A Duke’s Love for the Nursemaid (Preview)

Chapter One

Though the parlor was filled with sunshine, the hearts of those partaking in tea within the room couldn’t have been much darker. Lord Leonard Campbell, The Duke of Somerset, felt as though the grief and tension in the room were suffocating him. 

If it weren’t for the fact that he sat in the company of his sister and favorite aunt, he might well have already excused himself. Yet, he had been doing that far too often of late, and though he was grieving the loss of his oldest and dearest friend, The Earl of Rutland, Lord Daniel Willoughby—lost at war some four months ago—he had no right to claim the worst of the grief. 

That belonged to his little sister, Elizabeth, The Countess of Rutland whose stomach still bore the final swellings of child-bearing some two months after birthing a healthy baby boy. 

The child was a blessing, fair haired and strong, just like his father had been. He laid happily in his basket, bathing in the sunshine to his mother’s left, while the wet nurse stood off to one side awaiting her next signal that the tiny nobleman might need something. 

The Earl of Rutland, only two months old and he already has women fawning all over him. Leon, as his friends and family called him, thought quite proudly of his nephew, though with great sadness at the loss of his closest friend, just like his father and uncle. 

The fact that Daniel would never meet his namesake made Leon sick to his stomach. If there was a God, he was a cruel and vicious one indeed. 

“You are looking well, Elizabeth,” his Aunt Violet was the one to break the silence that had stretched out for near on ten minutes since they had all sat down to tea. It was something of a ritual they had come to share. All dressed in black mourning clothes, all sitting in veritable silence, sharing in each other’s company and each other’s grief without really sharing in anything at all. And of them all, Violet appeared to be the one attempting to break them all out of that. After all, though she was forty-six—eleven years Leon’s senior—she was young at heart, quite naive at times and overly innocent. All reasons why Leon insisted she remain with them at their ancestral home in Somerset. With Wayford Village only a couple of miles down the road and many a farmer living off his land, they all had everything they needed to live and grieve in peace. 

Though of late it seemed all they had been doing was grieving. The living appeared to have been put on pause since Daniel’s death, even more so since little Daniel Junior’s arrival. 

And though Violet was right, in that Elizabeth was sitting straighter, dressed more neatly and her hair was not flying out at odds and ends, she still stared off at a fixed point behind Leon’s head, and the dullness in her once joyful brown eyes disquieted her brother’s soul. The lively amber flecks that had once bounced about her irises seemed entirely gone and Leon prayed daily for their return. 

Yet his own grief weighed him down and he had no way of knowing how to heal her when he could not even heal his own broken heart. 

Violet did all she could for them both but there was very little that would help. Not even holding Daniel Junior seemed to ease his sister’s suffering. In fact, she seemed to hold him less and less of late, her eyes only growing duller, prone to outbursts of rage that left the wet nurse clamoring to take the baby. 

It was a painful thing to witness, and Leon’s helplessness only grew stronger. His only saving grace was Violet who appeared utterly determined to get things back to normal as quickly as possible. 

“Elizabeth?” Violet said, laying a hand on her niece’s where it rested with her teacup on her lap. 

Leon flinched just watching the way his sister jumped at the touch. 

“Please,” Elizabeth’s tone bordered on a whimper, “Don’t touch me.”

“Of course, Sweet Girl,” Violet said, and Leon’s heart clenched at the pet name she had always called Elizabeth. It felt wrong now. Elizabeth was not a child anymore. She was a grown woman with a child of her own, a widow at only twenty-five when she ought to have been reveling in the bliss of married life, with a brand-new baby brought into the world. “Whatever you wish but do tell me, you are feeling slightly better, are you not?” 

The woman’s gentle coaxing seemed to fan something within his sister and Leon watched her turn her head on a stiff neck to force a smile. “I am, Aunt, thank you.”

She took a sip of tea then, her gaze returning to the fixed point behind Leon’s head. She was not fine, not well at all, and though he had called a number of doctors to the house each one said the same. She is simply grieving, and he must let her do so in peace. 

