Page 13 of How To Woo A Wallflower

‘Nice things for your new room. Pretty things. Frivolous things. Things to play with. Books to read. Puzzles, games, ice cream. Whatever you want.’ He would worry about the unmentionables another day.

‘I can have anything?’

‘Anything they sell on High Holborn, you can have.’ His father would caution him not to spare the rod and spoil the child, but as his sire was no role model Jasper was keen to emulate, he figured if his father had never done it, then that was a good enough reason for him to. ‘What does your heart desire?’

Izzy pondered it for a while, her four-and-a-half-year-old’s mind giving the pleasant conundrum all the consideration of a treaty negotiation after a prolonged war. Eventually, she tilted her head, a gesture which so reminded him of her mother it brought a lump to his throat. ‘Can I have a kitten and a brother?’

He ruffled her dark curls smiling. ‘Yes to the kitten—but I don’t know any merchants in Holborn who sell brothers. Although why you’d want a brother anyway is beyond me when boys are such horrid, dirty, mischievous things and girls are so much nicer.’

She considered that and shrugged. ‘Maybe—but I still want one. I’ve always wanted a brother, Uncle Jasper.’

Uncle Jasper.

A hollow title for someone who now needed to be so much more.

‘I’ve had another brilliant idea...’ One he knew would likely bite him once it leaked out, but would protect her in the future seeing as he was destined to be a duke. ‘Seeing as you are stuck with me, maybe we should both change our names to mark the occasion. Make things official.’

Her face fell and that emotive lip quivered again. ‘But I like the name Izzy.’

‘So do I.’ Parenting was like navigating a sheer cliff edge in the dark. ‘And I certainly wasn’t suggesting we should change that—or even the Marlow which follows it—I was more thinking you should add Beaufort to the end because that is my surname. That way, everyone knows that you belong to me and I belong to you.’

She considered that for a moment then nodded. ‘I quite like the name Beaufort.’

‘Splendid. Isabel Marlow-Beaufort it is then.’ The room spun a little faster, no doubt more because of the enormous implications of acknowledging her than the residual alcohol in his system, so he sucked in a calming breath and willed it to stop. He had never put much stock in becoming a duke, but he supposed, now that it mattered, being one had advantages which went beyond his money. As a Marlow, Izzy was nothing. As a Beaufort, as long as the English aristocracy persevered, she would always be something and certainly never a victim at the mercy of the world like her mother had been for so long. After he wrote a grovelling letter of apology to Hattie he should probably also write to his solicitor to make things properly official. He could not wipe the smear of scandal off Izzy simply by sharing his surname, but it was a start.

‘Will you be a Marlow-Beaufort too, Uncle Jasper?’

He swallowed. Suddenly overcome with emotion at the gravitas of what he was about to propose. ‘I rather fancy a different name actually.’ Please let this be the right thing to do for her! ‘Instead of calling me Uncle Jasper, I was wondering if you would consider calling me...Papa?’ It was ridiculous that his heart was racing. Ridiculous because he knew how much it would hurt if she said no.

In typical Izzy fashion she stared at him, brows knitted as she worried her bottom lip again with her teeth. Making him feel as if he could never possibly ever measure up to the challenge of that title. On bated breath he waited for what seemed an eternity until she finally nodded, then tested the word on her tongue. ‘Papa.’

‘Thank you.’ Overwhelmed and more terrified by the responsibility than he wanted to acknowledge, Jasper enveloped her in a hug which would have likely lasted all day if Mrs Mimms hadn’t interrupted.

‘You have a caller, my lord.’

‘I told you I am not home to any callers for at least a week.’ He hadn’t even been able to cope with seeing Freddie yesterday when he had turned up at his door concerned. What was he supposed to say to him when he barely knew which way was up? How on earth was he supposed to explain away Izzy?

His housekeeper smiled. ‘Even though this one is pretty, crept through the servants’ entrance unchaperoned and certainly saved your pickled bacon last night?’

‘Hattie is here?’ Perhaps he was home after all—for her alone. He owed her both his gratitude and an apology. But why was he relieved now as well? Relieved and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Nervous? Awkward? Humbled?

Expectant?

The flesh of his palm awoke, the nerve endings dancing and reminding him of how her hand had felt in his. Until he remembered all the horrors he had committed in her presence and cringed. ‘Oh, dear.’

‘Oh, dear, indeed.’ Mrs Mimms chuckled at his mortification and spun on her heel. ‘I’ll fetch some tea. It should be brewed to perfection after your lengthy apology. I just hope it doesn’t stew too long while you beg for her forgiveness.’

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