Pushing the curtains aside to allow some air into the room, she tightened her hold on the wailing child. “Is that any better Ellie? It’s Ellie, isn’t it?” She shook her head, trying and failing to recall the child’s name from the conversation with her father earlier. She did recall it began with an ‘E’. Perhaps Elsa... or was it Elizabeth?