Page 64 of Duke with a Deception
A few weeks later, she had sent word that she was expecting their child and had been, unbeknownst to her, for some time. King had been shocked. Such an outcome had foolishly never occurred to him. The very notion of a child—a part of him, perhaps even in his own image—had made him queasy.
But he had been determined to uphold his obligation. He had provided Lucinda with all the funds she required. He had purchased a home in the country for her with the intention that she could live there with the child. But Lucinda had refused to do so. She hadn’t wanted to leave London, and she’d had every intention of continuing with her acting. She was Lucinda Hawes, the darling of the stage. Their communication had grownincreasingly sparse and strained as they argued over what was best for the child.
And then word had reached him that she had given birth to their daughter, a baby girl named Daphne. Lucinda had struggled for days. She had been weakened and feverish. By the time he had been made aware of what had happened, Lucinda had already been near death.
He picked up a lace cap, holding it and remembering the first time he had ever seen his daughter. She had been red-faced and tiny, and he had been instantly in love. He had sent his physician to look after Lucinda, and he had taken Daphne with him because Lucinda hadn’t been lucid enough to care for the babe. Everything had unfolded with imprecise haste. A wet nurse had been procured; the nursery had been prepared.
Daphne had left him in awe—a tiny person, half of him. He had vowed to protect her always. To love her and give her the best life he could. Lucinda had died soon after he had taken Daphne to Castelyn House. He could well remember the feeling—knowing he was the only one this tiny babe would have in the world. He had mourned Lucinda, the loss of her, his child’s mother, a woman he had once cared for. But he’d had Daphne to look after. And then…
King closed his eyes against a prickle and rush of heat.
Daphne had been weak. She’d never taken to feeding as she ought, despite the wet nurse’s best efforts to persuade her. It had seemed to King that one moment she had been crying in his arms, and the next, she had been listless and burning up with fever. Just as suddenly, she had been gone.
He hadn’t been prepared for the crushing weight of the agony.
For the finality.
He had ordered the nursery to be sealed away. Had done everything in his power to forget.
A hot tear slipped free, rolling down his cheek.
Forgetting wasn’t the panacea he had once believed it to be. Because forgetting hadn’t made the pain go away. It was still there, at the periphery of his every day, his every hour, waiting for him to lower his guard, to claim him in its relentless grasp.
He hadn’t allowed himself to weep. Not since he’d held his precious daughter lifeless in his arms. He had believed he had lost his heart along with Daphne, or what had remained of it. But Verity—and, in her own way, little Emma—had made him realize that he hadn’t. He still had a heart after all.
“King?”
He started at the sound of Verity’s voice, finding her hovering at the door. He hadn’t heard her open it, and he wasn’t sure he wanted her to see him this way, but it was too late to avoid that now.
He sniffed, hoping she wouldn’t take note of the tear. “Angel. What are you doing up here?”
“Looking for you.”
“I didn’t think anyone knew where I had gone.” Christ knew he hadn’t told any of the servants where he was going or what he intended to do.
It was no one’s concern but his.
Verity’s gaze traveled over him, stopping on the bonnet he held in his hands before returning to his. “Mrs. Sendall did.”
“The bloody woman is omnipotent,” he grumbled, grateful for the distraction.
“I am persuaded she is as well,” Verity said. “Certainly, she has to be, to run a household as efficiently as she does.”
He tucked the bonnet back into the crate with gentle care. “You must be wondering why I’m riffling through the attic.”
“I can see which crate you are inspecting.” The look Verity gave him was tender. “Do you wish to be alone?”
“No,” he said at once, realizing that he didn’t. He had come here on his own, but having her with him felt at once comforting and…right.
“May I join you?”
He nodded, swallowing a lump of emotion that had risen in his throat. “Of course you may. Though I must caution you that it’s damp and the air is quite cool.”
“I don’t mind.” Daintily lifting her skirts in one hand, she bent and entered the filled attic cavity.
She didn’t stop until she was on her knees at his side. The scent of bergamot and roses chased some of the mustiness. She extended a hand to him, and he realized she was holding a small scrap of linen embroidered with initials.
His.
