Jasmine was right. The Countess’s visit was a boon for them, particularly for her. When the clothing and crib arrived for the former Lord Lake, so did the clothing Jasmine had ordered for herself and Bry at the seamstress. With the delivery came a note saying the Countess had paid for the clothes of her grandchild’s wet nurse. Jasmine put away the clothes, relieved to have something of her own, including finally some undergarments, and glad that the Countess was still generous. The Countess’s generosity had been famous when she was the young Prince Jasper, so Jasmine was pleased to see that her losses in life had not jaded her.
Not long after Jasmine had clothed the former Lord Lake in one of the fine dresses, the Countess arrived to visit. Patricia and Simon, who were home, welcomed the Countess and brought her to the nursery. The former Lord Lake had just finished nursing, so Jasmine was able to hand the babe over to the Countess.
“She looks so much like my son did at this age,” the Countess said softly. “Do you know her name?”
“No, my lady,” Jasmine replied. She was now nursing Bry; Pyotr had finished nursing when the former Lord Lake did. “Your son did not tell me her name when he gave her to me.”
“Likely the woman who bore the child chose not to name her,” the Countess muttered. “No matter. I will name her, then. I always hoped to have a girl child and name her Brook.”
“A lovely name,” Jasmine said.
“Yes, and she will grow to be most comely, I know. I will have no difficulty marrying her to a fine nobleman.”
“I agree, my lady.”
“What of you, Jasmine?” asked the Countess.
“What do you mean, my lady?” Jasmine asked. The Countess laughed.
“I have heard that you are rather dull, and this seems to be true. Girl, I ask your wed status.”
“Oh. Widowed.”
“When?” the Countess asked. “I see you wear no mourning clothes.” Jasmine thought quickly.
“Before mine own daughter, Bry, was born,” she said, recalling that the peasant mourning period tended to be roughly six months. She nodded at the babe attached to her breast. The Countess shook her head, visibly saddened.
“A tragedy for you to lose your husband while still pregnant. But also a testament to your survivor’s spirit.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Jasmine murmured. The Countess approached her. She lifted Jasmine’s chin.
“You are most comely. With your looks and your clear ability to birth and feed children, you could find a husband easily.”
“I seek no husband yet. While I no longer am in mourning, I feel unable to engage in courtship, as I have duties to my child, as well as that of your lady’s and my Master and Mistress’s.”
“You are a fine woman. Responsible. When you are ready to seek courtship, speak with me. I have many contacts in many regions. I may even be able to find you a husband in the same town as you come from.” Jasmine’s heart suddenly raced.
“Have you…contacts in the Eastern Hills?” she asked tentatively. “My sister, she is the only family I have left, and she settled there with her husband,” she lied. The Countess raised an eyebrow.
“I will see what I can do,” she said. “Making arrangements of that nature will take some time. Time enough for you to work off your debt to your Master and Mistress, as well as nurse and wean Brook.” Jasmine nodded. “It has been wonderful to visit you, Jasmine. I am sure you will tend to my granddaughter as well as you tend to your daughter.”
“Of course, my lady.”
“I will be in touch,” the Countess said. Jasmine bowed her head, unable to curtsey while suckling Bry. The Countess left. Jasmine sat in the nursery, heart continuing to race. She had no intention of wedding a nobleman, but she would pretend to if it meant the Countess would fund her voyage to the Eastern Hills, where Anya came from.