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He was perhaps forty, thin but wiry, with dark blond hair just beginning to gray and sharp, fox-like features that seemed perpetually poised for amusement at someone else’s expense.

His clothes spoke of money spent but not wealth possessed—a brocade waistcoat embroidered in gaudy colors, a jeweled cravat pin, and a coat whose cut had been the height of fashion several years past.

“Forgive the intrusion,” he continued, sweeping his hat from his head with a flourish that belonged on a theater stage. “But I simply could not pass without greeting my dear little treasures.”

“Cousin Freddy!” Heather’s excited cry shattered the quiet, sending ducks scattering across the pond. She dashed forward with arms outstretched.

Mary Ann followed with decorum, but her face brightened with pleasure. “We didn’t know you were coming to park.”

Rarely had she taken such an instant dislike to a person. She stepped forward, but the girls were already rushing into his embrace.

Everything about this man is wrong. But who is he?

The man caught Heather in an embrace that lifted her clear off the ground, swinging her in a circle that sent her dress billowing.

“My darling hurricane, how you’ve grown!

And Mary Ann, my precious blossom, still the little lady, I see.

” He set Heather down and withdrew two small packages from his coat.

“I couldn’t arrive empty-handed for my special girls. ”

Heather immediately tore into hers, squealing with delight at the painted spinning top inside. Mary Ann carefully unwrapped a neat bundle of vibrant ribbons, holding them up with a wide smile. Nothing extravagant, but chosen with clear knowledge of their preferences.

Abigail rose from the bench. In all their conversations about the girls, Graham had never once mentioned this cousin who so clearly knew them well. “I’m afraid we haven’t been introduced.”

“Ah, forgive me.” His gaze traveled over her walking dress, lingering a moment too long to be polite. “Frederic Hollan, Baron Hollan of Windcroft. And you must be the new duchess who has so thoroughly captured all of London’s attention. How fascinating to finally meet you.”

His smile revealed too many teeth and not enough truth.Abigail had seen enough predators in London’s drawing rooms to recognize another.

“Lord Hollan,” she acknowledged with the smallest dip of her head—just enough for courtesy, not enough to suggest deference.

“Cousin Freddy used to visit Mama all the time,” Mary Ann explained, testing her new ribbons against her hair. “Before she and Papa went to heaven. Do you think this one will match my blue dress?” She held up a pale yellow ribbon for Abigail’s inspection.

“Your dear mother had such a generous heart,” Lord Hollan said, his voice taking on a note of practiced sorrow. One hand pressed briefly to his chest, as if physically containing his grief.

Abigail bent to inspect the ribbon, taking the moment to steady herself.

“I think it will be lovely with your dress. Girls, please thank your cousin for your gifts,” she instructed, smoothing her dress while glancing back up the hill where Graham stood with his back to them, surveying their picnic spread.

Turn around, Graham .

“Thank you, Cousin Freddy,” the girls intoned, dropping curtseys.

“You’re most welcome, my lovelies,” he said, patting them each on the head. “Now run along and play, so I can speak with your new aunt.”

But Heather, flushed with excitement, was already spinning her top on the ground between them. “Look, Aunt Abigail! It goes faster if you twist it like this.” She demonstrated with exaggerated movements, bumping against the baron’s leg and leaving a smear of dirt on his expensive breeches.

“Mind your manners, child,” Lord Hollan said, swiping at the stain with an irritated glare.

“It’s quite all right,” Abigail said, placing a hand on Heather’s shoulder. “Children should be allowed to play, especially with new toys. Your gift was most thoughtful.”

“Could you tie this in my hair?” Mary Ann pressed the ribbon into Abigail’s hand, her expression hopeful.

“Certainly, dear.” Abigail knelt, using the moment to place herself between the girls and their cousin. As she worked the ribbon into Mary Ann’s neat braid, Lord Hollan looked on with an expression that shifted between calculation and disdain.

“Such a natural touch you have, Your Grace,” he remarked, twirling his walking stick.

“Helena worried terribly about the girls’ future, you know, should anything happen to her and Edward,” he said, glancing at Abigail.

“A mother’s concern is so poignant, isn’t it?

Though I suppose you’ve yet to experience that particular anxiety. ”

Abigail’s fingers faltered on the ribbon. Like any good manipulator, he knows just where to strike, hurting but leaving no marks.

