The Duchess of Ashbey smiled. “Well done, Pen. I’ve been unable to convince Mrs. Montrose to use my name.”
“Because calling you Alicia would not be a good example to the children,” Hera replied.
The duchess nodded. “So, you’ve argued, and so I have conceded. Now, will you tell us why you look as pale as blancmange?”
Hera dropped her gaze and folded her hands.
“Earlier this morning, I went down to the village. The baker’s wife pulled me in from the street, all aflutter. A stranger—a Bow Street Runner—had just been in asking questions. The Runner was looking for me.”
“But who would send someone to find you?” the Duchess of Ashbey asked.
Hera met her gaze. “Hemusthave been sent by Karl.”
The duchess sucked in a sharp breath.
“And who is Karl?” Penelope asked.
Hera exchanged a glance with the other duchess. “My former employer. And” —she lowered her voice—“the father of my illegitimate child.”
She braced for Penelope to express shock. However, Penelope’s clear blue eyes remained steady and sympathetic.
“I see,” she said softly.
For Penelope’s sake, she recounted facts already known to the other duchess, starting with the five years she’d served as an unpaid governess in the household of her half-brother—a brother who’d been long-estranged from their father at the time of his death. A brother who had been forced to take her in due to her father’s will, but who had always reviled her because she was the product of their father’s scandalous second marriage.
“I was unwanted but for my labor. By the time I met the prince, I was exhausted, lonely, and despairing of my future.” How vividly she remembered that misty London morning on the banks of the Serpentine! “Karl, who’d been out walking with his secretary, lingered by our little party and then engaged me in conversation. He said he was impressed by the way I was keeping my half-brother’s four boys in hand.”
“Four!” Penelope exclaimed.
“Four,” Hera smiled wryly. “Karl showed up again the next day, and the one after, and, then he offered me employment on generous terms as governess to his own children.”
She passed a hand over her face before continuing, “I was thrilled, at first, to have been offered a proper, paid position. I should have known that aristocratic diplomats don’t hire their own staff—nor would they ever dream of engaging the services of a woman they metin a park.”
She shook her head at her own naiveté and then sighed. “After I was under his roof, he became...ardent. Although the very idea of becoming his mistress shocked me, I must admit I was flattered. He is an attractive man, and he pleaded the loneliness of a widower. In truth, Ifeltfor him.”
Remembering him as she’d believed him to be then—lost and wistful beneath his elegant sophistication—was difficult. Remembering herself as she’d been then—trusting and innocent and desperately longing to be wanted—was mortifying.
“Did he force you into an arrangement?”
Hera closed her eyes. “He told me the decision was mine. He said he was not at liberty to wed in the traditional sense, but he mentioned the possibility of something called a morganatic marriage once he was able to return to his homeland. And he promised to care for me until then. So I...I...”
Her voice faded.
“And so, you, like many women before you, made a choice among poor options in order to survive,” Penelope offered for her, her gaze nothing but understanding.
Was that what she had done?
She’d since convinced herself she’d made the choice because she wasweak, not because circumstance had left herweakened. Tears threatened again, hovering in a bubble at the base of her throat. Hera pushed them down.
“I did not love him, of course. Although he was”—she blushed—“quite dazzling. Urbane. Nothing seemed beyond his power...something that should have made me wary but did not.”
“Yes,” Alicia sighed. “Some men possess the ability to dazzle when they wish to...and turn cold when they do not. In my opinion, you are too generous with him. He took advantage of your position.”
“I could have said no,” Hera argued.
“Karl saying you had a choice,” Penelope ventured gently, “does not completely absolve him of suggesting an affair in the first place...”
Hera frowned. Could that be true?
