“I have a daughter,” he said, stunned at how good it felt to reveal Emily to someone else. He had not yet told Huntingdon, though he knew his sister Hellie would have done. Hellie had sent him a note and attempted an audience, but he had avoided her. He was not yet ready to face his sister or to admit the extent of his failures, both with Emily and his own sister. He ought to have been a better brother, to have defended her against their father, to have demanded she not be pawned off onto Lord Hamish White.
“A daughter.” Northwich’s brow furrowed. “But what has that to do with Lady Julianna Somerset?”
“She is the mother,” he confessed quietly. “Before she left for New York City, we were… Damn it. There were repercussions from the time we spent together. She had my daughter there without my knowledge.”
“And you have yet to drink a drop of poison this evening? Brave soul.”
“I trust the truth of this sordid story will go no further than this table,” Sidney continued.
“Of course, Shelly.”
There it was again, the hated sobriquet.
Sidney ignored it because Northwich was, well,Northwich. “We married quietly in New York City two years ago, and then when we realized we did not suit, we divorced after Emily’s birth, just as quietly.”
“You did?” His friend’s dark brows snapped together. “I knew you were gone from London for a time back then, but I had not realized you had gone to New York City.”
“I did go to America,” he confirmed, again taking care to make sure no one had moved nearer to them before continuing. “But I never met up with her directly. We never married or divorced. That bit is a lie I am perpetuating to protect my daughter. Her existence was a secret to me until Julianna told me about her. Now, I am doing everything I can to make certain Emily is legitimate and never faces scorn or ridicule.”
A shadow passed over Northwich’s face. “Good man.”
Sidney knew his friend understood what it was like to bear the brunt of society’s disdain. The duke’s mother’s rumored heritage had left him largely on the fringes of society, despite his title. There were many who whispered behind his back. Others who scorned him outright.
“I love my daughter.” Easy words to say. An easy emotion to feel. Emily was everything light. She was sunshine, laughter and love and innocence. He did not deserve her.
“You did the right thing, Shelly.”
He realized his gaze had drifted once more to the bottle of Sauternes, which was alternately calling to him like a Siren’s song and mocking him. He returned his attention to his friend, gratitude creeping up inside him, chasing some of the anger and bitterness.
“Thank you,” he said simply.Sincerely.They were words he needed to hear in a life where he increasingly felt as if he had not done one goddamn thing right.
But as quickly as it had descended upon them, the heaviness of the moment fled. Northwich was a master at turning the darkest moments into something brighter. “Married, eh?”
“Married,” he agreed, feeling morose.
“That explains your mournful air. But think of it this way, old chum. You would have been every bit as miserable leg-shackled to Lady Hester, would you not?”
Hermione, not that it mattered.
Another sigh fled him. “It would have been an easier misery, I think. Being bound to a woman who makes you feel nothing is far more preferable than being tied to one who makes you feel…”
Everything, he had been about to say.
But he allowed his words to trail away instead. No sense revealing every jagged shard of himself.
“Damn.” Northwich drained the remnants of his wine, another shadow passing over his face. “I think I would prefer to be shackled to a woman who makes me feel something. Not that I want to be shackled. I do not, of course.”
His friend’s quick denial raised Sidney’s curiosity. There was something troubling Northwich. Something he was keeping to himself. And Sidney would have prodded at that something, dug at it like a splinter. But the truth was, he was deuced weary after everything that had unfolded today.
Marrying Julianna had been exhausting. It had been the culmination of everything he had wanted two years ago. And yet, it had been too late. The irony had not been lost on him. Nor had the tremble in her hands, the quiver in her chin as she had spoken her vows.
He ought to have been there when she returned with Emily.
But he had not been able to bear it. Instead, he had seen her returned to Leighton’s townhome, and then he had come directly to the club. Leaving her to settle herself as she would. Oh, Wentworth had been apprised of the situation. The conscientious servant would make certain Julianna and Emily would be installed in the viscountess’s apartments and the nursery in proper fashion.
“Only a fool wants to be shackled,” he said into the uneasy silence that had fallen between himself and Northwich.
“Amen to that.” Northwich poured some more Sauternes into his glass. “If you do not want to drink this, I will.”