And though he had always had the utmost respect for doctors and all within the medical profession, the more time he spent with his sister, the more concerned he grew that they might actually be wrong. 

But how to fix the problem when he truly had no idea what the problem was? Yes, she was grieving the loss of her husband, but this was far more than that. In a world such as theirs, grief was all around them. Every day some poor man might succumb from a heart ailment, or a woman might die in childbirth. Every day a mere fever might carry off a beloved child or some carriage accident snuff out the life of a person in their prime. Grief was no stranger either with a war having just wrapped up, and yet what Leon saw in his sister’s eyes, in the way she refused to hold her newborn son, in her utter lack of talking, scared the living daylights out of him. 

He would have done just about anything to fix all the wrong in their world, even bringing back Daniel if he were able, and yet, he had never felt more helpless. 

“You would have had a wonderful time at Lady Battersby’s tea party yesterday,” Violet stated, taking a sip of her own tea before she continued, “It was perhaps the event of the Season so far.”

Leon cringed. He had been there and yes, it had been an exceptional event, but all the while he had felt like an outsider. He had been a fly on the wall, separated from the merriment of all the other guests by the thinnest panel of invisible glass which if he just pressed lightly, he might have broken through or it might have splintered and rendered his pain all the worse. For he was alive to enjoy himself if he so wished and his best friend was not. 

Some days he wished it had been he who had died and not Daniel. Maybe then his sister would not be so dead inside. Half the time Leon feared she wished she had gone with him, lost in childbirth, leaving him to care for his orphaned nephew. The mere thought filled him with guilt, and he always shoved it away as quickly as it entered his mind. 

“It would not have been appropriate,” Elizabeth reminded her aunt. As a widow of only four months, she was still deep in her grieving, only able to attend church events and funerals, dressed all in black with a widow’s veil. 

It was no life for a woman in her twenties, no life at all, and Leon desperately wished there was something he could do. 

“Yes, well, just because you are stuck in this stuffy, God-forsaken house does not mean that you should be entirely set apart from society,” Violet stated, and she looked about to grip her niece’s hand again before she seemed to think better of it. Leon held his breath, wondering how his sister might react. Wayford Castle, the home of The Duke of Somerset—his seat, his father’s before him and his forefathers before that—had not always been a stuffy, God-forsaken house as his aunt had so eloquently called it. Once it had been filled with life, with merriment and with exceptional events, hosted by his own dear mother and grandmother before her. The halls had once been filled with laughter, music, and people. Gossipers were all abuzz about the balls, dinners and tea parties held at Wayford Castle. Now all they had to do was whisper of the poor, grieving family who had lost not only a young man in the prime of life, but also the duke and duchess before him. And with no wife and heir to speak of, Leon was certain they were all chomping at the bit to see what would become of the estate with all of the bad luck that had befallen the Campbells over the last decade. 

Elizabeth said nothing and as if taking that as her cue to continue, Violet explained, “Our cousins, the Lenningtons, were there, as well as the Rottwells, and even the Shakespeares.”

At the final name, Violet’s voice hitched up a notch. Leon did not miss the blush that entered her cheeks or the way her lips twitched at the corners. 

“Mr. Andrew Shakespeare himself was in attendance. The poor man,” Violet said, a deep sigh whistling between her parted lips. “To be so alone at his age with all of his children grown. That house must feel huge to him now.”

Leon raised a brow. His aunt had always been one for gossip though in a much more kind and caring manner than many of the ton’s ladies, wishing to offer sympathy to all of society’s poor unfortunate souls. And yet, there was something different about the way she spoke of the fifty-eight-year-old widowed businessman, a brother to one of her closest friends, Lady Battersby. As the second son of the late viscount Shakespeare and now the brother to the current viscount Shakespeare, he was a well-connected gentleman and a renowned businessman with a successful lineage in three grown children all with families of their own. And Leon could see why his aunt should admire such a man yet there was a certain amount of adoration in Violet’s gaze that disheartened him. He made a mental note to get to know the man better than society already did. 

