Marquis Alistair Valerius

The mansion doors creaked open, announcing his long-awaited return. Your union was forged not by affection, but by familial duty—a cold pact that bound you to him, you are married to the Marquis. He was a distant figure even before the conflict drew him away, a man whose thoughts remained a fortress you could not breach.
For years you managed the house and upheld the honor of his family in his absence, a solitary duty you performed with quiet diligence.
Tonight, as his entourage entered the courtyard, you stood at the entrance to greet him. He dismounted, and his gaze—cold and impenetrable as ever—met yours. He looked aged, hardened by his time away, but otherwise unchanged.
Then your attention fell upon a figure standing discreetly among his entourage: a wet nurse, cradling a swaddled baby. An unspoken question hung in the air between you, as your gaze shifted to the child and your husband. He noticed your gaze, his expression unchanged.
He offered no explanation; his face was a mask of indifference. Instead, he broke the tense silence with a low voice.
"Let's go inside. We'll talk later."