Page 7 of The Scottish Duke's Deal

“Oh.” A pause. “Will Papa be waiting?”

His mouth went dry.

He stepped further into the room. “No. He—he can’t meet us.”

She turned her face fully now. “Why not?”

He sat, awkwardly, on the edge of a low stool. “Because… your papa’s not well. Remember?”

Penelope blinked. “But I thought he got better.”

He exhaled. “No, Penelope. I’m sorry. He didn’t.”

She turned her head back to the window.

A long silence settled between them. Ramsay watched the slow rise and fall of her back, the frayed hem of her sleeve.

Then, “Will Mama come later?”

Ramsay felt something sharp lodge beneath his ribs. “No. She… she can’t either.”

More silence. And then her voice again, softer now. “I don’t have a papa. Or a mama.”

He looked at the floor. “You had them. You still do in a way.”

“That’s not the same,” she whispered.

He ran a hand through his hair. “No. It’s not.”

Her voice cracked. “And I lost Marigold.”

Ramsay looked up. She wasn’t crying, but her eyes were shining, and her mouth was pressed in a tight line.

“I know,” he said.

“I don’t have anyone now.”

A breath hitched in his throat. That quiet devastation, too old for her age, sent a bolt of guilt clean through him. He felt it like a weight behind his ribs, dull and insistent. What kind of man hadhe been to think he could simply retrieve the child like a package and deliver her to a household that didn’t yet exist? George had been many things, but he’d at least meant to try.

“That’s not true,” he said quickly. “You have Miss Bransby. You have me.”

Penelope didn’t answer.

Ramsay looked down at his hands, rough and useless in his lap. He hadn’t been made for children. He could barely manage himself. He hadn’t known how to hold her when she cried, or what to say when she woke in the night and whispered for her mother. Keeping her fed and dry was the best he’d managed, and it didn’t feel nearly enough.

But he couldn’t bear to hear that tone again. Not from her.

He cleared his throat. “Look here—I’ll find the doll.”

Penelope turned her head.

“Marigold,” he said. “I’ll search the entire ship, stem to stern. Every cabin, every trunk, every bloody knot in the wood, until I find her.”

Her brow furrowed. “You promise?”

Ramsay hesitated then nodded. “I promise.”

She said nothing, but after a long moment, she nodded. Once.