She was betrothed to a duke. But he hated her. And she couldn’t even blame him. She had been foolish and childish…but all she’d wanted was to find out what sort of man he was.
Chapter Twenty-Two
There was much to be done before Lady Penelope returned for the wedding. Not that he was planning a grand celebration – he believed marrying her was the right thing to do, but there did not need to be some extravagant party for everyone to attend. The ceremony itself would be small, just himself, Lady Penelope, and her parents. He would write to his sisters once it was done and inform them of the events.
No, he needed to decide before then where she would reside, as well as determine, when emotions were not involved, when they ought to have an heir. When he had proposed marriage, he had initially thought it prudent to have a child as soon as possible – and surely that would have been quite likely had they lived together as husband and wife.
But now, that was not to be the case. And so these things must be planned, because he knew he could not live with a woman who had lied to him and made him question his own judgement. He felt far too angry, and he could not see that feeling subsiding anytime soon.
While he was checking the ledgers for his estates in Southampton and Somerset, as well as his London home, to ensure that everything was in order before deciding where to place Lady Penelope, he found himself rather distracted – andnot by his anger, which he had managed to lock away in a box in his mind for now. It was Mrs Simmons's illegitimate son who occupied his thoughts, and he felt he had to speak to her about it, even if the conversation would surely be an uncomfortable one.
He called her to his study after supper, feeling more confident about having the conversation in his own space.
She looked a little nonplussed when she entered, so he presumed that no one had mentioned his knowledge of the past. He was pleased about that; it was good to know that Thomas was discreet and that such information was not being spread around Dunloch and beyond.
"Can I get you something, Your Grace?" Mrs Simmons asked.
"Please, close the door and take a seat," James said, gesturing to the chair before his desk.
She smoothed down the brown skirt of her day dress before sitting, her hands clasped in her lap.
"I know, when we last spoke, I said we should let the matter rest," he began, seeing no point in shying away from the reason he had called her. "But I have since learnt new information, and I need to know a little more."
"Oh. I see," Mrs Simmons said, her face turning pale.
"Before we continue, I want you to know that my previous statement still stands – this is all in the past, has been dealt with, and will have no impact on your employment here. But regardless... I need to know more."
She nodded but did not say anything, presumably waiting for a direct question from him. At least she had learnt, he thought, not to confirm anything until she was sure the person before her had accurate information.
"It has come to my attention that the child you bore thirty years ago" – he noticed her wince at the reference to her secretbut did not allow it to stop him – "was, in fact, fathered by the previous Duke of Dunloch."
She gripped her hands tightly together in her lap but did not look away from him as she said simply, "Yes."
The word felt like lead filling his heart. He’d seen the evidence, but he had not truly believed it until she confirmed it in that moment.
He nodded and made sure he had control of his voice before continuing. "And this son…he was born before I was, correct?"
Again, she nodded. "He is two years older than you, Your Grace."
"And he resides in France?"
Her eyes looked a little glassy, but he was relieved that this time she shed no tears. "Just outside Paris, Your Grace. With my brother and his wife."
It was hard to picture: another son of his father, living in France, presumably leading a much more modest life than James himself. "Does he know his true parentage?"
Mrs Simmons seemed willing to answer all of his blunt questions, and once he started asking, he could not stop. He had such a thirst for information about this strange topic that he had not even known existed until recently.
"He does not," Mrs Simmons said. "All he knows of the Duke of Dunloch is that his aunt works in his castle. And that is all I ever intend him to know, Your Grace."
"But my father…he knew?"
Mrs Simmons nodded. "Yes. He arranged passage to France, my extended leave from service, and then, when I returned, we never spoke of it again."
Part of him was rather curious as to whether that had been the end of their association, but he would not ask such an indelicate question, nor expect Mrs Simmons to answer it.
"Did my mother know?" he asked, and Mrs Simmons blushed, looking at the floor. It wasn’t a question he particularly relished asking a member of staff, but there was no one else alive he could ask. No one who would know – or who he would wish to share this information with to see if they had heard rumours at the time.
"I am not proud of my behaviour, Your Grace. I knew your father…was a married man. I cannot defend–"
