“Lady Penelope will make a fine wife. Her family is ancient, her reputation, impeccable.”

“As ours used to be?”

“As it still is.”

She lifted her gaze to his, amber eyes—so like his own—seeing more than he would like. “Not for long, though.”

He did not want to discuss his marriage to Penelope. He did not want to discuss their family name, their reputation. He wanted to discuss his sister. He wanted to start fresh.

Not that it would ever be possible.

“Georgiana . . .” he began, stopping when she turned away, ignoring him and crossing the room to a high table where she set Caroline down and began fussing about with her.

“You shan’t want to stay for this bit, I don’t imagine.”

His brow furrowed at the words, and he moved closer, curious. “For what bit?” He peeked over his sister’s shoulder, took note of her actions and instantly turned his back to the scene. “Oh! Yes. Ah—No.” In all his ducal training, he had never been trained on the care and—cleaning—of infants. “Isn’t there . . .” he cleared his throat. “Someone who can . . . do that . . . for you?”

He could not be certain, but he thought he heard his sister chuckle. “Children do not arrive with nurse in tow, Simon.”

He did not like the mocking in her tone. “I know that. Of course I do. But you are—” He stopped. There were a dozen ways to end that sentence.

A duke’s daughter . . . my sister . . . barely out of diapers yourself in my mind. . .

“I am a mother.” She came around to face him, Caroline now quiet in her arms. His sister, whom he’d always considered fragile, now calm and strong, with a voice like steel. “Whatever you were about to say. It is of no import. I am her mother. And she is first. There isn’t anything you can say that will change my mind.”

His sister was no longer a delicate girl, but Juno, fully grown and protecting her young.

From him.

He, who should be doing the protecting, dammit.

“I don’t want to change your mind.”

She blinked. “You don’t.”

“No.”

It was true.

She let out a long breath. “You’ll let me stay with Caroline. You won’t make me fight you.”

For the last six months, he had been certain that sending the child away would be for the best. Even on the journey up, he’d toyed with the possibility, played over potential destinations in his mind, unwilling to release the hope that all could return to normal.

He now understood how ridiculous such an idea had been.

He could not bear the idea of sending Caroline away.

I know what it is like to grow up knowing that a parent does not want you, Simon. He’d seen the sadness in Juliana’s eyes as she’d spoken the words. He wanted to take his fists to the people who had made her feel such devastation. And he never wanted his niece to feel that pain.

“Of course you shall stay with Caroline.”

Georgiana’s relief was clear. “Thank you, Simon.”

He turned away, less than deserving of his sister’s words of gratitude after his poor treatment during the past few months. He deserved her anger and her fury and her loathing, not her thanks.

For, even as she held her daughter in a loving embrace, he thought of the damage that would be wrought upon the family name.

The scandal would come. And they would weather it. He was prepared. Or would be once he married Lady Penelope. “I shall be married in a month. It will help defray the interest in your situation.”

She laughed at that, and the sound grated. “Simon, a royal wedding itself would not defray the interest in my situation.”

He ignored the words, heading for the door, wanting nothing but to be free of this room that had seemed so welcoming and turned so cloying. Georgiana spoke before he could exit. “You don’t have to do it, you know. Nowhere is it written that you must shoulder the burden of our reputation. You don’t have to marry her.”

Of course he did.

He was the Duke of Leighton—one of the most powerful men in England, born to bear the weight of one of the most venerable titles in the aristocracy. He had spent his whole life preparing for this moment, when honor and duty came before all else.

Where was the honor in what he had done to Juliana? In the stables? In the park? In this room?

Shame coursed through him, his skin growing hot.

“It is not a question. I will marry the lady.”

He would do what needed to be done.

He found St. John in the Earl of Reddich’s study.

The door stood open, and he knocked once, firmly on the jamb, waiting for St. John to wave him into the room before assuming the ample leather chair on the far side of the great mahogany desk.

“One might almost think you were titled for how well you look behind that desk,” he said.

Nick finished annotating a long column of numbers in the estate ledger and looked up. “Considering that the earl is ten and at school, I don’t think he will mind if I keep the chair warm until he is ready for it.” He leaned back. “It is the mistress of the house that we have to be worried about. She gets irritated when I use her desk.”

“Why not get your own, then?”

St. John grinned. “I rather enjoy her when she’s irritated.”

Simon pretended not to hear the inappropriate comment. “I should like to talk about my sister.”

“Excellent. I should like to talk about mine.” Simon froze at the words, and St. John’s eyes narrowed instantly. “Isabel thinks there is something between the two of you. And she is always right. It’s infuriating, really.”