The butler came in holding a tea tray, crumpets, and preserves; beside it was a silver tray holding a letter. She stifled a yawn. “What time is it? How long have I been asleep?”
“It is almost midday, Your Grace,” the old butler replied gently as he set the tray down on the bedside table. “A letter from Countess Kingstower has arrived for you.”
She startled, “Lady Catherine.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” he nodded. “I assume you know where His Grace has gone?”
“Westminster, yes, I do,” Cecilia replied. “Thank you for the tray. Please organize a bath for me in half an hour.”
“It will be done, Your Grace,” Andrews bowed.
After she made her tea, she opened Catherine’s letter and began to read.
Ýour Grace,
I only want to write a quick note and alert you that my men have found the young woman Gabriel defiled. Her name is Grace Florence, and she has agreed to take the child, a boy child named Michael.
I hope you see the irony. We will be at Lady Horatia’s garden party this coming Sunday. If you don’t wish to be the villain in this narrative, I will gladly take on the mantle.
Yours,
Catherine.
She rested the letter down while reaching for a bracing sip of her tea, and once again, questioned herself on the morality of doing this. It felt like she was meeting a wrong with another wrong—but was what Gabriel and Lady Ophelia Hawthorne doing to her any better?
This is Gabriel’s kismet. He only did this to himself.
Her stomach still felt uneasy.
I should have spoken to Cassian about this. I find it strange that with all his connections, he did not know about this secret child.
She finished her light meal and, after her bath, headed to her room, only for Andrews to knock. “Your Grace,” he bowed. “Your mother has arrived—”
The book in her hand tumbled to the floor. “Mother is here?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” he affirmed. “Do you wish to have her in the blue drawing room?”
Collecting herself, Cecilia nodded. “And send in some refreshments, too.”
She was not prepared for her mother to turn up without a word—but maybe she had sent notice and Cecilia had missed it. What did her mother want?
Steeling herself, she left for the room and stepped in to see her mother staring out a window. Her mother’s ensemble was immaculate as ever; her lavender travel set, gown, spencer, hat, and gloves were so excitedly tailored to her form. She entered just as her mother was plucking her gloves off.
“Mother?”
Turning, Margaret gave Cecilia a one-over that felt almost scalpel-like. “Hullo, darling,” she uttered. “You look well. Come and give your mother a hug.”
Cecilia swallowed, feeling uneasy; she and her mother had never seen eye-to-eye on most things. No matter what she did, she could not please her, and the look moments ago made her feel as if she had failed again, somehow.
Despite that, she went and hugged her mother tightly. Pulling away, she stood at arm’s length, “I am glad to see you, Mother, but I must ask. I think you know I was not ready for company just yet.”
“I sent word,” her mother replied with a cavalier wave of the hand.
Cecilia frowned as she tried to recall reading such a letter or note— nothing came to mind.
“I—” she stopped herself from apologizing. “Why are you here, Mother?”
Margaret sighed theatrically, and her lips ticked down. “I need to speak to you about getting this annulment, Cecilia.”
