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“And now he’s trying again?” Elias frowned, signaling for fresh coffee.

“He’s been persistent,” Graham admitted. “Demanding visitation rights. Insisting the girls should be allowed to choose their guardian.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. He took a drink of coffee and steadied himself. “I’ve managed to keep him away thus far, but...”

“But what?”

Graham’s knuckles whitened around his coffee cup. “If anyone asked them to choose, they’d pick him. They’ve asked for him.He used to bring them ribbons and sweets when he’d visit Eyron Park to pester Helena for money. He’s been part of their world.” The cup settled on the saucer with careful precision. “I’m a stranger who abandoned them to a house full of servants.”

A scarred stranger who cannot be trusted around breakable things.

“Nonsense,” Elias said with a dismissive shake of his head. “Besides, the courts won’t care what two seven-year-old girls want. You’re a duke, for God’s sake. He’s a baron with a bad tailor and a ledger of debts taller than he is.”

“That might not matter in the end. I believe Hollan is planning a trial by society,” Graham said. “He’s citing ‘moral unfitness’ and Abigail’s ‘notorious reputation’ as grounds for removing the girls from my care.”

“Public perception does matter in these cases,” Elias said, setting down his cup. “Especially when children and reputations are involved.” He studied Graham’s face. “You and your bride to be need to play into your roles of society’s darlings, I’m afraid.”

Graham’s hands tightened into fists. Every part of him rejected the mere suggestion of it. “I offered her my name to protect her, Elias. And now he’s going to use it to destroy her.”

“What will you do?”

Graham unclenched his fists and pressed his palms to his thighs, counting silently to ten. The polished room, full of gentlemen pretending not to watch, pressed in, small and stifling.

Think.

“Perhaps I should offer him money. Enough to make him reconsider.”

Elias snorted. “He won’t take it.”

Graham looked up sharply. “You sound certain.”

“I am.” Elias leaned forward. “Men like Hollan don’t just want coin—they want leverage. Influence. If he controls the girls, he gets a steady income, a public platform, and a seat at every bloody dinner table he’s been barred from. Why settle for a pail of milk when he can claim the whole cow?”

The clock on the mantel chimed the half-hour—one crisp tone that echoed through the hush like a trigger being pulled.

Graham rose, straightening his waistcoat. “I must collect Abigail. The girls are arriving soon.” He paused.“Your insight is appreciated. Even when it’s unwelcome.”

Elias chuckled.“My best work usually is.”

Graham shook his head and turned to go.

Elias reached out, resting a hand on his arm. “Do you plan to tell her?”

The question hung between them, quiet and heavy. Graham shook off his friend’s hold and strode from the breakfast room.

Frederic Hollan would never touch his nieces. And Abigail would not pay the price for his name.

I will not let her suffer for my failures.

CHAPTER 12

“Isimply cannot understand your aversion to doves,” Verity lamented, pacing the length of Reedley Manor’s parlor with a swatch of cream silk trailing from her fingers. “They’re symbolic of love. My mother had them at her wedding, you know. Always said they brought peace to the marriage, though heaven knows Papa was a terror.”

“The mess they make is hardly peaceful,” Bridget countered dryly. She sat by the window, methodically sorting through a mountain of lace samples. “Unless you intend to employ an army of footmen with buckets, I suggest we limit the birds to the decorative paper variety.”

Abigail stifled a groan. Was it possible to drown in lace and good intentions? Because she was perilously close. For the better part of two hours, she’d been trapped with her sisters, mother, and of course, Verity, who had all taken to planning her wedding as if she were royalty.

Her lap overflowed with fabric swatches, her ears rang with debates about flowers versus ribbons, and her mind drifted miles away to Eyron Manor, where Graham’s nieces would soon arrive.

“What do you think, dear?” her mother asked, touching her arm gently. “Orange blossoms or roses for your bouquet?”