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Marcia raised a hand to her breast. Her true love?

Nay, she decidedly did not believe in love. And he was certainly not capable of giving her his heart. Or even his devotion.

She frowned.

She’d not raised that particular point when she and Andrew had discussed marriage, but suddenly it seemed very important that he be faithful to her. The idea of him with another did odd things to her insides, twisting them up in vises and burning like she’d consumed poison, and—

A hesitant knock split the quiet, and they looked up.

Marcia’s mother entered the room.

It was time.

“It is time,” Faith said, hopping to her feet.

Anwen stood. “Hullo, Lady Wessex.”

“Anwen, Faith,” Marcia’s mother murmured. Still wearing the same sorrowful expression, she looked as Marcia had never seen her, and it was a physical hurt knowing that she was the one who’d wrought this sadness. That was, ultimately, the emotion she was destined to cause her mother.

Mayhap that had been the reason it had been so very easy to accept Andrew’s offer.

Or one of the reasons.

Because she could leave and free her parents from the constant reminder of who she was.

The moment her friends filed from the room, the viscountess shut the door behind them.

“I never told you about the day you were born,” her mother said softly, leaning against the panel.

Marcia stiffened and managed to shake her head slightly. “No.”

She’d never thought about that omission, but now, it made sense. Knowing the truth of how she’d been conceived, Marcia understood why her mother would never want to talk about or relive the day of her birth.

“It was a… struggle to bring you into the world.”

She couldn’t keep from wincing. “I expect it was.” She wanted this discussion over. She wanted it to remain in the vault where unspoken-of stories dwelled.

Her mother pushed away from the door, her features softening for the first time since she’d shared with Marcia the truth about her conception. “Not because of that, Marcia. I will not lie to you.” As she’d already done and would have continued to do if Marcia’s real father had not stepped forward. “The moment I learned I was with child…” Her mother’s voice cracked, and she looked off.

Marcia averted her stare in the opposite direction, unable to let her mind go where her mother’s now went, because she hated herself for what she’d brought upon her mother. She hated herself for being foisted on her in an ugly, heinous act.

Warm fingers cupped her face, bringing Marcia’s gaze forward.

Her mother held her stare. “I knew only terror, Marcia. But the day I felt you move inside me, it was like a butterfly-soft movement, and it was you, kicking away. I only loved you from that moment on. And when you were born, I didn’t see him, because it was impossible to see anything but you.” Tears fell down her mother’s cheeks, and her voice caught on a sob as she took Marcia in her arms. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Marcia clung to her, as she’d done as a young girl afraid of lightning storms, and she wanted to go back to that. She wanted to go back to the simpler, safer, happier times when she’d believed herself to be the daughter of an honorable soldier whom her mother had loved. But there was no going back. And there was no changing the fact that, no matter how much her mother loved her, she was still a life that had been spawned by a monster.

With a shuddery breath, her mother drew back. “You do not have to do this.”

“I know,” she said softly. Her parents would never force her. They’d keep her here with them forever if that was what she wished, but they deserved more than that. They deserved freedom from her and the responsibility she’d been.

Marcia’s mother moved her eyes searchingly over her face, and a sad smile formed on her lips. “But you intend to do so anyway.”

She nodded. “I do.”

That pronouncement immediately brought her mother’s eyes closing once more. “For all the ways I was denied a choice by Lord Atbrooke, Marcus was mine. Marriage to him was a decision that belonged to me.” Her voice caught. “And I-I hate that you should be choosing to set aside the dream of love.”

“But I’m not being forced to do anything, Mother,” she said calmly. “Thisismy choice. Andrew is.”