Page 79 of The Duke’s Hidden Duchess

He absorbed the answer without attempting to contradict it.

“You are not alone now,” he said.

Selina looked away. “I know.”

Her voice failed slightly on the final word.

Nathaniel came around the desk, then stopped.

“May I hold you?”

She gave a small, helpless laugh which did not resemble amusement.

“You ask the strangest questions at the worst times.”

“I can withdraw it.”

“No.”

She stood. The distance between them vanished because she crossed it.

Selina put her face against his coat and held on. For several seconds she remained perfectly still, as though even now some part of her believed composure might be recovered if she waited.

Then it gave way.

Nathaniel held her. He did not tell her that she had been brave. He did not tell her that her father’s sins were not hers, or that everything would be well, or that Mrs Loxley must have loved her for remembering.

He knew enough now to understand that none of those things was required.

Selina wept quietly against him; one hand closed in his coat. His arms remained around her, steady and unhurried.

Behind them, Petherick removed his spectacles.

“I believe,” he said to the papers, “that the codicil will require my attention at Doctors’ Commons.”

Selina made a sound against Nathaniel’s coat that might almost have been a laugh.

“You are a very tactful man, Mr Petherick.”

“I charge accordingly, Your Grace.”

He gathered the documents he required and withdrew.

Nathaniel waited until the door had closed.

Selina drew back eventually, though not very far.

“I had intended to tell you that with considerably greater dignity.”

“I noticed.”

She gave him a damp, reproachful look.

“I shall forget the undignified portion.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“Perhaps not.”