As the head of the household, it was his job and his right to ensure the safety of the ladies beneath his roof, even if his wonderful aunt was eleven years his senior. Over the years, having lived with them all of his life, Violet had become somewhat of an older sister rather than an aunt. And with her naivety, Leon’s protective instinct would be forever present. 

“I suspect it might be rather nice to have one’s house all to yourself,” Elizabeth stated in a manner that made Leon’s chest tighten. “Nobody to be responsible for, nobody to question your every mood and move, nobody to be constantly urging you to do this and act this way or that way.”

Leon understood his sister more than he cared to admit but it was her tone that frightened him, her utter lack of emotion. Her eyes were so dull that they were devoid of life. She barely seemed to flinch when Daniel Junior began to whimper. 

“Shall I see to him, my lady?” 

The wet nurse hurried forth and Elizabeth offered a barely perceptible nod. Leon watched his sister continue to stare ahead, not even glancing in her son’s direction to ensure the wet nurse picked him up appropriately.

The next words out of his sister’s mouth made him sick to his core. “I have hired a nursemaid.”

Leon almost dropped the teacup he had seen fit to pick up at that very moment. “I beg your pardon?” 

He reached up and brushed back his black hair to look at his sister more closely. She barely blinked and did not even deem him worthy of a glance. 

So he looked instead to Violet who appeared just as shocked as he. 

“She comes highly recommended,” Elizabeth continued, her tone flat. 

“What could you possibly need a nursemaid for?” Leon demanded, the heat draining from his face. The idea of a stranger, even another professional, entering their home, unnerved him greatly. 

Son, it is best to keep matters private within the family unless absolutely necessary, the words repeated over and over in his mind daily, spoken by his father on a hundred different occasions during his childhood and early adolescence. 

And it was a rule he had come to live by himself, only ever inviting the doctors who his father had invited before him, never allowing anyone new into their family problems without first receiving references and detailed accounts from exceptionally trusted sources. He didn’t so much as buy a horse without first double and triple checking the legitimacy of the breeder. 

“I am not coping, Leonard!” Elizabeth snapped, her head whipping to face him. It was the most emotion he had seen upon his sister’s face in months, and it turned his veins to ice. “I need help with my son.”

Leon gulped. She never called him Leonard. In fact, she had never even been one for raising her voice or even appearing angry at all. She hadn’t even appeared angry at Daniel’s death, only terribly, terribly grief-stricken. Leon had felt it all, denial, anger, sorrow, but his sister had only been devastated into sheer, tearless silence. Just looking at her caused Leon to feel a numbness as if he had been plunged into an icy lake. 

The few angry bursts she had had since his death had been at the slightest things, the spilling of milk or the crying of the babe. Never at him or at anyone in particular. 

And for the first time in month’s Leon saw something other than numb grief in his sister’s eyes. 

“You have me, Violet, all of the servants,” Leon pointed out in the hopes of easing whatever suffering his sister was going through. “You have Mrs. Weston here.” 

He gestured to the wet nurse who had already hurried off into a corner with her back turned to feed the babe. Though it made Leon slightly uncomfortable, Violet had insisted that Elizabeth must remain close while her son was fed. It would help the bond, she said, yet it appeared to have done nothing so far. 

“I need help, Leon!” Elizabeth said again, her tone more pleading and he was relieved she did not call him by his full name this time. 

“You have Lady Sarah,” Leon reminded her. He thought fondly of the lady who devoted almost half her time to helping her friend with his nephew, the lady he had begun to think of as more than just his sister’s friend. One day soon, he would be forced by responsibility and necessity to marry, and he could think of far worse choices than the kind, caring Lady Sarah Dalrymple. 

“Sarah does not…Sarah is not…” Elizabeth stammered as if she couldn’t find the words. Frustration reddened her face and Leon’s teeth set on edge. “Sarah is not family either and you have invited her into our situations long enough. Sarah is…”

“Sarah is what?” he asked. “Has something happened?” 

When last Lady Sarah had visited only the day before, all had seemed well. 

“She is not a professional!” Elizabeth blurted. “I need professional help Leon. I am struggling and you and Violet and Sarah, all of you cannot help me!” 

