Page 75 of My Darling Mr. Darling

John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I thought you liked Violet,” he said. “I never thought this would upset you.”

Fresh tears burst into her eyes, the green of her irises glistening. “You think I am upset because I do not care for Violet?” she asked, clutching her handkerchief in her hand.

“Naturally, I—”

“IadoreViolet,” she sniffled, blotting her eyes. “It’syouI’m not fond of at this particular moment.” Her lips trembled. “How could you nottellme you had married? Don’t you think I would have liked to attend your wedding? Don’t you think I would have liked toknowthat you had married?”

“It wasn’t that sort of wedding,” John hastened to assure her, rising from his seat.

“That you would keep such a secret from me!” the duchess cried, throwing her hands up in a gesture of incredulity. “I had to discover it in the paper—”

“Nearly everyone discovered it in the paper,” John said, in a futile effort to quell the storm before it engulfed her once more.

“Nearly everyone?” The duchess latched onto that with a vengeance. “Nearlyeveryone? Pray tell,who elsewas privy to this knowledge?” Her eyes had taken on that particular gleam that tossed him straight back to childhood and being called out onto the carpet for one of his and Alex’s joint misadventures. All at once he was eight years old once more, head bent toward his toes, shamed by the lecture he had earned.

“Practically no one,” he managed. “Just Alex.”

The duchess fisted her hands on her hips and glared through narrowed eyes.

John swallowed. “And Grey. And Serena.”

Her nostrils flared, chin tilted up.

“My solicitor,” he admitted. “And my household staff.”

“Practically no one,” the duchess bit off, her spine snapping straight as she marched across the carpet toward him. Though he towered over her by a good six or seven inches, still she jabbed him straight in the chest with the point of one finger and declared, “I won’t stand for it any longer, John.”

“Your Grace, I—”

“Donotargue with me, John Darling,I am your mother.”

John’s brows winged up in surprise. The duchess’ chin trembled as she choked back a sniffle, shuffling back a step. Sodden handkerchief abandoned, she scrubbed at her damp eyes with the sleeve of her silk gown, blotting water stains into the fragile fabric.

“OfcourseI am your mother,” she said, as if to answer an unspoken question. “Do not ever think for onemomentthat just because I did not give birth you that I am any less your mother.” A heartfelt sob lodged in her throat. “You were always the child of my heart,” she said tremulously. “From the very moment you came into my life, you weremine.Myson. Have I ever treated you as if you were anything other than my own son?”

Of course she hadn’t. Not for a moment, John realized. Not even when he hadexpectedher to treat him differently. He had been subject to the same lectures as Alex whenever they had misbehaved, endured the same lessons underneath the watchful eye of an exacting tutor, and received all the same attention and care. She had always loved him as a mother—andhehad always desperately feared that that love would one day be revoked. And then he had lost it all at once, when his grandfather had demanded his return to send him off to school.

But she had never stopped loving him. He had simply stoppedseeingit. He had simply stoppedacceptingit as readily as he once had. Because he had been too cowardly to risk yet another disappointment.

“Do you remember,” he said, his voice strangely hoarse, “that summer I pushed Alex out of a tree?”

The duchess swiped at her eyes, a helpless laugh trickling from her throat. “I was sofuriouswith the both of you,” she said. “You were suchboys, so careless, so reckless. Alex’s face was such a wreck; he must have hit every branch on the way down. And those broken bones in his foot—I had to send away the dancing master I had hired. I could have throttled you both!”

“I thought for certain you would send me away,” John confessed, and a wave of relief swept over him at the admission—a secret he had always been too fearful to divulge. “I was so frightened. I was certain you would hate me.” Instead she had railed at the both of them for a good half an hour and sent them to bed without supper—and even that had lasted less than hour before she had recanted and ordered trays sent up to their rooms.

“I could never hate you. I neverwouldhave sent you away. It killed me to have to let your grandfather take you.” Her eyes watered over again, and John patted his pockets for a handkerchief. With a shuddering breath, she continued: “I sent Alex off to school for you, you know. So you wouldn’t be alone. I had to lose both my boys—but Alex missed you so.”

“I never knew.” It was odd, in retrospect, for aduketo be sent off to school. It would have been normal for him to be educated at home. But at that age, all he had known was that his best friend had turned up suddenly at school to be educated alongside him—and he had thought nothing further of it. “Iamsorry,” he said, offering his handkerchief to her. “I’ve had to make so many apologies of late. It has been…a humbling experience. For what it is worth, my wedding occurred several years ago and was hardly a joyous occasion.No oneknew about it until fairly recently—not even Alex. You were not invited because it was not an event I thought worthy of celebration, not because I would not have wanted you there.” He heaved a sigh, scrubbing at his face. “I’vereallydone it this time. I could benefit from some motherly advice.”

The duchess smiled through her tears, and with a sob of happiness, threw her arms about his neck in an exuberant embrace. He was forgiven in an instant—because shewashis mother, in every way that mattered. “Of course,” she said. “Tell meeverything.”

“I will,” John said, and closed his arms around her. “I will, but first—I love you, Mum.”

How had he ever thought this so difficult? It was the simplest thing he’d ever said in his life.

Chapter Twenty Nine

“For the love of God,” Violet snapped, as she came down the stairs to find the Duke of Davenport waiting in her drawing room. “Who let you in?”