She had bought a nursing chair a mere week ago, in the hopes that she would need it. It looked like she would for much longer than she’d thought possible. While she was relieved that she could keep Melody, she could not help but feel terrible for her deceased mother.
The baby slumbered in her bassinet only a few feet away from them. Mrs. Hughes was in the servants’ quarters and would only be called if needed. For now, the couple chose to have a conversation about their latest discovery in the dimly lit, cozy nursery.
Richard sat on a higher chair, looking thoughtful. He had already removed his coat and waistcoat for the night and had the sleeves of his linen shirt rolled up. She liked seeing how powerful his arms were. However, what truly made her feel safe was theknowledge that he was a good man, and one who would stop at nothing to protect Melody and her.
“Sophie Bramer,” Richard muttered, the name sounding like a disgruntled prayer. “She believed in me even though the last time she saw me was a year ago. I remember now.”
“She died at least knowing her daughter would go to someone who could take care of her,” Victoria said, even as her heart felt a jolt of sympathy for Melody’s poor mother. Then, as if just fully digesting what Richard revealed, she asked, “Wait. You said you had met her before. What do you remember? When did your paths cross? Where?”
Richard moved to the window and rested his forehead against the cool glass. Outside, the night was almost moonless. He stared into the darkness, as if searching for something beyond London.
“What is it, Richard?” Victoria asked, a little afraid.
No, she was not afraid of her husband. Not at all. She was afraid that what he was going to tell her would tear her apart.
’Why had he forgotten? Of course, he feared that Melody might be Penwike’s, but to know it for certain? And to know that he had forced a hapless maid triggered Richard’s memory.
The memory slammed into him hard. A year ago. It was like he was there, smelling the spilled brandy and hearing a young woman’s pleas.
“Stop it, please, my lord!”
The young lady could not be more than twenty, someone’s young girl not too long ago. Yet, Lord Penwike had her cornered against his desk. His hand was on her skirts, bunching them upwards. It was clear what his intention was. At that moment, Richard did not know if it was the first attempt or one of many, but he remembered the white-hot fury it evoked from him.
The sight had the duke crossing the room in just three steps, with his hand quickly grabbing Penwike by the shoulder. He didn’t know where he got the strength to hurl the other man across the room.
“Get out!” he growled at the girl.
He was not angry at her, far from it, but he just wanted her out of harm’s way. Now. She clutched her apron, her eyes wide and shimmering with tears. Desperation lived there. Those were haunted eyes. Looking back, he realized that Sophie had already been living this nightmare, and it might also not be the end of it.
“Hawksford! This is my house!” Penwike bellowed as he scrambled to his feet. His hair was mussed and his cravat askew, but he was also powered by a different kind of fury. He didn’t like it when he could not get what he wanted. He was that sort of man. “How dare you lay hands on me here in my home? Ithought you were trying to avoid a duel to end the feud once and for all! You’ve been staying away. Now, you’re here to fight me over what? Over a mere servant?”
The way he spat out his words revealed how little he thought of the maid, and it drove Richard even madder. He flung himself on Penwike once more, pressing him against the desk. Let him see what it was like being cornered. He used his forearm to pin his lifelong sworn enemy by the throat.
“I came to you to speak about the future, Penwike. We have suffered enough under this senseless feud. I did not come here to indulge your basest instincts. I came to announce that my brother is dead, and I have been officially given the title of Hawksford. I do not wish to inherit my family’s ghosts. I don’t know about you.”
“Ha. So, you’ve become a duke, and you think you can negotiate with me just like that. It was near impossible before you laid your hand on me, and even more impossible afterward.” Penwike sneered at him as he straightened himself a second time since Richard entered the room.
“I am here for a truce. Do you see these?” he asked, slamming a pile of contracts on top of Penwike’s desk. They should be peace offerings, but they weren’t. Richard was simply sick and tired of the war that had been passed from one generation to another. “These are deeds to some profitable lands. I am giving them to you in exchange for peace. We need to stop this inane war.”
Penwike’s face looked startled at first. Then, disgusted. Then, angry. Finally, he was able to spit out his response: “My honor cannot be bought, Hawksford!”
He didn’t wait for his response. He stepped out into the night.
There, a figure waited. It was Sophie.
Richard’s forehead still tingled from the cold glass he had leaned against. He blinked, tasting the chill of the evening air, and tried to steady himself.
“It was her,” he confirmed, looking at Victoria, with a voice he could no longer recognize as his own. “It was Sophie.”
He narrated the rest of what occurred, of how the young maid thanked him for saving her from Penwike’s assault.
“Oh. So, she remembered you from then. She was truly grateful,” Victoria breathed.
“Unfortunately, I suspect she was already with child, then.”
“How do you know that?” the duchess asked, brows furrowed.
“She was touching her belly, just like this,” Richard replied, showing his wife how Sophie’s hand had covered her belly, almost protectively. At that time, he merely thought it odd.
