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Yvette’s brows lifted in amusement. “Your father?”

Maisie nodded eagerly. “He’s always so serious. It would be funny to see him surprised.”

Unable to suppress her laughter, Yvette leaned closer. “I fully support this idea, Maisie.”

Maisie tapped her chin thoughtfully. “What sort of prank would work on Papa?”

Yvette tilted her head, pretending to consider the question with utmost seriousness.

“Hmm… I’m not sure,” Yvette replied, but from the look on the little girl’s face, Yvette could tell she had already figured it out.

Maisie tilted her head, her expression softening. “Do you miss your brother?”

Yvette’s smile faltered, but only for a moment. “I do,” she admitted honestly. “But I know he’s happy in London with his family. He writes me.”

“Does he have children?” Maisie asked curiously.

Yvette’s expression softened further. “He does. My nephew, Aaron. He’s about half your age.”

Maisie’s eyes widened. “Maybe one day… could I meet him?”

“I would love that,” Yvette replied sincerely. “Perhaps one day, when we’re all in London.”

Maisie nodded eagerly, then paused, studying Yvette thoughtfully. “Do you think… maybe… I could have a brother or sister one day?”

Yvette blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. “Would you… would you like that?” she asked gently.

Maisie nodded earnestly. “I think… I’d like that… Someone to play with when Papa is busy. So I do not bother him, ye know?”

Emotion constricted Yvette’s chest at the innocent answer.

“I think… that would be very nice,” she whispered, her voice tender.

Maisie grinned brightly. “Maybe… if I am extra good… the bird will bring one!”

Yvette laughed, her heart full as she gently pulled Maisie into a warm embrace. “You are already the best gift your father could ever have.”

Maisie hugged her tightly, resting her head on Yvette’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here, Duchess… I like having you around.”

Yvette closed her eyes, holding the little girl close. In that moment, the walls she had so carefully built around her heart began to crumble—just a little.

For the first time in a long time, she felt truly wanted.

It was after dinner when Killian retired to his study to finish up on some work.

Killian dipped his quill into the inkwell and dragged the tip across the paper. His brow furrowed when the quill snagged, leaving a sticky, uneven streak. He frowned, inspecting the quill, then the inkwell.

“What in the devil…?”

Killian dipped the quill again, testing it on another piece of parchment with the same sticky result. He sniffed the jar cautiously, then recoiled.

“Blackberry syrup?” he growled, and from behind his door, he heard the sound of soft giggles that could only belong to one person in his household..

“Maisie!” he thundered.

Maisie didn’t respond, and the sudden quiet from behind the door made Killian suspect she had run away. He pushed away from his desk, storming toward the door.

“Maisie Elizabeth Oakbourne!” His deep voice thundered through the hall where he found the little girl nestled on the floor, staring up at him.