The room still smelled faintly of the camellias that had drifted in from nowhere. The baby, now calm in the Duchess's arms, stared up at her with wide, searching eyes—as if she already knew she belonged here.
The Duke cleared his throat softly, still a little awkward with her tiny size. "We… we never decided what to call her," he murmured, his voice careful, almost reverent.
The Duchess smiled faintly. "I think the roses have already chosen." She brushed a petal from the baby's dark, downy hair. "Amarantha… for eternal, unfading love. And Blythe… because she will grow surrounded by it."
"Amarantha Blythe," the Duke repeated, testing the weight of it on his tongue. His hand, tentative but steady, came to rest against the baby's back. "A name fit for a girl who's already been blessed."
As if in agreement, the baby gave a soft sigh, her eyelids fluttering shut. Outside, a breeze carried away the last of the mysterious petals, scattering them into the sky.
And in that quiet moment, the Duchess knew—whatever past this child had endured, it would not touch her here.