Page 23 of The Feared Duke’s Found Family

His lips parted, his voice barely more than a scratch of air, so faint Fanny had to lean in to catch it.

“…Does he have a name?” Michael whispered.

A soft, genuine breath of relief escaped Fanny’s lips.

“Not yet,” Fanny replied softly, her amber eyes bright with warmth. “I was rather hoping you might help me choose one.”

Michael stared at her for a moment longer before looking back down at his wooden toy, but the rigid tension in his little shoulders had dissolved, replaced by a quiet, brooding curiosity.

Fanny did not force the issue. She offered him a soft, patient smile, acknowledging his space without pushing him into a corner.

The silence stretched as the meeting reached its natural conclusion. Lysander straightened his shoulders, ready to dismiss the children back to the nursery so he could finalize the legal details of the settlement.

“That will be all,” Lysander began, lifting his hand.

Fanny instantly turned her head, fixing him with a look so sharp and meaningful it stopped the words in his throat. Her amber eyes held a clear, silent command: Ask them.

She wanted to know their opinion. She was refusing to let him decide their fate over their heads.

Lysander swallowed a sudden spike of annoyance.

Fine.

He turned back to his three children, his broad frame standing tall beside the fireplace. “How would you feel,” Lysander asked, his gravelly voice echoing in the grand room, “about having Lady Fanny around Hilgrove Manor more often?”

Emily was the first to answer. She looked at Fanny, a shy but genuine smile touching her lips. “I would like that very much, Father. She speaks to us like we were big people.”

Peter bounced on his heels, pointing an excited finger at Fanny. “I say yes, too! As long as she brings what we agreed on!”

Lysander glared at Peter. He was definitely going to find out what that meant before the sun set.

Finally, all eyes turned to Michael. He stood frozen under the collective gaze of the room. He looked at his father’s hard, imposing face, then shifted his gaze to Fanny, who offered him a gentle, unhurried nod of encouragement.

Michael swallowed hard. He did not speak a word, but slowly, deliberately, he dipped his chin in a single, clear nod.

Good enough.

“It is settled, then,” Lysander declared, the low baritone of his voice ringing with absolute finality.

He turned his head to look directly at Fanny. She stood straight by the settee, her cheeks slightly flushed, her chin high as she met his dark gray gaze across the rug.

“Yes,” Fanny said quietly, her voice steady and resolute. “It is settled.”

Ten

The heavy mahogany door closed behind her with a soft, final thud.

As Fanny stepped out onto the wide stone portico, the cool afternoon breeze rushed over her heated skin, fluttering the lace trim of her bonnet. Her slippers tapped lightly against the smooth steps. Yet before she reached the bottom step where the carriage waited, an odd, prickling sensation crept up the nape of her neck.

She stopped, her hand lingering on the wrought-iron balustrade.

Driven by an irresistible pull, Fanny turned and looked back up at the imposing facade of Hilgrove Manor. Rows of dark, led windows reflected the gray autumn sky, grand and unblinking. But on the second floor, near the eastern wing of the house, a heavy velvet curtain twitched. For a fraction of a second, the fabric pooled aside, as if someone had been standing there, peering down at her, watching her every move.

Then, the velvet fell flat, still and lifeless once more.

Fanny drew a slow breath, her heart softening.

Michael.