Page 14 of The Lady Was Lying (Greydon #3)

Chapter Five

T he carriage came to a smooth stop in front of his townhouse, offering a reprieve he desperately needed. Why couldn’t he make himself stop arguing with her? “I will instruct my driver to return you to your brother’s. I trust you’ll find a way inside without being discovered.”

“I’m not an idiot,” she responded.

Was it safe to send her back alone? “I should escort you safely to your doorstep, shouldn’t I?”

“Unless you intend to kiss me now, you should get out of the carriage. I will be fine.”

He wanted to argue further, but with self-preservation in mind, he nodded and climbed out.

After a brief word with his coachman, he jogged up the stairs and entered the house without looking back.

It wasn’t as easy as he would have liked to resist checking if she were watching him, but he managed it.

As soon as the door closed behind him, his mother’s voice sliced through the otherwise silent entrance hall, startling him. “You had dinner at the Earl of Greydon’s?”

Standing on the grand staircase in the foyer, she appeared to have been waiting for his return.

He grimaced at the obvious tension in her stance.

He knew he should have spoken to her before he left, but he’d hoped he could avoid another confrontation until morning.

“Greydon invited me to join them when we discovered the countess is my sister.”

She gasped. “Your sister? That means Joseph is?—”

“Joseph Hart is dead,” he interjected softly.

“Oh…that is…he was…I didn’t realize.”

She didn’t appear overly beset, so he continued, “He inherited and then passed soon after. His eldest son—his eldest legitimate son—is the viscount now. They were not aware of my existence, so the countess was shocked when we were introduced at the ball. She says I’m the very image of her father.”

“You are.” His mother’s voice wavered. “You are legitimate too. The duke recognized you as his son, and he was my husband. We were married well before your birth. Everything is properly documented. No one can question your position.” She squeezed her eyes shut.

“I know you’re angry with me. My explanation was not enough, and you might never be able to excuse what I did, but I can’t change the past. What’s done is done.

” Her eyes opened, piercing him. “Has learning the truth ruined your memories of him?”

“It hasn’t,” he responded honestly. The impact of those memories was altered perhaps, but the memories themselves remained unchanged.

“However, I have five half siblings—two sisters and three brothers that I know almost nothing about. Emmeline and Danford both have children of their own. Eve is married. The twins are at school. I’ve missed out on their entire lives. ”

For a man who had never had any family other than his parents, it was almost inconceivable that he had so many relations. Would they all be as welcoming as Emmeline?

“And now…you want to know them?”

“I do.” It likely wouldn’t be simple, but he believed it would be worth it.

She reached out and gripped the banister. “If you’re not careful, the truth will be revealed.”

“I’ll be careful,” he assured her.

“The more people who know…You can’t be careful enough.” The shrill tone of her voice scraped against his nerves. Was it too much to ask to continue this conversation tomorrow?

“They are family, and they’ve promised they won’t share our secrets.”

“You just met them. They are not your family.”

“Mother.” He pressed his fingers into his eyes. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to consider your legacy. To protect your future. Now that you know what is at stake, you must see the prudence of returning home. You need to distance yourself from Danford and Greydon and anyone else who can reveal your paternity and taint your future.”

“They won’t reveal anything.”

“You can’t trust them.”

“I can,” he insisted. They had no reason to reveal the truth. A scandal would affect them too.

“You’ve known them for a day, and you already trust them?”

Other than his mother and his father, he had spent much of his time alone. He hadn’t been lonely exactly, but until this evening he hadn’t known what it was like to have siblings, and even understanding the risks, he wasn’t willing to give them up.

“They’ve never lied to me.” His words were flat, their implication impossible to misconstrue, and he regretted them immediately. Being frustrated and tired didn’t give him an excuse to make this harder for her.

She flinched and then stepped off the stairs. Her face was a mask of pain when she halted in front of him. “You no longer trust me?”

“Of course, I still trust you.” He groaned in frustration. “You are my mother.”

“Then why aren’t you listening to me?”

“Because you don’t get to decide how I handle this,” he almost shouted. “It’s my future. Family is important to me.”

“They are not your family,” she repeated. Her voice was anguished.

It pained him to upset her, but he couldn’t deny his feelings. “They are part of my family now.”

“You’re willing to risk everything for them.

My reputation. Your future. I cannot believe you are this na?ve.

” She spun around and took two steps up the stairs before turning back and pointing at him.

“This is Elsbeth’s fault. If that whore had not married another, you wouldn’t have had to come to London at all.

You would be safely married at Bramblewood. ”

“Mother,” he scolded. “We’ve already discussed this. And I’ve already warned you that you may not speak of Elsbeth in such a manner.”

“She betrayed you. I will speak of her as she deserves.”

Why couldn’t she let his failed betrothal go? “Elsbeth jilted me with my permission.”

“It was her duty to marry you. You waited for her all those years, and she threw your loyalty in your face.” The betrothal had been agreed upon while Elsbeth was still an infant.

He’d only been twelve at the time and had accepted it because his father had wanted it.

Waiting for Elsbeth to come of age hadn’t been difficult.

There was no real affection between them, and she had been so much younger that he’d been content to wait.

