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Marina stared at herself in the mirror, lifting her chin with all the dignity she could summon.

“Whatever happened last night happened last night,” she reminded her reflection firmly. “Right now, I am the Duchess of Griffin, and I have a grand Christmas ball to arrange.”

She repeated the words, willing her determination to grow. When her gaze flickered to her beloved pet curled upon her bed, she could almost hear Luna laughing. If only the cat could talk.

I sound pathetic, do I not?

For a woman who had apparently begged her own husband to… Marina abruptly stopped herself. No. She would not complete that thought, especially not with Mrs. Dalton in the room. The housekeeper was arranging a collection of decorations, but Marina had no doubt the woman possessed ears sharp enough to hear her faintest whispers.

“You need not worry, Your Grace,” Mrs. Dalton called from across the drawing room, her beautiful gray eyes gleaming with assurance. “The duke has already agreed to the ball. I am certain he will not object to a few more decorations.”

Ah, yes. Marina had almost forgotten that particular worry. The housekeeper was probably right.

“A few more decorations,” she murmured, feeling her spirits lift at once.

She glanced toward the ribbons and greenery Mrs. Dalton had gathered. There was still so much to arrange before Christmas. And if she was to bring some happiness into this estate, she intended to do it properly.

“You are clever as always, Mrs. Dalton,” Marina said warmly, though she narrowed her eyes at the woman’s knowing expression. “I hope my grandmother’s enthusiasm for the season might somehow win the duke’s heart for Christmas.”

Marina was worried, though. There was the ball, of course, and the thought of welcoming so many people into a house whose master despised company. But there was also the matter of her family. Her mother had mentioned wanting to visit, and Marina could not imagine what it would be like for her family to be under the same roof as Ambrose for any length of time. They had only been together briefly for the wedding, after all. Thinking about it made her fingers tighten nervously. What if her mother asked her usual kinds of questions? Not questions about the weather or the estate. Her mother’s interest would be more focused on informing Ambrose about her daughter’s wish to have children. Except Lady Dashwood had no idea how complicated that particular wish had become.

And besides, she had Emma. To be honest, that was enough. Or perhaps she only wished it could be enough. Perhaps it was best they were not coming, though it would be her first Christmas without them.

Later, Marina spent the day in the nursery with Emma nestled comfortably against her. The baby giggled every time she was fed, her tiny fingers curling into the duchess’s gown.

“Oh, now,” Marina murmured affectionately, stroking the child’s soft cheek. “Is someone dreadfully in love with her food?”

The little girl answered with another delighted giggle, snuggling even closer. Marina’s heart warmed, and she smiled again. But the longer she gazed into the baby’s beloved green eyes, the more her smile faded.

What would happen if she returned to the cottage? If she returned to her old life without Emma, Ambrose, and the whole Griffin affair? The thought should have been ordinary, but it was not. She knew why. She’d still be the Duchess of Griffin but with the added stigma of living apart from her husband.

Marina looked down at the baby once more, her fingers moving gently through her soft hair, and realized that caring for her had made her deeply attached. She had been content before.

However, the Griffin Estate had changed everything. It was not even about her new title. It was about the people she was living with now. It had always been just her and the cat. But arriving at the estate had given her a home that was beginning to feel like hers. And there was this little girl, who seemed infinitely calmer whenever Marina was near, letting her fall ever more deeply in love with motherhood—and with a husband who was far more complicated than she had ever imagined. She had been given a family.

That only made her reality more frightening, because every beautiful thing that had ever happened to her had disappeared in a flash. She was terrified she would wake up one day with everything gone.

“Marina.”

Ambrose’s voice made her pulse falter. Marina looked up toward her husband.

The moment she realized she had been staring too hard, her gaze dropped. It was difficult enough remembering what had happened the night before without having him standing before her looking as though nothing had happened at all. It was even more embarrassing to remember the words she had said to him.

Marina… you deserve every bit of this discomfort for pleading with the duke to lie with you, her inner voice snapped at once.

Whatever had brought him here must have been important. Marina carefully placed Emma into her bed before turning around. She quickly drew the curtains shut and lit another candle.

“Ambrose,” she greeted, though the nervous flutter in her throat threatened to betray her. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Ambrose remained silent for a moment before speaking with his usual calmness.

“I wished to see Emma,” he said, distant and matter-of-fact.

She quickly raised her brows and nodded. “Of course,” she replied, clasping her hands together to keep them from fidgeting. “She has been in the most delightful of spirits this morning.”

She paused and then offered a small, apologetic smile.

“And I hope you will forgive the commotion downstairs,” she added, with a touch of humor despite herself. “Mrs. Dalton and I appear to have different opinions concerning the placement of a Christmas tree.”