Page 6 of A Necessary Wife

But he would never forgive her. He couldn’t ever forget, either.

A rush of steps alerted Milo to the return of the butler. He turned toward the door.

“His Grace will see you now upstairs, unless you’d care to freshen up first,” the butler offered, glancing him over.

“I…” he began, looked over his clothing and dusty boots, too. He didn’t look too bad, and Papa normally didn’t mind if he wasn’t freshly pressed when they met. But he did run a hand through his hair, striving to neaten it. After he spoke with his father, he’d request a servant to act as a valet, so he was properly turned out for when he saw his bride again. “I will see him now.”

“Very good, my lord.” Brown gestured toward the main staircase. “His Grace begs you to keep your voice down.”

Milo frowned at the request for lowered voices when there was a party going on. Was the duchess ill? Or was there something wrong with his new brother?

Brown led him quickly and silently into the family wing and scratched at the duke’s door before pushing it open.

Milo walked inside, suddenly struck by the unexpected thought that perhaps it was Papa who might be unwell.

He was standing at the window, dressed in a banyan, barefoot, and his hair tousled horribly.

“Father?”

Papa hurriedly put his finger to his lips as he turned. In his arms was a small wriggling bundle, and by the duke’s gesture, the boy was fighting sleep.

Milo tiptoed the rest of the way to his father and, because of the child, awkwardly embraced him with one arm. Then, when the boy saw him, patted his back with his other hand.

His father looked beyond tired, and as Milo studied his face more closely, he noticed the presence of deep lines around his eyes, far more than there usually were when he laughed. The gray in his hair had increased, too.

“Have I come at a bad time?”

“It’s been a difficult few weeks,” the duke murmured, rocking his youngest son, but an indulgent smile played over his lips as he looked down on the infant. “I should never have been persuaded to host another gathering so soon after the last one.”

The duke continued to regard his youngest with obvious affection and a rueful smile. Milo had seen that look of devotion many times before. They had all tried Papa’s patience at one time or another but still had him wrapped around their fingers.

“Is the child unwell? Are my children in good health?” Milo asked anxiously. His pair had been staying upstairs in the nursery for the last weeks since Christmas, while he called on Reynolds then went to London to fetch the special license. He hoped they hadn’t been forgotten in the excitement of the party.

The duke shook his head. “No, and yes. Your children missed you. However, this little one is ill-prepared to sleep when we expect him to and demands attention when we have other things to do.”

“Oh.” Milo exhaled in relief as he looked upon his little brother, but he had no advice to offer his more experienced father. Papa had raised his first children, largely on his own after Mama had died. And Milo, caught up in the struggle to understand his late wife’s actions, had left his offspring in the hands of capable and less-emotional servants. But that was all about to change. “Where is Her Grace?”

“At least she takes a nap when I tell her to,” his father grumbled. “It’s been difficult for both of us. The child suddenly will not sleep unless one of us holds him. Gillian has borne the brunt of it, but there’s only so much holding she can do.”

“Can the servants not be more useful to you?”

The duke shook his head. “We prefer not to involve the servants too much. They have their hands full enough looking after your offspring and our guests. I should have postponed, but Gillian would not hear of it.”

Guilt slashed through him for leaving his children here at such a busy time. Had he known about the party, he would have made other arrangements. But when he’d left his children here, he’d been assured it was no imposition. Papa had wanted them to stay at Stapleton with him.

Milo set his hand on his father’s shoulder and squeezed. “If it’s any consolation, they do grow out of this stage. Eventually.”

“I long for that day to arrive quickly,” the duke said. “Hopefully, I’ll still be alive by then.”

Milo blinked. “Father. What do you mean by that?”

The child stirred and grumbled.

“It means I am feeling my years tonight,” the duke answered, patting the boy’s rear. “This used to be easy for me, but things have changed, or perhaps I have.”

Milo reached for his brother. “Here, give him to me. I remember walking Jessica about when she was like this.”

The duke relinquished the child, exhaled in relief, and rolled his shoulders. “It’s good to have you back home, son.”