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"Indeed, if I had not offered to house Louiza, then you both would never have come here. If I had not taken you to the Glenmore Ball you would have never met His Grace," Jane said.

"I suppose that is true. And if you had not forced me to marry Lord Boulton than the urgency in marrying the duke would not have been there," Olivia said cooly.

"Precisely," Jane said completely oblivious that the last statement was meant as an insult, not praise.

"Then I thank you, Aunt Jane," Olivia said playfully.

"You are welcome. I shall say your mother is very well pleased to hear of this marriage," Jane continued.

"Indeed, she is. My sister and I have received letters from her," Olivia said.

She looked back toward the veranda to see that James was still outside. She desperately wanted to speak with him.

At that moment Lady Midton passed and Olivia seized the opportunity. "Oh, Lady Midton, my aunt was just speaking about the Glenmore Ball, did you not also say you were in attendance?"

Lady Midton stopped and addressed Jane with a smile, "Indeed I was, Your Grace. Lady Charnley, were you also there?"

Olivia took slow steps away as the two ladies conversed and made her way to the veranda.

The cool night air immediately brushed against her warm cheeks, and she found him standing near the railing with one hand resting against it. He turned when he heard her approach, his blue eyes settling upon her with quiet curiosity.

"How is the evening going for you?" he asked, taking a slow sip from his glass.

"Very well now that my sister is occupied with the young Tyler Everson," Olivia replied, leaning against the railing beside him.

James glanced through the open doors toward the pair at the card table. "Yes," he said thoughtfully, "the Eversons are a good family indeed."

Olivia smiled as she watched Tyler speak to Louiza, who was still blushing. "They have the ideal family," she said softly. "A daughter and a son."

The words stirred something deep within her, and for one painful moment she imagined what it would be like to have children of her own, a daughter to brush her hair and to play with Felix through the gardens, both laughing beneath the same roof. She wanted that life more fiercely than she had ever admitted aloud, but she swallowed the longing before it could reach her face.

Instead, she turned toward James. "Why do you not want children of your own?" she asked quietly. James became very still, and Olivia immediately wondered whether she had gone too far. "You already know the worst side of my family," she continued, keeping her voice gentle as she folded her hands before her. "You know what my mother is like, what my father is like, and what Louiza and I endured. I am not going to judge you for anything you tell me. You can trust me." She watched him carefully, hoping he might finally open some door he had kept firmly locked since the day they met.

James looked at her for a long moment before his expression hardened into something distant.

"You are lucky to have your sisters," he said quietly, his gaze shifting toward the dark gardens. Olivia waited, hardly breathing, but he continued only after a pause. "I did not have anyone. Not really." His jaw tightened before he added, "I had a father, and he was cruel." Then, as though he had said enough, James pushed away from the railing and walked back inside.

Olivia remained on the veranda, watching him disappear among the guests. His answer did not satisfy her, not remotely, because it had revealed almost nothing and yet somehow revealed more than he had ever told her before.

A cruel father. No siblings. No one to protect him or stand beside him. She pressed her lips together thoughtfully as she looked through the doorway at the man she had married. It was not enough, but it was something.

Olivia understood that James's refusal to speak of children might have less to do with the future than with the family he had survived in the past. And although she still had questions, she knew she had learned one important thing about her husband that night, beneath all that coldness, there was a wounded boy he had spent years trying to bury.

Chapter Twenty-One

James reined his horse to a halt outside the tenant cottage, expecting to find the familiar signs of life within.

Instead, the place was silent. No smoke curled from the chimney, no children played in the yard, and there was not even the sound of a crying infant from inside.

James dismounted slowly, his gaze narrowing as he studied the empty windows.

That is odd.

He had arranged for his former wet nurse to remain with the struggling family, believing he had given them the means to begin again, not disappear without a word.

He knocked firmly on the door before trying the handle, but it opened with ease. The interior was empty, the few belongings they had possessed gone. James stepped inside, his unease deepening with every second.

Why would they leave?