That stopped Winston in his tracks. His eyes went from one man to the other.
“The lady residing in your household, serving as the governess, is this man’s daughter,” Pike said.
The words struck like a stone dropped into still water. Winston’s jaw tightened. He gave no sign of surprise, only the cold politeness of a man masking fury.
“I thank you for the information,” he said.
He turned back toward Adeline, who waited unaware in the carriage. She still wore his coat about her shoulders. She looked up at him as he approached, offering a small, uncertain smile.
“Cordelia seems much better now she has had some fresh air.” Adeline patted his mother’s knee gently.
Winston slid onto the seat next to Louisa. He looked from one woman to the next, then murmured, “She will be.”
His voice was steady, but his pulse thundered. Outside, the carriage lamps threw their light across the wet street. As the horses started forward, Winston gazed out into the dark. The truth sat between them now, unspoken, heavy, and impossible to ignore.
Lord Harston…Adeline is his daughter…What does this mean?
The carriage jerked slightly to the left, and his mother gave a soft moan in reply. Winston’s eyes darted toward her, then he focused on Adeline once more.
I promised to keep her safe, and I will keep that promise.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“I…I think I need a cup of tea.”
Those were the last words Winston’s mother spoke before her eyes fluttered shut and she lost consciousness.
“Mother!” Winston barked.
“Duchess,” Adeline cried.
Louisa reached forward, grabbed hold of the fine fabric on her grandmama’s sleeve, and tugged. “What…what is wrong with her?” the young lady asked in a tremulous whisper.
Winston had no answers to supply. He wished to call out for help, to order the driver to pull the carriage to the side of the road immediately, but before he could do anything of use, the coach halted.
The carriage had barely stopped before the servants were running down the steps. Louisa cried while Winston hefted his mother’s motionless body in his arms and carried her into the townhouse. Adeline followed close behind, pale but steady, her hand pressed against Cordelia’s shoulder as though sheer will could keep her alive.
“Summon Dr. Hadley at once,” Winston said as he carried his mother up the stairs. “And have hot water and clean linen brought to her room.”
The house erupted into motion. Footmen raced for the physician, maids whispered prayers in doorways. Cordelia’s bedchamber was warm and faintly scented with lavender. Winston laid her carefully upon the coverlet. Her skin was grey, her lips drained of color, and the fragile pulse at her throat fluttered like a dying bird.
Adeline was steady beside her, giving quiet orders to the maid. “Another blanket. And a candle by the mirror, please.”
Louisa hovered in the doorway, trembling. “Is she dying?”
“No,” Adeline said gently, her tone more certain than her face. “She’s only resting. The doctor will help her breathe more easily.”
Winston stood at the foot of the bed, unable to move. Yet Adeline’s calmness steadied him. She worked with quiet purpose, adjusting the pillows, whispering small comforts that belonged more to a daughter than a nurse. The sight of it didsomething to him. It pierced through the numbness and struck directly at the place he’d kept closed for so long.
She turned once to him. “She needs warmth. The fire should be higher.”
He moved without speaking, feeding the flames, anything to keep from thinking about how naturally Adeline’s hand smoothed his mother’s hair, how instinctively Louisa clung to her skirts. She belonged to them; shefeltlike family.
But she has not been honest with us.
Winston stared into the fire.
She is really the daughter of Lord Harston. Why would she lie about that? Why?
