Chapter 4
“My parents will not take this calmly,” she said as she stared out the window. “They’re likely to believe I’ve gone mad.”
The Carden carriage was a thing of quiet malice, all black lacquer and brass trim, swallowing sound as it barreled through the ruts. Felix had insisted they take it, rather than some less conspicuous hackney, and now he was beginning to regret that decision.
The interior was close—too close—and warm, heavy with the scent of new leather. The baby’s smooth breathing layered itself over every other sound.
He leaned back, stretching one boot forward until it grazed the basket at Rose’s feet. “Your parents can be managed. I’ll send a note as soon as we reach the hall. In the meantime, I will see to the special license and have my solicitor fix the papers for Lizzie’s guardianship.”
Rose sat opposite, the infant in her arms, swaddled and cradled as if she expected the next bump to launch Lizzie into the hedgerow.
Felix noted the discipline of her hold, the way she used her whole arm rather than just her hands.
She almost looked like a mother, despite the glacial set of her features.
He could also see a trace of indignation in Rose’s eyes. “All so neat. Why not order up a new set of memories while you’re at it?”
He scoffed, counting the seams in the carriage’s velvet roof as if they might prevent his coming headache. “Would you rather I toss you and Lizzie to the wolves of society all alone?”
“There’s a difference,” Rose replied, “between offering a home and performing charity for the sake of your conscience.”
“Charity has never been one of my vices, I assure you.”
“No,” she said, gently. “But self-preservation is.”
He wanted to snap at her, to say something sharp about the luxury of self-righteousness, but the baby hiccupped, then started huffing in preparation to cry, making both adults turn to her at once.
For a moment, their mutual enmity was forgotten in the face of a wailing, red-faced infant who had not agreed to any of this.
Rose adjusted Lizzie’s blanket, tucking it around her shoulders with a touch. “She’s hungry,” Rose muttered. “Or overtired. Or both.”
Felix reached for the baby before he thought better of it, but Rose was quicker, shifting Lizzie onto her shoulder and bouncing her with a practiced rhythm. He let his hands fall, trying to hide the way the rejection stung.
“You could have prevented this,” Rose said, her voice lower now.
Felix stared at Lizzie’s tiny fist knotted in the fabric of Rose’s dress. “If you’re so certain of my failings, Lady Rose, you might as well enumerate them to my face instead of sighing them at the window.”
“If you had come for Julia when she needed you, none of this would have happened.”
The duke sighed. “Listen, I understand why you feel the need to display such strong-willed defiance… and even hostility. Today has been filled with many… surprises, not all of them good. But you should know, Lady Rose, that this sort of conduct will not be tolerated when we reach Carden Hall. It would behoove you to remember to whom you speak.”
Rose shook her head and glared at him. “You clearly understand very little, Your Grace, except your own needs. If you had ever put someone ahead of yourself, Julia might still be alive today. You would do well to remember that.”
The words were so bald, so unadorned, that they left no room for argument. He gripped the seat’s leather, knuckles whitening. Lizzie chose that moment to howl in earnest, and whatever his response might have been died on his lips.
He found himself fighting the urge to shout, laugh, or simply speak the truth. Instead, he let silence spool out between them in the way only deep anger could allow.
After a while, Lizzie’s wails dwindled to a string of indignant squeaks. Felix watched as Rose rocked her gently, murmuring some sweet words over and over. The baby’s eyelids drooped, and Felix, against his better judgment, felt a strange warmth that was not anger at all.
“She has my eyes,” he said, meaning it as an observation, but Rose heard the confession in it.
“Of course she does,” Rose replied, voice flat. “She’s your daughter.”
He looked away, focusing on the swirl of landscape outside the window, and decided it was better to let Rose believe that, at least for the moment.
Some truths were not yet ready to be aired, not when even thinking them made his skin crawl.
Felix smoothed his waistcoat, regaining his composure. “Her origins will remain between us. In public, she will be our niece. A poor orphaned cousin, taken in out of family duty. If you wish, you may even select her new surname.”
Rose’s frown deepened. “She deserves the truth. Julia would have wanted her to know who she really was.”
“When she’s old enough,” Felix said. “Until then, she deserves security, not speculation that would lead to scandal.”
He did not add that he himself had grown up suffocating in a house full of secrets; it would have been too much like making an excuse.
