Page 10 of Never Beguile a Duke

“By the time Miss Ridlington’s condition became evident, the Hills’ children had taken quite strongly to her. They couldn’t send her away.” Mrs. Upton leveled her gaze at Silas. “Miss Ridlington apologized, explaining war had claimed the baby’s father and desperation drove her to take the job.”

Holding out the letter, Mrs. Upton licked her lips. “Miss Ridlington passed away last month. We didn’t discover that she’d lied about her past until this morning when Mr. Hill uncovered a missive in her hand, stating you were the father of Miss Juliette.”

Silas’ hand refused to take the paper. “There’s nothing that could be written to prove this child is mine.”

There may be one thing…

“Please, Your Grace.” Mrs. Upton slid from the chair and dropped to her knees. “If you don’t take Miss Juliette, the Hills will send her to a workhouse.”

“Why?” Silas’ eyes flicked to the child.

“After discovering the extent of Miss Ridlington’s falsehoods, Mrs. Hill demanded the immediate removal of Miss Juliette.” Clasping her hands together, Mrs. Upton crawled on her knees toward Silas. “I’m to return without her.”

“Then I suggest you do as your employer requested.” The words carved up his mouth.

Pressing her lips together, Mrs. Upton nodded, rose, and brushed off her skirt. She dug her fingers into Juliette’s thin shoulder and steered the girl toward the exit.

“I apologize for taking up your time,” Mrs. Upton said, depositing the letter on Silas’ desk as she passed.

“But he didn’t read it,” Juliette whispered.

Mrs. Upton shushed her. “His Grace is an extremely busy man. We should be grateful he agreed to see us.”

Juliette tugged free of Mrs. Upton and spun around, tears streaming down her cheeks. “She said you were her savior.”

“Pardon?” Silas’ chest constricted.

“In the letter,”—Juliette stepped forward, her fingers folded into a jumbled knot—“why would Mother write that?”

“I don’t know.”

Except, he did. Because he’d rescued a Miss Ridlington from a runaway coach ten years ago, and she’d repaid his kindness with six blissful weeks of adoration, until she vanished.

“Come.” Mrs. Upton grabbed Juliette and yanked the girl out of the study.

Silas crossed his study and peered around the doorframe, his gaze zeroing in on the braids hanging down Juliette’s back, the same shade he recalled winding around his fingers ten years prior.

Was this child his?

“Mother said?—”

Mrs. Upton cut off Juliette with a sharp slap. “Your mother was a liar who took advantage of her employers’ kindness, my kindness, and attempted to foist you on an unsuspecting gentleman.”

Juliette howled, drawing Lennox, Mr. and Miss Venning, and, after a minute, Warwick to the doorway of the parlor. Varying levels of confusion colored their faces as their heads oscillated between Silas, Mrs. Upton, and the crying child.

Before anyone reacted, Juliette stomped her heel on Mrs. Upton’s foot, pulled free, and raced down the corridor toward Silas.

She flung herself at him, wrapped her arms around his legs, and sobbed, “Please don’t send me away, Father.”

CHAPTER THREE

WINIFRED

“I suspected”—Nora will never forgive me if she discovers I deceived her—“that my father’s portrait may have fallen on the pathway when my trunk was carted to the coach.”

Skepticism passed through Nora’s eyes as her gaze slid across the icy landscape behind Winifred. “Did you discover the painting?”

“Near the stone bench.” Winfred twisted away and stuck her fingers into her bodice, fishing for an edge of the brass frame. “Thankfully, the inclement weather hadn’t ruined the image.”