“Are you well, Your Grace?” his mother queried, polite concern underlying her mellifluous voice.
“Forgive me,” she said hastily. “I was… I am… Since the incident in London, I have not been myself. I fear I swallowed my eggs wrong.”
Lily raised a dark brow, looking very much like her son with her impenetrable countenance. “Oh? How odd. I do not believe you have taken a bite to eat, Duchess.”
Ara’s face heated as she realized Clay’s mother had been observing her far too closely during the course of their quiet breakfast. She wondered if her guilt showed in her expression. If Lily had any inkling what had occurred the evening before.
And that morning.
Her cheeks burned hotter still.
“My appetite has not been as rigorous as it ought to be given the tumult of the last few weeks,” she forced herself to say, donning a polite smile.
Lily studied her solemnly. “My dear, you must look after yourself, for the sake of that darling boy if no one else.”
Her heart warmed to think of her son, who had been soundly sleeping when she had checked on him before descending to breakfast. Clay’s cat had been curled up alongside Edward, and the picture the two of them presented had brought a rush of maudlin maternal tears to her eyes. She rather had a feeling the feline was no longer Clay’s at all.
“For these last few months, I have been all Edward has left,” she acknowledged before keeping herself from revealing more. Already, she had said too much, and she was not prepared to confess all to Lily. She did not yet know how the other woman would take the news, and Ara did not think herself capable of handling any more conflict and unrest.
Not now.
Not after everything she had been through.
She was still partially in shock from it all: the grief, danger, revelations, and change. She scarcely recognized her reflection in the glass. Somehow, she had not realized she had lost weight, but she could feel it now, in the way her dresses hung on her slight frame. In the way her corset could lace without any slack.
“But now you are here,” Lily intervened in that lovely, lilting voice of hers, her tone infinitely kind. “The two of you are not alone any longer, Your Grace.”
For now,Ara wanted to say, because Clay had not made her a single promise. She considered his mother, resplendent this morning in a bright emerald gown that set off her dark hair and eyes. She was lovely, and Ara could readily see how the Duke of Carlisle would have fallen in love with her. She had been nothing but welcoming, giving, and warm. Like the flamboyant dresses she wore, she possessed a signature brightness and warmth that drew others to her.
She wondered if Lily suspected Edward was Clay’s son. She had no notion of how close he was to his mother. But she could not quite suppress the suspicion that the woman offering her a compassionate smile across the breakfast table knew more than she alluded to. Perhaps it was a mother’s instinct.
Ara swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat at the elder woman’s empathy. “We are grateful indeed for your hospitality, Lily. I no longer felt safe at Burghly House after…the incident. Being here at Harlton Hall is a refreshing change of pace from the city.”
As she said the words, she realized just how deeply she meant them. Despite her inner turmoil over Clay and what the revelations of their past meant for them moving forward, she was calmer here. Her shoulders did not feel quite so tensed. She breathed easier. Harlton Hall felt like a home. It was filled with Lily’s warmth and innate sense of style—each chamber decorated sumptuously without being overbearing—and the park was verdant and vibrant, and so very alive.
She felt as if she could belong here.
As if it could beherhome.
But that was rather silly of her, wasn’t it? To develop a fondness for a collection of stones and wooden beams after a mere day? Especially when she did not know where she stood with Clay.
“This is not my home, Duchess,” his mother said, her smile turning wistful. “It is my son’s. Of course, he has not yetmadeit his home, but there is ample time yet for that. I do keep hoping that one day he will marry and provide me with a gentle and tenderhearted wife so that I may at last have a daughter as well. A grandson in Clay’s image would be a gift in equal measure.”
Dear God.
Clay’s motherknew. There was no question of it. She knew she ought not to be surprised, for she herself had seen the undeniable similarities between Clay and Edward. Her son was his father’s mirror, in miniature. But somehow, the knowledge that the generous, wonderful woman before her knew the truth of her sins took Ara’s breath.
She did not know what to say. Panic scrambled up her throat, for she was not ready for this. The assault she had almost faced had left her badly shaken, and her mind and body did not wish to absorb one more trauma.
Fortunately, Lily spared her the decision.
She directed another sincere smile Ara’s way. “Of course, a grandchild in Leo’s image would be equally as welcome. But Carlisle is decidedly different from Clay. He assures me he is in no position to settle down with a wife, regardless of how happy it would make me.”
Though Ara knew she should not be surprised, she was nevertheless taken aback by Lily referring to the Duke of Carlisle as her son. It was a unique situation, the topic a delicate one.
“Of course,” she said mildly, attempting to hide her discomfit by shoveling a forkful of eggs into her mouth and chewing. The dish had long since gone cold.Oeufs cocottehad never appealed to her. Less now that they had been too long untouched upon her plate. She stifled her moue of disgust and reluctantly lifted another bite of cold eggs to her lips.
“Our family is unconventional, I know,” Clay’s mother said then, seeming to read Ara’s thoughts yet again. She gave Ara a sad smile. “Pray forgive me if I make you uncomfortable but I do so wish Reggie could have met you, Duchess, and your son as well.”
