Page 3 of The Duchess’ Little Miracle

The frustration was almost boiling over inside him, but William clenched his jaw, forcing himself to keep calm. There was no use raging about the whole situation now.

Mrs. Ayton stepped closer to the table. “The seal is one thing, Your Grace, but the gossip in the village has already begun. The carter who brought her here saw the seal. The local busybodies have been coming by for days, trying to identify it. Even the parish officials are demanding to know who will pay for the girl’s keep.”

William did not look up from the letter.

“These sound like threats to me, Mrs. Ayton,” he said. “I do not respond well to threats.”

“I would do no such thing, Your Grace,” she stuttered. “It’s just... the parish has funds for nameless orphans, yes. But the village is small and people are curious. It would be a considerable scandal if the papers discovered that a child who carried the Duke of Norwyn’s private seal was living on charity. It might be better for everyone if the girl were moved somewhere further north. Completely removed from here. Somewhere no one would ever think to ask questions.”

William slowly lifted his chin, and the glare he fixed on the headmistress caused the woman to halt mid-breath. He despised the transactional ease with which she assumed a child’s life could be bought, paid for, and discarded just to keep a nobleman’s ledger clean.

“You imply a great deal for a woman whose livelihood depends entirely on the goodwill of the local gentry,” William said. “Let me make one matter entirely plain to you, Mrs. Ayton. I had absolutely no knowledge of this child’s existence until your letter arrived at my townhouse. If I did, you would never have set eyes on her. She would not be sitting in a place as run-down and neglected as this orphan asylum, left to the elements and the meager charity of a parish board.”

Mrs. Ayton opened her mouth to say something, but William stepped forward, his frame completely dominating the space between them and forcing her back a full pace.

“Had I known,” William continued. “I would have faced my responsibilities immediately. A Norwyn does not leave his obligations to rot in a damp charity house, nor do I allow village gossips to dictate how my family conducts its affairs. If she belongs under my protection, she will have it, and she will have it openly.”

The headmistress swallowed hard. “Of course, Your Grace. I meant no offense to your character,” she murmured, smoothing her apron. “It is simply that... well, we knew the late Duke, your father. I remember when his hunting parties would frequent the lower village some winters ago. When I look at the girl’s brow, the precise structure of her jaw... the resemblance to the old Carlton blood is quite striking. People will see that resemblance. You look remarkably alike, if I may say —”

“You may not,” William cut her off.

Mrs. Ayton fell silent.

William turned to the girl for the first time. Alice sat perfectly still in her chair, watching him with wide eyes. She showed no emotion, almost as if she was waiting for something to happen. For something to make her react.

“Jameson,” William commanded, extending his hand backward without breaking his gaze from the child. “The draft from the briefcase.”

Jameson moved instantly, retrieving a legal parchment from his case and placing it in William’s hand. William laid the document flat on the table, right over the space where the letter had rested.

“This is a deed of settlement for your chapel roof and an annual endowment for your winter stores,” William said. “It is contingent upon your absolute, permanent silence regarding the letter, and everything that has transpired this afternoon. If a single whisper leaves this parish, the funding ceases permanently, and I will personally ensure the diocese conducts a full review of your administrative books. Do we understand one another?”

Mrs. Ayton looked down at the paper, then back up at William’s face. She curtsied deeply. “The discretion of this house is absolute, Your Grace. Thank you.”

“Excellent. Then I must thank you for your diligence in bringing my... daughter to my attention,” William said and forced a smile. The word daughter tasted foreign, and entirely dangerous on his tongue.

He turned toward the door, not offering a hand, a comforting gesture, or even a second glance to the child as he gave his curt command. “Come, Alice.”

The girl didn’t hesitate. She stood up from the stiff wooden chair, and fell into step a pace behind him.

William walked out of the parlor, and they crossed the entrance hall and stepped back out into the cold, gray drizzle of the courtyard. The footman was already holding the carriage door open, the iron steps lowered against the wet gravel. William gestured sharply for the girl to ascend first, watching her climb onto the leather bench before he climbed in after her, his long legs cramping instantly in the familiar, confined space of the coach. Jameson scrambled in last, shutting the door tightly against the wet wind.

The carriage groaned as the driver signaled the horses, the wheels grinding against the mud as they turned away from the asylum’s gates and began the long journey south.

Inside the coach, the silence was total. Alice sat on the opposite bench, her small boots dangling several inches above the floorboards, her eyes fixed entirely on the passing hedges outside the window. Jameson sat rigidly beside William, his hands folded tightly over his briefcase, his eyes darting between the Duke and the child, practically vibrating with a dozen unasked questions.

Jameson cleared his throat. “Your Grace... I think it is paramount that we discuss what —”

“Not now, Jameson,” he answered. “Not here.”

William leaned his head back against the leather cushions, staring at the small, pale face across from him. The irritation from the eight-hour journey had morphed into a weight in his stomach.

He had absolutely no idea what he was going to do with a child, where she would live, or how he would explain her presence to a society that watched his every move. He only knew that the carriage was moving, and the silence inside it was louder than the rain outside.

He would deal with the rest of it later.

CHAPTER TWO

“When I find this person, Leonora, I swear to you, I am going to make them regret the very day they learned how to hold a quill,” Seraphina Beaumont ranted, her voice hitting a pitch that threatened the structural integrity of the windowpanes.