“And this nursemaid? Who is she to help you?” Leon demanded, the hair on the back of his neck rising. He didn’t like the idea one bit. “This is my home. I should like to know who you have invited into it.”

“Oh, Leonard! You sound just like father,” Elizabeth snapped at him and though this was the most animated his sister had been in months, Leon did not like it one bit. 

“Perhaps because he was right to be so cautious!” 

“Leon,” Violet hissed under her breath and the warning note in her tone made Leon shrink back a little. He ought to remember his sister’s sensitivity, especially at a time like this. 

“She comes highly recommended by multiple nobles and their wives,” Elizabeth stated. “I have done my research, brother. I am not a fool.”

Elizabeth rose to her feet then, as if the conversation were well and truly over. 

Leon rose with her and said, “I should like to check these sources for myself before you do anything rash.” 

Elizabeth eyed him with such a burning gaze that it stung his heart. Then she crossed her arms and said, “It is too late. She arrives this afternoon.” 

Bile rose in Leon’s throat as his sister turned and stormed from the room. His heart didn’t hurt merely because she had failed to include him in such important decisions or fail to follow their most important family rule, but because she utterly failed to even glance back at her son still cradled in his wet nurse’s arms.

Mrs. Weston and Violet looked just as concerned as he felt when he glanced at the both of them. 

Sitting back down heavily upon his seat, he wondered, is there nothing at all I can do? 

He had hoped that growing closer to Lady Sarah might help his sister, that the woman’s companionship and her slow entrance into their family with the possibility of his one day making her his bride might help to ease his sister’s suffering. It appeared he had been wrong. 

Every fiber of his body told him it was dangerous to let a stranger enter their midst at such a sensitive time. But as his sister had just intimated, it was too late. 

 

***

 

“Angel? Angel?” 

Evangeline’s eyes fluttered open at the touch of a hand upon her lap. Yawning, she smiled back at her female companion and asked, “Are we there? Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” 

With a glance out of the carriage window she saw that they were indeed there. The grand house of The Duke of Somerset couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. Though she had never personally been there, she had heard of the place and its grandeur, of the parties, balls and bashes held within its walls, of the late duke and duchess whose children and grandchild now resided within. 

Evangeline never took any job without first learning all that she could of the people she would be working for and the situation she would be handling. In truth, this case was the most mysterious she had received in a long time. Ordinarily, she might not have accepted such a request for her help. The lady who had written to her several times had not given much away save for the fact she was struggling after the loss of her husband and a complicated childbirth. She had been able to glean very little else though she had heard from the rumor mill that the family had all but gone to ground. Very little had been seen of them of late and that was to be expected when they were grieving. She had heard that previous to the loss, the family had been highly respectable, the duke handsome, intelligent, and noteworthy. 

Save for knowing that the lady in question was the duke’s sister and that she had the help of an older aunt, she knew very little. Though she always came prepared for any situation. 

“I wonder whether my things have arrived yet,” Evangeline thought aloud and Mary shook her head. 

“We shan’t know until I can find the housekeeper, I suspect,” Mary said. Evangeline smiled gratefully. She and Mary had been together since she was ten years old. She was not a lady or even of noble birth. In fact, her parents hadn’t even been gentlefolk. But what she did have was an excellent education in apothecary medicine, all thanks to her grandmother. And with that knowledge she had saved the life of a noble woman whose gratitude had shown no bounds. 

From such events she had received a gracious benefactor who had paid for her education, fed, clothed, and housed her when necessary and ensured that she was given all of the best recommendations to become one of the best nursemaid’s England had ever seen. Those were the words of the duchess of Cambridge herself, of course, Evangeline was much too humble for such notions. 

She did not care to be the best… all she cared to do was her best for her patients whether that be animal, babe, commoner, or nobleman. She was good at what she did and a healthy smile upon the face of a grateful patient was all the thanks she needed. Though having money to send back to her mother and grandmother was always a huge bonus, since the death of her father when she was only a babe. 

