The morning sun filtered through the grand windows of the Duke's study, casting a soft glow over the ornate carpets and mahogany furniture. Anna, the housekeeper, straightened her crisp, dark dress as she stood before the imposing mahogany desk, while Ulrich, the butler, clasped his hands behind his back, his posture the very image of decorum.
"Your Grace," Anna began, her voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her stomach. "I have come to report on the well-being of your son."
The Duke, a tall figure silhouetted against the light, waved them forward with a gloved hand. "Speak," he said, his tone betraying a hint of concern beneath the authoritative veneer.
"Master Adrian rested peacefully through the night after Mistress Huber attended to him," Anna informed, relief evident in her words. Her eyes, a clear blue, met the Duke's gaze unflinchingly. "He is in good spirits this morning, thanks be to God."
"Apologies are due for yesterday's... indiscretion," she continued, her cheeks coloring slightly at the memory of the turmoil. "It was never my intention to cause distress."
"Understood," the Duke replied, his expression softening. "What about the arrangements with Amelie?"
"Ah, yes, Your Grace." Anna took a deep breath, ready to defend her decision. "The parents of Amelie Huber have agreed to our terms. She will remain close to Master Adrian as much as time allows. The doctor has advised that proximity is key for milk production—"
"Indeed, I am aware," the Duke interjected, nodding. His mind was already turning over the practicalities of such an arrangement.
"Thus, she will be at his side for the majority of the day and night, except when relieved for her own rest and meals," Anna concluded, hoping her emphasis on the doctor's advice would sway any lingering doubts in the Duke's mind.
"Very well," the Duke said, his gaze piercing as he considered the implications. "And the child shall not sleep in the nurses' quarters; that is no place for an heir."
"Of course, Your Grace," Anna replied quickly, understanding the importance of appearances and propriety in their world.
After some silence the Duke began, his voice calm yet authoritative, "I have considered yesterday's matter thoroughly." He paused, looking between Anna and the door through which they had entered, ensuring privacy for their discussion. "Amelie Huber will serve as the primary caregiver to my son. She shall stay in a guest room in the east wing, to ensure that they may remain in close quarters at all times. But she can also sleep in my son's room or take him to hers. So make preparations."
A frown creased Anna's brow. The east wing housed guests of esteem, not hired help, no matter how essential. "Your Grace, perhaps it would be more fitting if—"
"More fitting?" The Duke raised an eyebrow, his tone brooking no argument. "Would it be more fitting for my heir to reside in the servants' quarters? I think not."
"Of course not, Your Grace," Anna conceded, though her mind raced with concerns over protocol and the whispers that might arise from such an unconventional arrangement. "I only meant that for Miss Huber's status, it is highly unusual to—"
"Miss Huber's status is of no consequence here," the Duke interrupted, his gaze piercing. "Her role is crucial—she is the one who nourishes my son. Her comfort, her health, her ability to perform her duties—that is what matters. She will eat specially prepared meals, undergo regular medical examinations, and the second nurse will assist her, giving relief when needed."
"Very well, Your Grace," Anna replied, her objection dying on her lips. She knew there was no swaying the Duke when he had set his mind on a matter. His concern for his son's welfare was paramount, and it was clear he would do whatever he deemed necessary to ensure the young heir's survival.
"Ensure that everything is ready for Miss Huber's move to the east wing by day's end," the Duke ordered, effectively ending the discussion.
Anna curtsied, feeling the weight of the Duke's expectations. "It will be done to your satisfaction, Your Grace."
As she turned to leave, Anna cast one last glance at the Duke, whose attention had already returned to the documents on his desk. Despite her reservations, she knew she would see to it that every detail was executed with precision. After all, the prosperity of the house, and indeed the very future of the dukedom, rested upon the small shoulders of the infant heir—and the young, tomboyish wet-nurse who now held an unexpectedly elevated position within their hallowed walls.
"You are now excused," the duke politely asked for Anna's departure.
Ulrich stood at the periphery of the Duke's office, his posture as erect as the marble columns that graced the manor's grand entrance. "Your Grace," Ulrich began, his voice carrying the polished timbre of years in service, "if I may inquire, would you wish to make the acquaintance of Miss Huber personally? She has become quite integral to the young master's care."
The Duke did not lift his gaze from the documents spread before him—a sea of ink and parchment that seemed to command more of his attention than the people within his employ. His hand, adorned with a signet ring that bore the family crest, paused momentarily, a silent herald to his contemplation.
"No," he said finally, the single word falling like a gavel. "I find it unnecessary at present. However, I do expect to be kept abreast of any developments concerning my son or Miss Huber."
"Of course, Your Grace," Ulrich replied, the slightest nod acknowledging the order. He understood the Duke's disposition well enough; the man was a fortress, his emotions guarded behind walls of duty and propriety. Ulrich's own motivations were clear: execute the Duke's will with precision and maintain the seamless operation of the household.
"See to it that Miss Huber's transition to her new accommodations in the east wing is seamless," the Duke added without looking up. "And ensure she understands the importance of discretion in her new role."
"Discretion and diligence will be impressed upon her, Your Grace," assured Ulrich, his words as carefully chosen as the silverware for a state dinner.
"Very good." The Duke's attention had already returned to his work, signaling the end of their exchange.
Ulrich turned on his heel, the soft whisper of his tailcoat barely audible as he exited the room. The opulent corridor outside the office awaited him, its walls lined with portraits of the Duke's ancestors, their eyes following him with silent expectation. It was a reminder of the legacy that now rested, in part, in the hands of a young wet-nurse—a legacy Ulrich was determined to protect with every fiber of his being.
With measured steps, he moved towards the task at hand, ready to orchestrate the behind-the-scenes ballet that would ensure the Duke's wishes were fulfilled to the letter. In the world of aristocracy and servitude, Ulrich was the unseen conductor, and the harmony of the estate his symphony.