Page 34 of A Lady, Her Lord, & Their Duke

“Our nephew,” said Nev fondly. “My heir.”

Arabella coughed. “Anyway, Nev and I traveled to Eton today to take Toby a parcel of treats. Things he can eat or play with or trade. However, when we were introduced to Harry, he said something so alarming that we simply had to scoop up both boys and come straight here.”

Edmund went cold. What had his son said?

“Go on,” he croaked, bracing himself. “Wait, no, I’ll hear it from Harry himself. What did you say?”

Harry took a deep breath, as though bracing himself as well. Toby put a hand on his shoulder, and a little devastatingly, Nev put his hand on the boy’s other shoulder. “I said that you h-hate me. Because I took too long to be b-born.”

The words were like an arrow to the heart. His son thought he hated him?

Christ. His failure was far worse than he’d ever imagined.

Edmund rubbed a hand across his face, then through his hair, but it was too late. His armor of stoicism had disappeared, he was stripped bare and drowning in shame.

Just when it seemed all hope was lost, a feminine hand came to rest on the small of his back, halting his plummet into the abyss. A simple gesture of support. Encouragement. A chance to make this right.

“No,” he said eventually, then more forcefully, “No.”

“But you don’t like talking to me,” said Harry. “Or playing games. And…and you love Cressida. She is your pirate princess. But I’m never your pirate prince.”

Edmund swallowed hard, but a jagged boulder remained lodged in his throat. “I…I…”

Abruptly, Arabella cleared her throat. “I am famished. Nev, Toby, why don’t we invade the kitchens and see what they have to offer?”

The three Carlisles then departed the room so swiftly that sparks almost flashed from their heels. Leaving him and Harry alone. Just staring at each other.

Edmund straightened his shoulders and slowly moved forward to the overstuffed couch. “Mind if I sit?”

Harry looked startled, but he shuffled over. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to embarrass you, sir.”

Edmund flinched at the formality. He’d been such an ass, continuing the most foolish Vane family tradition of keeping sons at a distance. It didn’t make a boy more resilient and ready to be a duke, it just hurt. Toby was clearly, openly loved, and not only did he seem to be a good friend, he was quite prepared to stand up and fight for what was right. The mark of a true gentleman. “You didn’t embarrass me. Or at least no more than I deserve for not being the father you should have had. I have made so many mistakes, not least of which was not saving your mother when she was sick.”

Harry frowned. “But you didn’t give her the fever. She got caught in the rain when out riding with her friend and was in wet clothes for hours. And you summoned a physician with all the tonics and poultices. He was the best. Everyone said so.”

Edmund sat forward, hunching over at the reminder of those harrowing few days. No one had expected Lydia to fall so quickly. Nor could they explain how the fever had consumed her like a locust, robbing her of the ability to speak or eat, draining her strength until she was an ashen, sweating shell. Then she passed. Oh, the physician had tried to placate him with terms like “weakened lungs from a childhood illness” and “prolonged exposure to cold wind” but Edmund hadn’t believed him. His duchess was dead, and it was his fault. If he’d just done more, moved faster…

Then he felt it. The softest touch on his shoulder. A pat.

Even after everything, his son was trying to comfort him.

Edmund’s vision blurred and he sucked in a breath, trying to quell the waterfall gathering. But tears were soon trickling down his face. “I apologize,” he choked out. “For not playing with you in the nursery. For making you feel so hurt and heavy and alone. It was very wrong. I was very wrong. I felt the same as you growing up…and then I continued the poor example my father and grandfather set.”

“Sir—”

“Listen to me, Harry. This is important. How long it took for you to be born…that was not your fault. It was no one’s fault. Sometimes babies come fast, and sometimes they come slow, and sometimes they don’t come at all, no matter how hard you wish. But the night you arrived…all the stars were shining. They knew how special you were. If you’d come earlier…it might not have been you. And we wanted, we needed our Harry.”

His son stared at him, eyes glistening. “Really, sir?”

Edmund exhaled slowly. “Not sir. Just Father. I should have told you long ago how glad, how fortunate I am that you are my son. Just as I am glad and fortunate that Cressida is my daughter.”

“Cressida said that even though you and Mother didn’t do so well together, you both loved us very much. Is that true?” Harry asked hesitantly. “It is hard to know because Mother didn’t play with me either.”

How did one explain aristocratic upbringings that could vary from loving to indifferent to downright hellish? Lydia’s childhood had been no warmer than his own, hence her rebellion at the Michaelmas festival. Two people, both looking for love and approval in entirely the wrong way. And both so…so unready for children. Hell, they’d barely known each other, let alone what they wanted in life or for a family. And then his father had passed and he’d inherited the dukedom as well. Overwhelming didn’t begin to describe that time.

“It is absolutely true that your mother and I loved you both very much,” Edmund said slowly. “Unfortunately, we didn’t know how to say it. Or show it very well. Because we didn’t learn how.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “But it’s so easy. You say ‘I love you’ and wrap them in a big hug and ruffle their hair and play with them. That’s what Toby’s mother does. And his aunt and uncle.”