She looked exhausted. Utterly determined. And looking rather beautiful, though he was loathe to admit it.
The thought arrived unbidden, unwelcome, and he shoved it aside with the ease of long practice.
“You have been industrious,” he said.
She straightened so quickly she nearly lost her balance, one hand flying to steady herself against the cradle. Her hazel eyes found his, and for half a heartbeat, raw emotion flashed in her eyes.
“Your Grace.” She rose gracefully, brushing dust from her skirts in a gesture that somehow managed to convey both propriety and disdain. “We did not expect you quite so soon.”
We.As though she and the infant had formed some alliance in his absence, one that had no place for him whatsoever.
“I informed Mrs. Keating I would return within two days.” He stepped into the room, hyperaware of how his boots sounded against the freshly scrubbed floorboards. Of how out of place he felt in this space she’d claimed and transformed. “I am nothing if not a man of my word.”
“Are you?”
The question came soft as silk. Sharp as steel.
He lifted a brow, falling back into the armor of amused detachment that had served him so well for three decades. “You sound skeptical, Duchess.”
“Do I?” She moved to the window, her spine rigid beneath dusty fabric. The late afternoon light caught in her hair, turning soft brown to amber and gold. “Forgive me. I suppose I have grown unaccustomed to the concept of reliable gentlemen, having beenmarried all of three days and spending two of them entirely alone.”
Ah. There it was.
“I sent word through Mrs. Keating that I would?—”
“You sent word.” She turned from the window, unsuccessfully attempting to hide the frustration evident in the shaking of her hands. “How thoughtful. A message delivered by your housekeeper whilst you fled back to London at first light, leaving me here with a newborn infant and a household of servants who look at me as though I’ve sprouted a second head.”
“I did not flee?—”
“What would you call it, then?” Her voice remained low, controlled, but her hands trembled where they gripped her skirts. “You promised this marriage would be a partnership, that we would face this situation together. And the very morning after our wedding, you ran from us.”
The accusation sent a jolt of irritation through him and he folded his arms. She had no right to… He’d known she would be angry—had anticipated it, even, during the long ride back—but hearing the words spoken aloud frustrated him even more than he thought it would.
“I had business in London,” he said, the words coming out coldly. “Important business, actually, if you would allow me to explain?—”
“Business.” She laughed, the sound brittle and sharp. “Yes, I am certain your clubs and your mistresses and whatever other amusements you pursue could not possibly wait whilst your wife learned how to manage an estate she’d never seen before and care for a child neither of us knows how to raise.”
The mention of mistresses made him unbearably uncomfortable and he pressed his hand in his neck. He’d visited none, had barely thought of them at all, which was perhaps the most unsettling realization of the entire miserable trip.
“You think I was enjoying myself?” He took a step toward her, something hot and unfamiliar rising in his chest. “You believe I fled to London for entertainment whilst you were left here alone?”
“What else am I to think?” She held her ground, chin lifted in challenge. “You made it abundantly clear this marriage is nothing more than a convenience to you. That I am nothing more than a solution to a scandal. Why should I expect you to behave as anything other than what you are—a rake who views responsibility as an inconvenience to be avoided at all costs?”
The words landed like blows, each one precisely aimed. And perhaps he deserved them. Perhaps he’d earned every bit of her contempt with his careless departure and his thoughtless assumptions.
But she was wrong about one thing.
“I was searching for the baby’s mother,” he said quietly.
She blinked, surprise breaking through her anger. “What?”
“The past two days, I have been in London attempting to discover any information about who left this child on my doorstep.” He moved to the window beside her, careful to maintain proper distance even as something in him wanted to close the gap entirely. “I visited orphanages, spoke with matrons who handle such arrangements, made discreet inquiries amongst families who might have reason to hide an inconvenient birth. I called in every favour owed to me and a few that were not, all in an attempt to find some trace of who this infant belongs to and why we were named as guardians.”
The fight seemed to drain from her in increments. “And?”
“Nothing.” The admission tasted like failure. “No one has heard anything. No families in crisis, no mysterious disappearances, no gossip about illegitimate births beyond the usual speculation. It is as though this child appeared from thin air, complete with a letter bearing our names and nothing else.”
Penelope turned back to the window, her profile sharp against the light. He watched her throat work as she swallowed, watched her fingers tighten and release against the windowsill.