Page 51 of The Feared Duke’s Found Family

Seven-year-old Peter stood in the doorway, wearing his long flannel nightshirt and clutching his hands in front of his belly. His dark eyes swept over the massive bed, landing directly on Michael nestled among the pillows.

“I want to come in too,” Peter blurted, stepping onto the carpet in urgent haste. He looked up at Lysander, his expression earnest and apologetic. “I left Pickles outside in the box, Father! I promise! I did not bring him across the threshold so he would not bother you or make a mess on the rug!”

A flurry of hurried footsteps sounded down the corridor, and Emily darted through the threshold, breathless, her dark curls tumbling over the shoulders of her white dressing gown.

“I tried to stop him, Father!” Emily said in a desperate rush, her small hands clutching Peter’s sleeve to pull him back, her eyes darting fearfully toward Lysander’s face. “I told him you were speaking with Lady Fanny and that children are not allowed in the Duchess’s chambers at night, but he ran down the hall anyway!”

Lysander felt the familiar, rigid instinct rise in his chest. The schedule had collapsed. The nursery rules dictated that children remained in their designated rooms once the candles were lit. Order demanded that he send them back to the south wing immediately.

He drew a breath, about to issue the command, when he caught Fanny’s eyes across the room.

She did not speak. She merely tilted her chin slightly, offering him a subtle, pleading look that urged him to lower his guard, to soften his iron, and to see the fragile hearts standing on the carpet rather than the breach of discipline.

Lysander paused, his jaw working as he looked from Fanny back down to his two children.

What would she do?

The question rose in his mind, unbidden and foreign, silencing his ledger-driven logic.

Lysander lowered himself down onto one knee, the heavy wool of his trousers pressing into the rose carpet, bringing his gray eyes level with Peter’s.

“It was very thoughtful of you to leave the tortoise outside, Peter,” Lysander said, his voice deep, quiet, and carefully controlled. “As a rule, reptiles and wild creatures do not belong in bedchambers. However…” He paused, allowing a small, deliberate softening around his eyes. “…I believe we may make a single exception for tonight.”

Peter’s eyes widened with pure, unfiltered joy. “Truly?”

“Go fetch him,” Lysander said with a faint nod.

“Thank you, Father!” Peter crowed, turning on his heel and sprinting back into the corridor to retrieve his crate.

Lysander remained on his knee and shifted his gaze to Emily. The little girl stood frozen where Peter had left her, her fingers knotting into the fabric of her dressing gown, her chin tilted up defensively, braced for a scolding that had not arrived.

“Emily,” Lysander said gently. “How are your palms after your fall on the terrace? Are you in pain?”

Emily’s eyes flickered with guarded uncertainty. She tucked her hands behind her back, her posture rigid. “I am quite well, Father. The skin is only red. I do not need any salve.”

An uncomfortable, heavy stillness hung in the air between them. Lysander searched for the right words to bridge the gap, but the language of tenderness felt clumsy and foreign on his tongue, locked behind years of habit.

Before the silence could harden into a wall, Fanny slid off the high mattress.

She knelt beside Lysander, her plum-colored skirts pooling around them, and opened her arms to wrap Emily in a warm, enveloping embrace. Emily hesitated for a fraction of a second before burying her face against Fanny’s neck, her small shoulders sagging with relief.

“Your father was terribly worried when you fell, sweetheart,” Fanny murmured softly, smoothing the dark curls from the girl’s nape as she looked up at Lysander. “His only concern was ensuring you did not hurt yourself. He cares for your safety more than any rule or garden stone.”

Lysander looked directly into his daughter’s searching, dark eyes and nodded firmly. “Fanny speaks the truth, Emily. I only wished to make certain you were all right.”

Emily let out a long, slow breath, a faint, fragile smile finally breaking through her reserved features as she nodded against Fanny’s shoulder, the lingering fear of his disapproval melting away into the warm firelight.

The heavy oak door squeaked open as Peter hurried back into the room, holding the wooden crate carefully with both hands. He set the box securely on the wide bedside table, where Pickles poked his wrinkled nose out from beneath a fresh mound of clover.

Michael sat up higher against the pillows, his face glowing in the firelight. He patted the plush mattress on either side of him with eager, open palms.

“Come up!” Michael said, his voice lighter and brighter than Lysander had ever heard it. “There is plenty of room for all of us!”

Peter needed no second invitation. He scrambled up onto the counterpane, kicking his heels against the mattress before settling cross-legged beside his brother. Emily looked to Fanny, and with a gentle, encouraging nod from her stepmother, she climbed up as well, tucking her nightgown around her knees.

Lysander moved to the side of the grand four-poster bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, the heavy timber groaning softly beneath his weight. Fanny settled gracefully beside Emily, pulling the soft velvet counterpane over the children’s legs.

Michael looked around at the circle of faces, his dark eyes wide with wonder. Then his gaze shifted to Lysander, a sudden, timid hesitation softening his expression. He reached out, his small fingers lightly catching the edge of Lysander’s linen sleeve.