Page 5 of A Baby for the Duke

He remembered almost nothing about the day, but he remembered the crest: the wing of a bird and half a wheel.

“Got you,” he breathed.

The house had gone quiet around him. Somewhere upstairs, a door opened, and there was the thin, distant sound of a child who did not want to be put down, and then Mrs. Pike’s voice, and then nothing.

Colin sat down at the desk and drew a fresh sheet toward him. He was aware, as he trimmed the pen, that he was not thinking clearly, and that writing this letter was the sort of act a man committed at nine o’clock at night after four hours with a box of his brother’s letters.

He did it anyway. He had a child upstairs with his father’s eyes and no mother, a house nobody had entered willingly in six years, and one name.

The Duke of Thorton requests the pleasure of the company of the Marquess and Marchioness of Huntington, and of their daughters, at dinner.

He eyed the word daughters for a while.

“Get dressed.”

Leonora did not raise her head. “I am dressed.”

“Get dressed properly. Both of you. Where is your sister?”

“Under the window,” Marina said from under the window, where she was lying full length on the floor with her boots crossed at the ankles and a bruised apple in one hand. “Good morning, Mama.”

Their mother had arrived in the doorway pink and slightly out of breath, with her cap askew and a letter held out in front of her like a lit taper.

Olivia Belmont, the Marchioness of Huntington, had raised five children and buried none of them and considered every day that she was not planning a wedding to be a day partially wasted. Leonora could tell from three feet away that the day had come off its hinges.

“We are going out to dinner on Thursday,” her mother announced.

“That’s lovely, Mama.”

“To Thorton Manor.”

The book slid off Leonora’s lap.

“The Beast?” Marina squeaked, sitting up.

“Do not call him that.”

“Everyone calls him that.”

“Everyone is very vulgar, and he is a duke.” Their mother pressed the letter to her bosom. “And he has asked to meet my daughters.”

“Nobody has seen the man in years,” Marina said. “Nobody has seen so much as his hat. He could be anything by now. He could be dangerous. He could be bald.”

“Marina.”

“I only mean that six years is a long while for a man to go without being looked at, and things happen.”

“He is a duke,” their mother repeated. “And he has invited us. I daresay he wishes one of you to marry that charming brother of his, which is a great deal better than the alternative. Anyway, we are going.” She turned in a circle in the middle of the room, spotted a movement behind the chests by the wall, and said in a different voice, “Augusta Belmont.”

The chests moved, and a small dark head appeared over the top of them. “May I come, Mama?”

“You may not.”

“But I’m nearly a lady.”

“You are twelve.”

“Nearly thirteen, and I have a very good gown. I would sit perfectly still and say nothing at all and only listen.”