Heather’s top spun into Hollan’s polished boot and he kicked it away with a huff. Heather scurried after it with Mary Ann on her heels.

Abigail picked up her parasol and pinned the baron with a frosty look. “The girls and I learn from each other daily, which is how I believe all parents must proceed.”

Hollan’s smile turned brittle, the edge of it sharpening to a point. “How charmingly optimistic, Duchess. Though, forgive me—I forget you’ve held that title for only a matter of days. Perhaps true understanding takes longer than a weekend to acquire?”

Heather scrambled after her top, which had veered toward the pond’s edge. “Cousin Freddy! Can you catch a duck?” she called over her shoulder. “Mary Ann says it’s impossible, but I think you could do it.”

“Don’t be silly. Ducks can fly away,” Mary Ann scolded, though she looked equally curious about the answer.

Hollan laughed, the sound bright and false as a counterfeit coin. “I’m afraid even I have limitations, my dear.” He stepped closer to Abigail, lowering his voice. “Though I suspect you might have better luck—you seem quite accomplished at acquiring things beyond your reach.”

The insult hit its mark with surgical precision. Heat rushed to Abigail’s cheeks, but before she could respond, Heather’s attention shifted to something over Abigail’s shoulder.

She turned to see Graham striding down the hill like a storm gathering strength. He stopped beside her, bracing his legs and crossing his arms, the stance a soldier expecting attack.

“Hollan.” The name emerged like a curse.

“Your Grace.” The baron’s smile widened, though it held no warmth. “How lovely to see you looking so domesticated.”

The air between the two men crackled with tension—volatile, like a match poised over a powder keg. Subtly, she shifted closer to the girls. She wasn’t sure who concerned her more—the man who smiled too much, or the one who wasn’t smiling at all.

“What are you doing here?” Graham demand.

“Visiting family, naturally.” Baron Hollan spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Surely you don’t begrudge me the pleasure of seeing my little treasures and of course, meeting your new duchess.”

He said the last word as if referring to something unseemly. Abigail’s fingers twitched with the sudden, unladylike urge to slap the smirk from his face.

“Cousin Freddy brought us presents,” Mary Ann said, apparently oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around her.

Graham’s jaw worked as if he were grinding glass between his teeth. “Of course he did.”

“I do try to stay involved in their lives.” The baronadjusted the lace at his cuff with deliberate care. “Children need stability, don’t you think? Pity all they have is you.”

Graham took half a step forward before catching himself. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Speaking of which,” Lord Hollan continued, “I believe we have an appointment to discuss just that. Thursday, was it not? At the Court of Chancery?”

Graham’s face went ashen.

Abigail looked between the two men, alarm racing through her. “What kind of appointment?”

“A trifling legal matter, clarifying regarding the girls’ welfare and future security,” Hollansaid, waving a dismissive hand. His many rings caught the sunlight, sending prisms dancing across the path. “Nothing that need concern you, Your Grace.”

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."

They made their way up the gentle slope to where the blanket was spread with meticulous precision.

Abigail and Graham helped the girls settle, working with quiet coordination to lay out the meal as if they’d done it dozens of times before.

Graham served Mary Ann her plate while Abigail arranged a napkin on Heather's lap.

They fell into an unspoken rhythm, their hands occasionally brushing as they passed items across the blanket.

Beneath it, though his movements were stiff and his eyes constantly scanned the park as if expecting Hollan to reappear at any moment.

The soldier lurking under the facade of a duke.

He was trying, though. When Heather accidentally spilled her lemonade, he simply dabbed at the spot with his handkerchief, all while answering Mary Ann’s ceaseless questions the different birds in the park with surprising detail.

Abigail caught his gaze once across the blanket and he smiled—just a fraction.

As they finished their meal and began packing the remnants, Mary Ann sidled closer to Graham, her expression concerned.

"Uncle Graham?" she asked, innocently slipping her hand in Graham's. "Are you all right? You look like you did when I had the fever."

"I'm fine," he said, his voice rough around the edges, but he didn't pull away.

"No, you're not," Heather announced with characteristic bluntness, already bouncing toward the path that would take them to the swans. "But Aunt Abigail will fix it. She fixes everything."

Abigail met Graham’s gaze as she folded the picnic blanket. Mary Ann hurried after her sister. "I cannot promise to fix it, but let him come. He'll find he's taken on more than he bargained for."