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She turned with grace as she walked toward the double oak doors of the study. She paused at the threshold, her hand resting upon the brass handle as she looked back at him over her shoulder.

"Now, if you will excuse me, Your Grace," Helena said softly, "I must go to the nursery. Our son is waiting."

Instantly, she turned the handle, opened the heavy oak door, and stepped out into the grand hallway, leaving the Duke alone in the quiet shadows of his study.

Chapter Five

"Your Grace, may I have your permission to enter?"

Swaddled in layers of finest cream flannel and soft French lace, Oliver stirred restlessly against Helena's bodice, his small fingers clutching blindly at the fabric of her gown. She rocked gently on her heels, humming a soothing lullaby under her breath while she patted Oliver's back. She prayed he stayed quiet just long enough to let the afternoon go smoothly.

"Yes."

Helena had spent the last hour convincing herself that this visit was necessary, yet as she walked past the study's doors, she swore she could feel a wave of chill from George's cold and unyielding presence.

George was seated behind his desk, dressed in a dark navy morning coat that fit his broad shoulders impeccably and almost obscured by towering piles of estate ledgers, agricultural reports, legal deeds, and stacks of unanswered correspondence.

Upon seeing Helena enter with Oliver in her arms, his pen stopped abruptly mid-word. A frown creased his forehead, and his eyes narrowed with displeasure. He leaned back against the high rest of his leather armchair, folding his broad hands across his chest as he fixed Helena with a cold stare.

"Why are you here, and why did Oliver have to accompany you?"

The icy atmosphere in the study seemed too great for Oliver, and he began to squirm in Helena's arms. Helena swayed gently from side to side, bouncing him lightly in her arms while attempting to soothe his mounting distress with reassuring whispers.

"Your Grace, do I need a particular reason, or an invitation like Esther required from King Xerxes, to bring your nephew before you?"

Helena moved closer to the desk, stepping around a pair of heavy leather armchairs, as she presented the squirming boy across the wide mahogany surface to his uncle.

George stiffened. He pressed himself farther back into his chair as though she were holding a dangerous weapon rather than a helpless three-month-old babe. He refused to extend his hands or make the slightest movement to receive the child, his broad palms remaining glued to the armrests of his chair.

"He will be in your care for many years, Your Grace," Helena explained softly, her voice remaining calm and steady despite Oliver's growing protestations. "Perhaps Your Grace might take a few moments to accustom yourself to the child?"

"I possess no skill or inclination for the soothing of infants, as Your Grace ought to be well aware," George declared coldly. "That is precisely why this estate maintains a head nursemaid, an assistant nurse, and a full nursery staff to attend to his every need and comfort."

Helena shook her head slightly, a rare flash of open exasperation breaking through her carefully cultivated composure. "He is a living child, Your Grace, not a part of the estate to be delegated to paid hands," she pointed out as she held his icy gaze. "You ought to get accustomed to your nephew. He is your recognized heir, after all, and if he is to grow up within these walls, bear the Percy name, and eventually inherit this vast domain, he must grow accustomed to the sound of your voice and learn to trust the safety of your presence."

George's blue eyes darkened as he sat up straight, leaning forward to rest his heavy forearms against his desk. "I do not take orders in my own house, and you would do well to remember that. I am fully cognizant of my responsibilities. I will fulfill them and will not tolerate being lectured upon domestic propriety or parental duty within these private walls. You will take the boy back to his nursery at once.."

His pride is an impenetrable fortress that permits no entry, even from those who seek only to guide him toward his own blood, Helena thought, her heart swelling with a painful mix of resentment and deep pity for the innocent child in her arms.

She pulled Oliver closer against her breast, shielding his small head with her hand as she gently patted his swaddled back to muffle his sharp cries. She turned on her heel, her skirts rustling softly as she moved toward the double doors.

"I expect you tonight after Mr. Percy has been put to bed, Duchess," George's deep, commanding voice rang out, halting her movement.

"Tonight, Your Grace? I was under the distinct impression that our formal obligations to one another were entirely concluded upon the signing of the parish register in the chapel vestry. Is there some urgent matter that requires my presence at such an unseemly hour?" Helena inquired, her voice betraying the sharp edge of her confusion despite her best efforts to remain composed.

George stood up slowly, his tall figure casting a long shadow across the polished floorboards in the dim late-afternoon light. He smoothed down the front of his navy broadcloth coat as he stepped out from behind the desk. He walked slowly, stopping only a few feet away from Helena.

"Have you so quickly forgotten the first rule we established in this very room?" George asked smoothly.

Helena tilted her head slightly, holding his piercing gaze. "I remember the rule with absolute clarity, Your Grace. However, we are currently standing within the secluded confines of Cavendish Manor, miles away from the drawing rooms of Mayfair and the watchful eyes of London society."

"That is precisely where your tragic lack of experience in managing a great ducal household betrays your understanding," George replied, a cynical edge sharpening his tone as he gestured broadly toward the closed doors of the study. "Do you truly harbor the naive delusion that privacy exists within these walls merely because the front gates are locked against the public? We are required to maintain appearances even within the deepest, most private recesses of this manor."

He took one small step closer, his icy blue eyes meeting hers. For an instant, Helena saw a flicker of unguarded truth behind the walls he raised with every word. "Housemaids, footmen, cooks, and butler's assistants whisper truths – or, twisted fabrications of the truth – to the outside world far faster than any fashionable hostesses of the ton. If the maids observe that the Duke dines in solitary isolation in his study while the Duchess remains sequestered in her private bedchamber, by tomorrow morning the entire ton will be abuzz with news of a broken union."

He paused, letting the heavy weight of his words settle between them before delivering his final directive. "Therefore, we shall establish our public standard within these walls starting this very evening. You will dress in appropriate evening attire and descend to the formal dining room at eight o'clock precisely. We shall take our evening meal together, seated at the head of the long table in full view of the assembled household staff. We shall smile together, we shall converse with polite devotion, we shall walk through the public rooms together, and we shall appear every inch the deeply affectionate husband and wife that society demands us to be."

If I am to protect Oliver's future and safeguard the solemn promise I made to Charlotte, I cannot permit a single slip in our defenses, no matter how taxing George's presence may be.