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“Your Grace, I beg your pardon⁠—”

“Least of all a man who sold her at auction as though she were livestock and now presumes to lecture her on duty.”

“You misunderstand, I only meant⁠—”

“I know precisely what you meant.” He rose from his seat. Laura looked up, taking in his tall, formidable frame. He was defending her. “You have no say in this marriage, Harwood. Not in how it is conducted, not in when or whether it produces heirs, and certainly not in how my wife is spoken to in my presence. You sold your rights to your daughter and any say in her life the moment you signed that contract.”

The color drained from her father’s face.

“Come, Laura.” Nathaniel held out his hand, and she took it without hesitation. She rose on legs that trembled slightly, though whether from fear, fury, or something fiercer and warmer, she wasn’t sure. “We’re leaving.”

“You c-cannot s-simply do this, Your Grace! This is s-still my house!” her father stammered. “Laura, sit down!”

But they were already walking, Nathaniel’s hand warm around hers.

Laura did not look back once as they crossed the hall, collected their coats from a startled footman, and stepped out into the cool evening air.

Neither of them spoke until the door closed and the carriage lurched forward, the lights of Harwood House falling away behind them like a ghost.

Laura let out a long, shaky breath and felt the tears come before she could stop them. They were not sad tears, not exactly, but something messier and more complicated.

“Thank you,” she said when she could trust her voice. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “I most certainly did. You did the same for me, if you recall, and my sister. I think this is what spouses do for one another.” He reached across the carriage, took her hand, turned it over, and traced his thumb slowly across her knuckles. “I will never, ever let anyone talk down to you, Laura. Not your father, not the ton, not anyone. Do you understand me?”

He hooked a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his when she didn’t answer.

Eventually, she nodded, but the tears kept coming.

After a moment, he shifted across the carriage to sit beside her. He gently drew her against his side, and she leaned into his warmth.

“He always does that, you know,” Laura said into the wool of his coat. “Turns everything back to what I can do for someone else. What I’m for. He did it my whole life. Be a good daughter, marry well, honor your mother’s memory, and now it’s to give your husband an heir, as though that’s the next item on the list of things I’m required to produce.”

“It isn’t,” Nathaniel murmured. “It never was.”

“I can’t.” The words came out so small and frightened and fragile, all pretense of strength gone with the wind that howled around the carriage.

She pulled back enough to look at him and found she couldn’t stop now that she’d started. She had to finish the thought.

“My mother died while bringing me into this world, Nathaniel. She bled for two days, and the midwife couldn’t stop it. I’ve heard the story so many times that I can picture it, even though I wasn’t old enough to remember. I can even hear my father telling everyone how she gave her life for a child, like it was an honor, like that’s what a wife is for. I think about it every time…” she trailed off, her throat closing up.

“Every time we’re close,” Nathaniel finished quietly, resting his chin atop her head, and she nodded.

She felt so ashamed and yet so relieved that he’d understood without her having to say it plainly.

“I’m terrified,” she admitted. “I am so afraid it will happen to me too. And not just for my own sake! I worry that I’ll give you a child and it will take me from Iris, from you…”

“It’s all right⁠—”

“And what would that be worth in the end, Nathaniel?” Her voice cracked. “I truly don’t think I can give you an heir. I don’t know if I can even try…”

Nathaniel fell quiet.

Laura braced herself for disappointment, for a diplomatic answer.

“Laura, look at me.”

She did.