Raised by women, educated in herbalism by her grandmother, she might well have been ostracized if not for rescuing the duchess from an untimely death. 

She tried not to think too hard on that, though she always seemed to think on it whenever she was about to meet a new patient. It was, after all, the deciding event that had led her to half the doors in England over the last seventeen years. 

The carriage they had ridden all the way from Cambridge in over the last several days, stopping at inns along the way to wash, rest and change the horses, finally drew to a halt in the forecourt of Wayford Castle. The door was opened, and a hand offered. 

Taking a long, deep breath as she always did before entering a new situation, Evangeline placed her gloved hand in that of the footman and allowed him to help her from the carriage. 

Mary followed after, always a loyal shadow behind her mistress as she had been for most of Evangeline’s life. 

At the bottom of the steps stood a man who was most definitely a butler, dressed all in black save for a crisp white starched shirt, a woman dressed similarly who had to have been the housekeeper. They were the same in every household, dressed in black with severe expressions, so straight-backed it was as if they had a rod strapped to their backs. And yet, beneath the surface, Evangeline had found many of them pleasant and well-meaning, only determined to keep up appearances for the sake of their employer. 

She only hoped this household would be the same. “Well, Mary, here we go,” she whispered as she and Mary stepped forth to be greeted. 

“You must be Miss Evangeline. I am Mrs. Trent, the housekeeper at Wayford Castle and this is Mr. Benson,” the housekeeper greeted with a gentle smile, gesturing to the butler, “Lady Rutland has told me all about you.” 

“All good, I hope,” Evangeline smiled. “And please, call me Angel. All of my friends do.”

Evangeline was used to the severe brow raise that always received and she knew it would take some time, but eventually, everybody called her Angel. It was simply a matter of time. 

“If you would like to follow me, Miss Evangeline,” Mrs. Trent said, holding firm to formalities as was expected of a good housekeeper. “Mr. Benson shall take your coats and I shall show you to the drawing room where Lady Rutland and Lady Violet await.”

Evangeline followed the housekeeper, Mary close behind her. Soon their coats had been taken by a silent, stoic Mr. Benson who dipped his head respectfully and removed himself to store their garments. 

Then, finally, they were shown through the ostentatious home into a high-ceilinged drawing room. As expected, Evangeline had felt the dark cloud hanging over the house the moment she stepped inside. The black armbands worn by the staff were one simple reminder of the grief that plagued the family though Evangeline thought it was not needed. 

Though the house was sparkling clean, everything appeared dull and lifeless, from the grim faces of all the staff to the paintings hanging upon the wall that appeared much duller than Evangeline thought they ought to be. 

And the moment she saw the faces of the two ladies waiting to greet her in the drawing room, she sensed why. 

The older of the two ladies looked tired, dull in the face, and filled with concern but the younger lady beside her looked entirely lost. 

Dull brown eyes stared blankly rimmed by puffy redness. And beneath were the thick, black circles of ageless exhaustion she had seen on the faces of so many widows. Her skin was so pale it had turned gray, and sagging off her bones. She wore a gown that looked as if it had once fit, but now hung loosely everywhere save for her stomach, still plagued by the bloat of childbearing. 

She is still producing but likely not breastfeeding, she thought when she carefully noticed the dark patches upon Lady Rutland’s bodice. It would take some time, but she suspected she could fix that, one way or another, hopefully for the better of both the mother and child. 

Yet, the child in question was nowhere to be seen. All the more reason to fix the breastfeeding situation, she thought. Though it was not uncommon for noble ladies to have wetnurses—in fact, it was more uncommon for them not to—it was not, in Evangeline’s opinion, healthy for either concerned and by the looks of Lady Rutland, it was one of the many problems she was suffering. 

The mere sight of both ladies pained Evangeline’s heart and within an instant she was determined to do some good at Wayford Castle. 

Though they both rose to greet Evangeline, there was a lackluster effort, and she could see just from the way they moved how bone weary they both were. 

