“You could not have known what was going on with her at that time, Richard,” Victoria said, sounding resolute. “I wish we could have done something for her then, but the next best thing is to take care of Melody.”
“You are probably right,” Richard said, shoulders slumping.
Richard’s eyes drifted to the sleeping child. He felt a strong protectiveness toward little Melody. He had to admit he thought of her as an inconvenience at first—someone who could destroy his reputation or Victoria’s, and someone who took his wife’s time. As of late, the baby was also one of the reasons he could not even claim his duchess. Not wholly. Not yet.
These days, though, he started looking at Melody as not only his ward, but also his daughter. She might not be of his blood, but he had this strong need to ensure she had everything she would ever need in this life.
“We are all Melody has. We cannot be mere guardians to her,” Victoria murmured, as if reading his mind. “If I may say so myself, I believe we are doing a wonderful job even though we still have so many things to learn about taking care of children. Still, I believe we should visit Sophie’s burial ground.”
“Not only that, Victoria,” Richard added. “She is the mother of our child. We cannot have her forever buried in an unmarked pauper’s grave, with only little scratchings for her name.”
“I know. We can do better for her, although it does not take away the goodness Miss Ewing showed her.”
“No. Never. She gave more than she had for a stranger not of her blood.”
“As we will do so, for the daughter not borne of us,” Victoria said softly, blinking fast and breathing hard. “It is a mystery how a terrible man like Penwike had been allowed to continue his bloodline through a beautiful little girl like Melody.”
“She is no longer of Penwike’s blood. She is now ours. We are her father and mother.”
Richard meant every word. He would like Melody to see him and her as her true father and mother. Perhaps one day they would tell her about Sophie, but that would only happen when their daughter was ready.
He walked back to where Victoria was leaning over Melody. He watched the child sleep peacefully. If the feud was to be believed and followed, he should hate this child. She was of Penwike, conceived through violence, not love.
And yet love did not know how to discriminate. The more he got to know Melody’s background, the more he wanted to crush anyone who would do or say anything terrible to her.
“Of course,” the duchess said.
“Melody is nothing like Penwike,” Richard almost growled the words out. “He might have contributed with blood, but nothing else. Our little girl has been nurtured with love.”
“She is not ours by law, but?—”
“Didn’t I already declare she is a Weston? She is ours, Victoria. We merely have to finalize some things. Penwike will never know who she is, much less come into contact with her.”
“B-but he may already know about her,” Victoria whispered, looking scared.
“No. He does not know for certain.”
The conversation soon turned to more pleasant things before they finally retreated to her room to sleep. They vowed not to let the discovery of Melody’s parentage ruin the peace at Hawksford House.
“No, Melody. Here’s how you hold the rattle,” Victoria instructed, trying to shift the position of the rattle in the baby’s hand. She was trying to do it as gently as possible because Melody had a firm grip.
“I don’t think she likes being told what to do,” Richard commented, grinning.
The three of them were in his study. He was working on some estate business ledgers that he had set aside while he was investigating Melody’s parentage. He liked having them with him. It soothed him, knowing they were close and safe.
The study was large with space enough for a couch where Victoria and Melody could relax. And what a morning it was. It was leisurely and relaxing. They just had their breakfast and were simply enjoying each other’s company.
The door suddenly burst open, and in came Jonathan, looking pale and sweaty at the same time, as if he’d run all the way to the study.
“They don’t announce you anywhere, do they?” Richard asked drily, his way of teasing his friend.
For once, it looked like he was more affable than his friend. He expected the marquess to burst out laughing and declare that meant the whole thing was a prank.
“Uh, Hawthorne let me in as usual,” he said, not even joking. He would normally say that it was his charm that got him in.
“Oh, no. What’s really wrong, Jonathan?” Victoria asked, looking almost as panicked as the marquess.
Jonathan slammed a printed sheet of paper in front of Richard. He was clutching it so hard it was a little crumpled, but he seemed eager to dump it like live coal.
