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“She seems a resilient woman,” Elias observed. “And she’ll need to be married to you.”

She deserves better than this circus. Better than me.

Graham’s attention shifted to the doorway where a small cluster of newspaper porters had entered through the servants’ corridor. Nine o’clock on the dot.

One of the porters broke off from the rest and walked directly toward Graham’s corner.

Graham tracked him, noting the idiosyncrasy out of long habit to notice anything out of the ordinary. He never took his own papers—what need had he when Elias invariably brought every scandal sheet in London to his table?

The man approached with a confident stride that seemed at odds with his humble attire. As he reached the table, he cleared his throat far too loudly for the hushed confines of White’s breakfast room.

“Summons from the Court of Chancery,” the man announced in a carrying voice. “By order of the Right Honourable the Lord Chancellor, to hear the petition of Baron Frederic Hollan regarding the guardianship of the minors, Heather and Mary Ann Redchester, served upon His Grace, the Duke of Eyron.”

The room froze. Every head turned toward Graham’s corner as the man placed a sealed document directly on Graham’s untouched toast.

Elias went absolutely still, his usual joviality vanishing in an instant. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

The messenger merely inclined his head, his expression faintly smug. “Court business, sir. Properly served.”

Frederic Hollan. The name burned in Graham’s mind.

I should have known he wouldn’t give up so easily.

Several members had risen from their tables, necks craning to witness this unprecedented breach of club etiquette.

“This is outrageous,” Elias snapped, rising to his feet. “Phillips! This man is to be removed immediately.”

Two footmen materialized instantly, flanking the messenger with stern expressions.

“Sir, I must ask you to leave,” one said firmly. “This is a private establishment.”

The man shrugged. “I’ve delivered my message,” he said, eyes fixed on Graham.

Graham didn’t even look at the man as the footmen frog-marched him out of the room. His hands did not shake as he picked up the envelope and broke the seal. It was always that way. When it mattered, his hands were steady as oaks.

He scanned the contents. Frederic had filed for full custody of the twins, citing “moral unfitness of the household” and specifically naming Abigail’s “notorious reputation” as grounds for removal. The words blurred on the page.

He set the letter next to the plate, straightening it to be even with the table. The spoon had fallen off the saucer. He put it back in its place, never raising his gaze.

Phillips arrived, red-faced and apologetic. “Your Grace—Dr. Redchester—I cannot express my profound regret for this intrusion. I assure you, the matter will be thoroughly investigated.”

Graham didn’t answer.If he did, the words might come out all wrong—too sharp, too loud. And this was not the battlefield. Not the hold of a frigate. Not a moment of blood and thunder.

“See that it is,” Elias replied when Graham remained silent.

The steward bowed and retreated, still murmuring apologies. Graham folded the summons and slid it into his coat pocket, focusing on the whisper of parchment on silk.

Elias leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “Graham. Talk to me.” His tone was low and insistent.

Graham said nothing. Shadows closed on the edges of his mind. Pressure built behind his eyes—hot and tight.

“Redchester.” Elias’ tone shifted to a barked command. “You’re not back in the Balkans. Breathe, man.”

Graham obeyed, exhaling long and slow, managing to grind out the words. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

Elias frowned, disapproving.“I see. We’re pretending again.” He sat back and clasped his hands over his belly, letting the silence stretch. The admiral, the tactician, stared at Graham, waiting.

He would give him no quarter. Not until Graham gave him what he wanted.“Fredric Hollan wants the girls.”

“So I gathered. Frederic Hollan.” Elias mused. “The duchess’ cousin, if I recall correctly. Met him once at a soiree. Peacock-blue waistcoat with gold buttons the size of sovereigns.” He made a face.

Graham’s jaw tightened until his teeth ached. “Second cousin, technically. He’s been scrambling for funds since old Lord Wexham cut his allowance.”

Elias leaned forward. “Why haven’t you mentioned this before?” He waved the question away. “Never mind. Give me the situation in full, or I’ll drag it out of you like it’s your damned debriefing.”

Graham’s shoulders relaxed a fraction as he glared at Elias. The admiral knew how to ground him when his mind went to sea. Graham loved and hated him for it.

“When Helena and Edward died,” he began. The words came out tight. He cleared his throat and pushed on. “Hollan immediately petitioned for guardianship of the twins. The courts refused him since the estate had not been settled.”

“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.