The fields outside grew patchier, spring barely coloring the land, and Felix watched the hedges flick by, his jaw set. He had imagined this ride a hundred diverse ways: as a triumph, as an escape, even as a bitter joke.
He had not expected to feel this confined.
He cleared his throat. “We have several hours yet. If you wish to rest, Lady Rose, I will not stop you.”
She shot him a look that could have soured milk. “I would rather watch over the baby. My best friend asked me to take care of Lizzie, and I intend to honor her final wishes.”
He nodded. “Suit yourself.”
Rose settled back in her seat, the baby finally nodding off, her face smoothed into a wary peacefulness. Felix watched her as long as he dared, then closed his eyes and let the rhythm of the carriage lull him into a fugue state where neither of them had yet lost.
It was not a truce, not even close, but for the space of a long afternoon, the war was silent.
Carden Hall loomed against the failing daylight like a warship ready for siege.
The carriage jostled to a stop on the graveled drive, and for a long moment, Felix sat motionless, unwilling to break the illusion of transit, of not yet having arrived.
The air inside was close, charged with everything unsaid between him and Rose, and with the sticky warmth of an infant finally surrendering to sleep.
Outside, a half-dozen footmen had arrayed themselves in a neat row, uniforms brushed to a parade sheen. Felix smirked. He had not written ahead, yet the staff must have heard the carriage wheels and mobilized as if for a royal visit.
He stepped out first, boots sinking a fraction into the gravel, and then turned to offer a hand to Rose. She ignored it, gathering Lizzie and her basket with practiced efficiency, the way a woman does when she expects nothing and wants for nothing.
Felix let his hand fall. The gesture felt absurd now.
The butler appeared from the front entrance, a man so pale and bony he looked like the spirit of Carden House itself, starched into permanence.
“Welcome home, Your Grace,” he intoned. “Lord Aldworth is waiting in the study.”
“Of course he is,” Felix said, giving Rose a sidelong glance before turning back to the butler. “See that his glass is never empty.”
The butler’s eyes slid to Rose, flickered for the briefest moment on the child, then snapped back to Felix. “Shall I announce your other guest, sir?”
Felix hesitated. “Yes. You may announce her as Lady Rose. And you may as well announce Lizzie. She is to be treated as my ward from now on. My cousin, Michael’s daughter, was orphaned and left to my care.”
The lie came smoothly, practiced in his head, but he risked a glance at Lady Rose. She betrayed nothing.
“Very good, Your Grace.” The butler pivoted and led the way, motioning to a pair of maids to attend to Lady Rose’s things.
They entered through the grand vestibule, breathing in the cool air of the marble, every surface so clean it nearly blinded. Felix’s boots struck each slab in perfect time, a percussion that seemed to announce: Yes, the master is home, but never quite at home.
The interior felt foreign to him now, more so with Lady Rose trailing two steps behind and holding the baby in the crook of her arm.
The staff had assembled in a formal line. Each wore the careful mask of a professional observer, attentive, but never shocked, even when presented with the unexpected.
Felix made a mental note that Lady Rose’s habit needed to be changed as soon as possible. She looked more like a nursemaid than a future duchess.
He introduced her anyway, his voice carrying. “Lady Rose, soon to be Duchess of Carden. This is Lizzie, my ward.”
He found he could not call her a niece without his tongue rebelling, so he left it at that.
The staff bowed or curtsied in turn. The housekeeper—a formidable woman with a sharp gaze and wicked tongue—did not even blink at the baby, but met Lady Rose with a look, the girl by his side almost shrinking under the scrutiny.
The woman ran more wayward noblewomen than anyone through her kitchen, so she wasn’t to be tested.
Felix enjoyed the thought.
“Your rooms are prepared, my lady,” said the butler. “The nursery is aired, and the nurse will take the child at your discretion.”
“Thank you,” Lady Rose responded, voice thin but steady.
They walked further down the corridor, and Felix was reminded of how many steps led to his study: forty-four, precisely. Before they headed off, the butler peeled away with Lizzie in his arms, the baby blinking up at him as if evaluating her new fate.
Then, Felix turned to Lady Rose. He meant to say something that would ease the tension, but she cut him off.
“Are you going to tell Lord Aldworth the truth?” she asked.
He admired the directness, even as it irritated him. “A version of it,” he said. “He’s my friend.”
Lady Rose chewed her lip, an uncharacteristic nervousness flitting across her face. “Are you certain he’s… discreet?”