Oh, bother.
“I thought that youwere going to be a good deal heavier, little one,” Madeline cooed down at the baby.
He gave her a gummy smile, reaching up toward her face. A tendril of her hair had come loose, and baby Adam seemed determined to reach it and twine it around his damp little fingers.
“You don’t even know what has happened, do you?” Madeline murmured, dropping her voice. “You don’t understand.”
Of course, he didn’t understand. He was ababy. The horror of losing his parents in such a way would be forgotten at once. He would never even remember them. Perhaps when he was older, he’d think of them with a sort of wistfulness and wish that he hadknown them. He might look at portraits and sketches given to him by other people, and try to see his own features in his parents’ faces.
There’d be no memories, though.
Was it kinder that way, or crueler? Madeline could not make up her mind.
“You shall come home with me, little Adam,” Madeline promised. “Your Aunt Hilda would love to keep you, but she has too many children of her own. Well, never mind, we shall come back and visit her, won’t we? You shall come back to London and live with Papa and me, just like Betty wanted.”
“I am not sure that will happen at all, my dear.”
She flinched at the sudden, familiar male voice. Her flinching jostled Adam, whose gummy smile turned into a burble of discontent. She whipped around, heart beating, and therehewas, standing in the doorway.
The wretched Duke of Tolford.
His broad shoulders seemed to fill the small cottage doorway. The house consisted of only two rooms—a small bedroom and alarger space that served as kitchen, dining room, and parlor all in one. The ceiling was low, and the duke’s head brushed it.
When he stepped forward, he was obliged to duck down to get through the doorway, angling his shoulders sideways. He was wearing one of those dreadfully fashionable riding cloaks with about a hundred capes about the shoulders, which made him seem even larger.
“Your Grace,” she gasped. “What on earth are you doing here?”
He stared at her for a long moment, working his glove off his hand, finger by finger.
“I might ask you the same. Hand over that baby, won’t you?”
She cradled the baby closer, thinking furiously. Her carriage was left back at Hilda’s home, which was only a few minutes’ walk away. There was a coachman there, but he was old and good-natured, and would never be able to fight off a man like the Duke of Tolford.
“No, I will not. What claim do you have on him?”
The duke stared at her as if she were speaking gibberish. “Whatclaim? Madam, you are holding my nephew in your arms.”
“Yournephew?”
“Yes. He is my brother’s son.”
Madeline’s eyes bulged. “Youare part of Anthony’s family? His wretched, vile family that turned their backs on him when he married Betty? You’re beasts, all of you.”
The duke sniffed. “I believe you are not in possession of all the facts, my lady.”
“Well, now seems like the perfect time to possess me of them.” Madeline shot back.
He did not answer for a long moment, and instead strode thoughtfully around the small space, running a fingertip along the mantelpiece.
“I take it,” the duke remarked at last, “that you do not read the gossip columns.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Of course not. Well, thatismy nephew, and his mother’s esteemed aunt…”
“Hilda.”
“Yes, Hilda. She wrote to me and informed me of my brother’s demise. That is why I am here.”
