A few days had passed since Amelie, the wet nurse, arrived at the Duke's estate. From his study window, he sometimes glimpsed her taking walks with his son cradled in her arms during the afternoon. The sun glinted off her blond hair as she navigated the garden pathways, her eyes alight with curiosity and wonder. She walked with an easy grace, a testament to her tomboyish youth spent outdoors, he guessed. Though he strained his eyes, he could not discern the well-being of his child from this distance, but the absence of cries was a comfort.
However, these brief observations were not enough for the Duke. He turned away, his heart aching with a longing that had become all too familiar since his wife's passing. It was a throbbing void, a silence where once there was love and laughter. But today marked a change; he could no longer bear the separation from his infant son. His heart longed for a closer connection with him, something that had been severed since the new sleeping arrangements with the wet nurse. He decided to have the child brought to him every morning after being fed, but this decision came with reluctance. There was no way he would allow anyone to enter his bedchamber. The Duke had relegated himself to a routine that shuttled him between his chambers—now a shrine to his late wife—and his study. He pondered on what to do.
The Duke summoned Ulrich and Anna to his study. "A crib must be placed in here," he commanded. "Deliver my son to me each morning after he has been nourished." Both butler and housekeeper exchanged surprised glances, but they dared not question their master's decree.
A day had passed, the Duke paced the room, each step resonating with resolution, until he stopped before the newly installed crib that stood sentry in the corner. It was a fine piece, carved with intricate designs and lined with soft white linens, but it was more than mere furniture—it was a symbol of his commitment to be part of his son's life, even amidst his grief.
With a sigh, he eased himself into the comfy chair at his cluttered desk. He wearily began his tasks, anxiously awaiting the arrival of his beloved child.
A soft knock at the door announced the arrival of Anna, the housekeeper, and Maggy, the second nurse, who entered carrying the little heir. Their faces were bright with smiles, pleased to witness the interest the Duke now showed toward his son's wellbeing. The housekeeper Anna and the second , carried the little one swaddled in a ornate soft blanket.
"Good morning, Your Grace," they greeted and Maggy added a clumsy curtsy. "We've brought the little master to you, as per your request."
"Thank you, Anna," the Duke replied, his eyes locked on his son's angelic face.
Despite still only moving between his chamber and his study, the Duke now spent much more time outside of his room, and his appetite seemed to be improving. As she set the child down in the crib, Anna couldn't help but remember how he had rejected holding the baby after his wife's passing, never once visiting the child before Amelie's arrival as a wet nurse. The night Amelia took the child to her room was the first time the Duke had requested to see his child. It's not uncommon for fathers to struggle with connecting to their children initially, especially after such a great loss.
The two women exchanged glances, their expressions tinged with sympathy. They knew well the sorrow that gripped their lord; after the Duchess's death, the Duke had refused to hold the baby, refusing even to visit him until the night Amelia had taken the child into her care. From then on, something shifted within him, a subtle thawing of the ice that had encased his heart.
"Will you be holding him today, Your Grace?" Maggy ventured, her voice gentle.
"No," the Duke answered tersely. "Place him in the crib and leave us."
As they complied, laying the baby down with tender care, the Duke observed from his vantage point. The little one's cheeks were rounded, a rosy hue kissing his skin—a sign of good health and nourishment.
"Should we remain, in case he wakes?" Anna asked, lingering by the crib.
With the door sealed shut, the Duke strode towards the crib, his eyes fixed on every contour of his newborn's face. His heart surged with joy at the sight of the plump cheeks, now resembling warm bread fresh from the oven, a stark contrast to the frailty of previous days. Memories flooded back of the fearful moments when he thought he would lose his child, leaving him utterly alone in this cruel world. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he succumbed to the overwhelming sense of relief.
The Duke leaned in close, his voice trembling as he whispered to the young infant. "What would your mother and my parents think of me now? How can I ever fulfill my duties as a father, when my heart is shattered into pieces?"
But the baby seemed unfazed, nuzzling into the warmth of his father's touch and drifting off into a peaceful slumber. The Duke was filled with conflicting emotions, both devastated and comforted by this fragile life in front of him.
"Perhaps," he mused, "there is still a glimmer of hope for us. I will do everything in my power to be the father you deserve."
Lost in contemplation, the Duke remained by the crib, envisioning all that could be for his son's future. Eventually, he resolved to only send for a nurse, if his child woke and needed attention.
"Rest now, my son," he whispered, his voice barely audible even in the quiet of the study. "For tomorrow, we begin anew. Together, we will forge a path through this world, guided by the love of those who have gone before us."
With that solemn vow, the Duke felt a flicker of hope ignite within him – a flame that promised to burn brighter with each passing day, fueled by the love and determination he held for his child. He knew that he was taking the first steps toward healing his wounded heart and building a new life for both him and his son.