“Please, Lady Rutland, Lady Violet, do not get up on my account,” she insisted, gesturing them both back down into their seats. “I am no guest here. I am here to do my job and take care of you both and the babe. May I ask, is he currently napping?” 

There were many such questions she intended to ask, all of which she would go about carefully, tiptoeing on eggshells until she had gotten her answers without asking a single one too directly. She had long ago learned just how sensitive postpartum mothers could be; a fact many of her male counterparts failed to notice. 

“He…he is out for some fresh air with his wetnurse,” Lady Rutland said, and Evangeline found one of her later questions already answered and her suspicions on Lady Rutland also. 

“Ahh good,” Evangeline smiled warmly. “Fresh air is always good for the soul.” 

The two ladies merely nodded half-heartedly. What these two needed was a good long sleep. Anyone with eyes could see that. 

“Mrs. Trent, might you be so kind as to fetch a pot of hot water?” Evangeline asked the housekeeper. 

“Miss? Do you mean, tea?” The housekeeper looked quite confused. 

Evangeline shook her head and stated, “Just hot water in a teapot. I have my own blend.”

That was an understatement. Evangeline had about a hundred different concoctions of tea and many other medicines besides. But it was best not to mention such things on first meeting, or she might be branded something awful. 

When the housekeeper looked about to speak again, she was interrupted by Lady Violet. “Do as she says, Trent.” 

“Of course, my lady.” 

The housekeeper hurried off, followed by Mary who was already well aware of what her mistress needed from her things. Evangeline could only hope she had enough in the single travel trunk that had fit on their carriage to keep her busy until the rest of her things arrived. 

Evangeline sat at the request of Lady Violet and kept a gentle smile upon her face. 

“You have such a lovely home,” she stated, looking around the beautifully decorated room with its wood paneled walls and ornate fireplace. 

“We have my nephew to thank for that,” Lady Violet said, a small yet proud smile lighting her face. “Leon has been very good to us all.”

“You mean, The Duke of Somerset?” Evangeline asked, eyebrow raised. She had heard least of him save for the fact he had allowed his family to live within his house ever since the terrible ordeal of the earl’s death. 

“Yes, of course, His Grace has been most wonderful these past months,” Lady Violet said. Lady Rutland remained quiet and so Evangeline turned her attention to her usual careful questions. 

“Does the little earl always take a walk at this time?” 

Lady Violet glanced at the grandfather clock across the room. “Most days, I think.”

“And does he nap before or after?” 

“That depends upon the day.”

Evangeline mused carefully for a moment, thinking on how to phrase her next question. “May I ask of the boy’s waking and sleeping schedule? My assistant and I like to have our meals early so as not to interfere with our work, you see.”

Lady Violet glanced at Lady Rutland as if hoping for help in answering. She got none. And so the lady shrugged her shoulders. “He does not necessarily have a schedule.” 

Evangeline nodded, carefully noting the answers, sure she had her work cut out for her. 

“And, you say he has a wet nurse? Perhaps she might better tell me of his feeding schedule?” 

Lady Violet merely nodded as if she had no energy left for talking. 

“I suspect the little earl is eating far better than the adults in the household?” Evangeline said, allowing a little good humor into her tone. Though Lady Rutland appeared quite gaunt, Lady Violet did not appear much better. 

“Our appetites have not been the best since my nephew-in-law’s departure,” Lady Violet said, and Lady Rutland offered a whimper at the mention of her late husband. 

Evangeline was to have her work cut out for her indeed. 

She was saved from asking anymore questions by the return of the housekeeper, followed by her assistant. And when she saw the herb bag hanging from Mary’s hand, she stood and took it from her with a grateful smile. No words were needed. They had lived together long enough to communicate without words. Mary could read her like a book just as she could Mary. That came from her assistant’s impeccable job of becoming her shadow, always at her side no matter what the situation, only silently disappearing whenever Evangeline needed something. 

Preparing the tea in the teapot Mrs. Trent had provided, she allowed it to steep a moment while she asked, “Is there anything particular the two of you hope to gain from my presence here?” 

It was a question she asked of all her patients. Without the right answer, there was very little she could do. She could not help those who did not wish to help themselves. 