Now that he knew the truth, he understood his mother’s seemingly irrational anger at his former betrothed, but understanding didn’t change anything. “By marrying someone else, she gave me the opportunity to choose my wife. You, of all people, should understand the power behind having a choice.”

She deflated, her eyes filling with tears.

“Since your father died, everything has changed. Nothing is as it’s meant to be, and I don’t…

I don’t know how to cope. I couldn’t force Elsbeth to marry you.

There is no way for me to protect you from the consequences of the choices I made.

And I can’t stop you from forging a relationship with your siblings.

” Her shoulders quaked, and a wretched sob erupted from her chest. “The only thing I can do is warn you that you’re making a mistake. ”

“It’s my mistake to make,” he said, closing the distance between them and pulling her into his chest. The contact only made her sob harder. It was more difficult than he would have expected to be the cause of her tears.

Was it selfish to put himself first?

He might be able to ease her worries if he promised to forget that he had siblings or if he followed her edict and returned to the estate.

Unfortunately, he was unwilling to do either, so he simply held her as she cried.

His cravat was damp and limp by the time her tears slowed, and his heart was equally battered.

He loathed disappointing her, but he didn’t see any way to avoid it.

When her tears dried, he escorted her to her room, then he prepared himself for sleep and slid beneath the covers.

Unfortunately, the revelations of his parentage, the strain of arguing with his mother, the joy of meeting two of his siblings, and his confusing encounters with Belinda had given him too much on his mind to relax fully.

He tossed and turned, dozing as much as possible, until daylight trickled through the windows.

* * *

The dreary morning practically begged him to stay in bed, but he rose anyway, preparing for the day as if it were any other. His mother sailed into the breakfast room a moment after he’d picked up the neatly pressed paper so he could read while he ate.

“We need to talk.” She slid into the seat to his left.

Afraid she wanted to rehash their argument from the night before, he told her no without looking up.

“Yes,” she countered smoothly.

With a sigh, he set the paper down and studied her. She remained pale, and the dark smudges under her eyes suggested she hadn’t slept well, but her mood was markedly different. Calm and collected rather than stressed and flustered.

Relieved that she seemed more herself and slightly less worried about why she wanted to talk than he had been a moment earlier, he asked, “About what?”

“My past. Your future. I’m sorry about yesterday.

And last night. And about the way I treated you after Elsbeth ended your betrothal.

” She chewed on her lower lip. “I’ve made many mistakes.

Since the duke died, I haven’t asked how you are or what you’re thinking.

I presumed you’d fulfill your duties as expected, and then I didn’t respond well when circumstances changed. ”

Neither of them had responded well. “I should have told you what I knew sooner.”

“You shouldn’t have had to tell me .” Her eyes held sadness but also resolve. “Why are you so insistent that we remain in London?”

Between her apology—which he hadn’t expected—and the honest curiosity in her question, he could glimpse the relationship they used to share.

One that he had missed.

He wanted to explain himself, but there wasn’t a single overarching reason why he insisted on staying. More like a multitude of small ones that were difficult to describe.

“I did everything he ever asked. I never questioned my role or my responsibilities.” Not even the betrothal.

“He taught me everything he knew about becoming duke and being an admirable man. I listened and learned all I could about the land and the tenants and my obligation to both.” He picked up a spoon and stirred his tea before he forced himself to admit, “Making him proud is all that I ever wanted.”

It was embarrassing how little he’d considered himself in his future.

“He was proud of you.”

“I know. He told me practically every day.” He tapped the spoon against the edge of the cup. “His approval was enough…until it wasn’t.”

“But you are an admirable man, and nothing can change that.”

He set down the spoon without picking up the cup.

“Thank you.” His character wasn’t something he really doubted.

“I’ve followed in his footsteps and become the duke he expected me to be, but I don’t know who I am beyond my title.

I want to find a partner. Not one that is assigned to me. One that I discover on my own.”

He felt ridiculous voicing what he wanted.

He had been too busy living up to the standard set by his father to even realize that he did not know what he desired in a wife. It wasn’t that he regretted the past. He’d been genuinely happy, and he wouldn’t trade the hours he’d shared with the duke for anything.

Now though, his circumstances were so different than he’d expected them to be. He didn’t know how he’d discover what he wanted if he stayed at Bramblewood and lived the same life he’d always lived.

Leaving had been the only option.

“I’m sorry if I made leaving Bramblewood difficult,” she said.

“You had every reason to question my intentions.” Before the deathbed confession, he’d had no trouble communicating with his mother. He shouldn’t have allowed a rift between them. Having her support would have made the last months easier. “I should have explained sooner.”

“You were angry and confused.”

“That isn’t an excuse.”

“But it is a reason.”

“I suppose.” Having a reason did not make him feel better. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to you as soon as he told me.”

“And I’m sorry he burdened you with such a heavy secret. I will always wish you didn’t know, but since you do, I’ll try to accept the choices you make.” She reached out and gripped his forearm. “Maybe we can both try to do better in the future?”

“I would like that.”

An unseen weight lifted from his shoulders. If he and his mother could return to the easy relationship they had once shared, his life would be a great deal less fraught. He’d missed her support more than he’d realized.