Page 29 of The Duke's Unclaimed Bride
If Tilly had broken this…
He sighed and carefully placed the plate into a lined desk drawer to keep it safe from future harm.
Perhaps I should move all the breakable objects out of Tilly’s reach.
He frowned as he scanned his study and assessed exactly what he should move. Nearly everything on his old shelves was, in some way, breakable. His globe, old books, other porcelain items, and delicate crafts.
When he had offered Edith marriage, it had not been on impulse, but it had also not been with proper planning.
I shouldn’t have to adjust my life to suit her or Tilly. I am making their lives better.
Even as the thought formed in his mind, he stood and reached for a book to move it.
It would be easier to purchase a lock for the door.
He paused. A lock would be a better solution, ensuring that Tilly couldn’t just sneak in whenever she pleased. But—and he couldn’t say why—that idea did not sit well with him.
Perhaps it was some superficial softness he felt toward the child, or painful memories of locked doors he’d rather forget. He did not wish to consider either option.
Taking a breath, he began to remove the most breakable items from his shelves.
A necessary move until the child learns some self-discipline and respect.
Porcelain and glass went into drawers, the globe was placed on his desk, and the books that were likely to disintegrate were carefully put into an old chest.
He glanced around the study when he was finished and frowned. It did not feel like his study any longer, but there was nothing he could do about it for the time being.
He sighed and sat at his desk, taking out a new quill and his quill knife. He carefully sharpened the end into a point and readied himself to return to sorting out the duchy’s ledgers.
Many hours later, Laurence finished his work and could feel the fatigue seeping into his bones. At long last, he was finally able to complete the tasks that he had been barred from for so long.
For the first time in years, his sense of failure and impotence began to loosen its grip.
He stood up, feeling his bones creak under his weight. He would have to be more disciplined about his exercise now. Extinguishing the lamp, he moved through the dark halls, back to his chambers.
As he changed into his nightclothes, he heard soft noises from the other side of the door to Edith’s chambers.
“She was a very happy little girl, hearing tales of love from her mama, playing in the woods each evening,” Edith crooned.
He frowned as he listened, recognizing it as a similar story to the one she had told the girl in the carriage. Pulling on his shirt, he snuck over to the door, pressing his ear to the wood.
“She wanted nothing more than to find her own love. Having felt what it was like to be loved, she wanted to give that away to someone else,” Edith continued.
Laurence’s frown deepened. He opened the door a crack so he could look inside.
Edith was lying on her bed, the moonlight illuminating her figure. Curled up next to her was Tilly, almost asleep.
“One day, her parents had to make a long journey, and she couldn’t see them again. She had a new family take care of her, but they were not good at showing or receiving love,” Edith murmured, stroking Tilly’s hair.
Laurence watched, unsure what to make of the scene.
“When she was finally a grown-up, she met a man and married him. But he was also not good at showing or receiving love,” Edith said.
Laurence was sure she sighed.
He pulled back from the door. He knew he should close it, leave her and the girl to themselves, but he didn’t. Edith hadn’t noticed either.
He crept into his bed and lay down, listening. Her voice drifted through the crack, a melody spun of longing and gentleness. Her voice warmed him, like the first sun after a frost.