“We all want what is best for little Daniel,” Lady Violet announced, and Evangeline smiled warmly. It was a start, though she suspected the real patient here was not at all the babe but in fact all those around him. After all, a two-month-old child had no idea his father was gone from the world. 

“Then we must do that,” Evangeline stated, picking up the teapot to pour four cups. She and Mary would not drink much of it. It was merely for show. She had always found on first meeting, patients were much less willing to consume medicines without a show of good faith. And this particular tea would leave her and Mary entirely unable to do their jobs if they took more than a sip or two. “First things first, I believe the two of you are in need of a good deal of sleep.”

The only response was a nod from Lady Violet and a yawn from Lady Rutland. 

“Here,” Evangeline said, placing the teacups in their hands. She took her own only to sip at it while the ladies drank just as she had hoped. “It will help you relax and get some rest.” 

Soon Lady Rutland’s head was lolling to one side and Mary quietly rose from her seat to place a pillow beneath her head on the arm of the couch. 

“Oh, heavens, Miss Evangeline, you must forgive me,” Lady Violet exclaimed, yawning behind her hand as she rose to her feet. “I fear I must depart for my bedchamber. I am exceptionally more tired than I realized.” 

“Please, do not apologize,” Evangeline insisted, gesturing to the door. “Go and rest. We are here to take care of you now. I am sure Mrs. Trent can show us to the rooms we requested.”

“Yes, yes, they are prepared,” Lady Violet said already on her way to the door, “Adjoining rooms. Large, large rooms…” 

Evangeline watched Lady Violet go with a heavy heart. It was clear there was a lot to do. 

It wasn’t until the lady, followed by the housekeeper, had gone that Evangeline turned to Mary with a deep sigh and said, “This is going to take some time.”

Mary nodded, her deep brown eyes sympathetic as she looked to Lady Rutland. “The poor woman looks as if she is close to death’s door.” 

Evangeline’s stomach tightened as she followed Mary’s gaze. She wasn’t entirely wrong. If not for the rising and falling of the woman’s chest, she might well believe she was already there. 

“Let us hope that the little earl and his uncle, the duke, are healthier,” Evangeline said, exhaling deeply. In her experience of such matters, the men were far better on the surface. When it finally came to getting to know a family, however, it often became apparent that the males were just as deeply devastated as their female counterparts. They were simply tougher nuts to crack. 

With this in mind, Evangeline mentally prepared herself for whatever was to be thrown at her next. Her only relief was that what little she had heard of the duke was pleasant, filled with respect and mild. She only hoped her sources were correct. 

After all, how awful could a man be when he had taken in several members of his family when they had fallen upon hard times? 

---

“A Duke’s Love for the Nursemaid” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Evangeline Nightingale has always eschewed the notion of marriage, having witnessed its failures in her own family lineage. Instead, she has devoted her life to the noble pursuit of healing, becoming renown for her miraculous abilities from a young age. Yet, when she crosses paths with Lord Leonard Campbell, her courage is put to the ultimate test. Unveiling a sinister plot, she must tread carefully to protect her blossoming affection for him…¦

Will she untangle the truth before danger consumes them both?

Lord Leonard Campbell, Duke of Somerset, is burdened by the recent loss of his brother-in-law. Duty compels him to return his grieving sister and nephew to the family’s ancestral home, where he retreats into solitude alongside his aunt. However, when his sister’s need for assistance compels her to hire a nursemaid, Leonard’s carefully constructed walls begin to crumble in the presence of the captivating Evangeline.

Will Leonard honor his prior commitment, or will Evangeline’s presence dismantle his defenses?

Evangeline and Leonard are caught up in a web of deceit and rivalry as tensions rise within the household. With a jealous friend, an inquisitive vicar, and a spurned woman complicating matters, their burgeoning connection faces numerous obstacles. Will they untangle the intricacies of their intertwined fates, or will they remain isolated by the ghosts of their pasts?

“A Duke’s Love for the Nursemaid” is a historical romance novel of approximately 90,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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