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“I was very lucky. I walked into a room and saw Marie; I instantly knew that I would love her for the rest of my life.”

Ophelia leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Does anyone know what a romantic spirit lurks behind the Duke of Lindow’s aristocratic countenance?”

“I don’t give a damn if they do.” He said it simply, without shame.

Many men would have been mortified to admit to feeling so strongly. Certainly Peter would have been startled and annoyed had he been struck by such a ferocious emotion.

“I felt exactly that way when I saw Viola,” Ophelia said, pulling up her knees and wrapping her arms around them. “She was wrinkled and her head had the oddest shape. I thought she might be deformed for life. And yet I loved her so much that my heart didn’t seem to have enough space for the emotion.”

“When you have another child, your heart will magically find room. Horatius is a pompous boy, and yet I cannot stop myself from adoring him. Alaric is wild and curious; North is a philosopher at heart and a devil-may-care horseman; Parth is determined to be the richest man in England. The boys tease him for his mercenary goal, but he doesn’t give a damn.”

“And your other children?”

“I don’t know them as well yet,” Hugo said. “We fathers aren’t encouraged to spend time with very young children. Marie spent a great deal of time in the nursery, so I would go there to find her.” He frowned. “I know the boys much better than Yvette’s children, because she didn’t believe in nursery visits. She thought it disrupted children’s routine and might confuse them.”

“A man doesn’t need permission from his wife to visit his own children,” Ophelia said, her tone rather tart.

Hugo leaned against the headboard. “I do visit these days, but briefly, I’m afraid. I’m often very busy. I’m not offering that by way of excuse, but virtually every day brings some complication.”

“What sort of things do you do?” Ophelia asked. “Peter—” She caught herself. “My estate is small, of course. It takes me one morning a week, at most.”

“I am the judge for my county court, which encompasses three villages. Two hundred tenants work in and around the castle, and then I own a townhouse in London, and an estate in Scotland. And a few other concerns.”

Ophelia nodded. “It does sound like a great deal of work.”

“Not enough to make up for the fact that I don’t know my four younger children as well as I should.”

“That is also true.” Ophelia kept her tone even, because Peter hated nothing more than disapproval from her. A spouse, he always said, was the bulwark against the world’s unkindnesses and should never be critical.

Hugo just nodded. “What do you suggest I do?”

“Spend part of every day with them. Not just a visit to the nursery. Do things together.”

“They are very small,” Hugo objected. “Joan cries every time she sees me.”

“That must make you feel terrible.”

“I would like to say yes,” he said. “I want you to think—well, to admire me. But to be honest, I always thought that at some point she would stop crying. Perhaps by the time she was able to carry on a conversation. As I told you, Joan’s nanny reports that she doesn’t speak yet.”

“Joan has her own nanny?”

He nodded. “The two younger children have nannies, Mrs. Banks and Mrs. Winkle. There’s a governess, Miss Trelawny, for the older children. And some nursemaids, Myrtle, Flora, and Delia.”

“Viola doesn’t have a nanny,” Ophelia confessed. She felt even guiltier upon hearing about all the people helping the duke’s children become civilized adults. “I only have a nursemaid. Of course, I ought to acquire a proper nanny.”

“Not if you don’t want to,” Hugo said.

“I am a lady, and Viola must be a lady too. What if she thinks that one’s mother is no more than a playmate?” She peeked at Hugo from under her lashes. “Sometimes we play together.”

He blinked, as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

“I cut out houses from foolscap. People too. Sometimes horses, though I’m rubbish at cutting around their legs.”

“She plays with paper?”

“She does crumple them,” Ophelia said with a wry smile. “But not before I tell her a story about the people who live in the house.”

“I cannot tell stories,” Hugo said. His tone was final.