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She glanced at Graham, who stood radiating fury. The dark shadows that lurked behind his eyes stirred and she wondered if the baron knew the dangerous line he walked.

Lord Hollan turned to the children. “I’m afraid I must take my leave, my darlings. But I shall see you again very soon. Perhaps in a more permanent capacity.” He pressed a kiss to each girl’s forehead, his movements gentle and paternal. “Be good for your uncle. And your new aunt, of course.”

With another theatrical bow, he departed, his walking stick tapping a jaunty rhythm against the path.

The silence he left behind pressed against Abigail’s ears like cotton wool. The peaceful park scene—mothers chatting on benches, children chasing hoops, gentlemen strolling with measured steps—continued around them, oblivious to the bomb that had just detonated in their midst.

“Can we go see the swans now?” Heather asked, tugging at Graham’s coat. “Mary Ann says they’re bigger than the ducks.”

“In a moment,” Abigail said, not taking her eyes from her husband’s face. “Your uncle and I need to discuss something first. Why don’t you and Mary Ann finish feeding the ducks?”

When the girls had distanced themselves, she asked, “What legal matter?”

Graham opened his mouth, then closed it. She could practically see him weighing options, measuring risks, calculating escape routes.

“Hollan has petitioned the Court of Chancery,” he said finally, the words emerging like splinters. “For guardianship of the girls.”

The world tilted beneath Abigail’s feet. “What?”

“He claims I’m unfit. That marrying you has compromised their moral welfare.” He paused.“He’s their closest blood relative through Helena. If the court sides with him, he could take them from us.”

Rage, pure and incandescent, bloomed in her chest. “And you didn’t think to mention this before now?”

How could hide something like this?

“I thought I could handle it.”

“By yourself.”

“Yes.”

“Without telling your wife.”

His silence was answer enough.

A dull pressure began behind her eyes, warning of a headache she had no time to indulge. The evasive answers. The careful silences. The tension that vibrated beneath his skin like a held breath. She saw it all now. Not just the ordinary fears of a new husband, but this. This looming catastrophe he’d chosen to face alone.

“I was trying to protect you,” he said, low and gruff, looking away and shifting his weight on his feet.

“I can see you considering it,” she said quietly.

“Considering what?”

“Running.” She stepped closer. “But I have a better idea.”

He swallowed hard. “Which is?”

“Stay.” She laid her hand against his forearm, feeling the tension thrumming through him. “If you think I’m going to let that...that peacock take those girls, you’ve vastly underestimated me. You will not fight him alone.”

He looked away, blinking hard. Abigail didn’t press. She simply kept her hand on his arm, steady as stone.

Take what I offer.Just enough to stand, just enough to stay.

The rigid line of his shoulders eased a fraction and the savagery retreated from his eyes. He nodded as his throat worked around words he couldn't say.

"Good. Then we'd best prepare for war," she said.“But first,I believe our picnic is ready.”

Graham inhaled deeply, loosening his fists. "Come along, girls.”His voice sounded steadier than his expression. “Let’s eat before the ants carry it all away."