The duchess would not appreciate such gossip. Surprisingly, he didn’t wish for her to think he would stoop so low as to discuss her personal inclinations with such a busybody as this Goodnight woman.
“Yes. Well.” The woman, who must have at one time been a beauty, grimaced. She’d obviously expected a different response from him.
Thomas tugged at his cravat, averting his gaze to another cluster of guests.
His beautiful daughter, Cecily, mingled naturally in the fine salon. And she was happy. Thank God, she had finally found happiness — despite the debacle of a marriage he’d promoted for her to the Earl of Kensington.
Stephen Nottingham, Cecily’s husband, was watching her as well, a tender expression in his gaze. If Thomas had done nothing in his life, he’d always know he’d raised a fine daughter — and she’d gone on to find happiness.
“Poor, dear lady,” Mrs. Goodnight’s voice carried that tone which was meant to sound sympathetic, but in truth, veiled insult. “To lose so much at once and then later be dealt such a blow as the child’s uncanny coloring.”
Thomas blinked. The child’s coloring? What was she nattering on about? Why ever would the child’s coloring be another blow?
Mrs. Goodnight waved one hand in the air and laughed. “Oh, you men! Never paying attention to the details that matter. Why Little Lady Harriette, you’ve seen her. She’s the spitting image of the duke.”
Black hair. Black eyes.
But of course.
He performed a little mental math and the truth of the child’s paternity dawned on him.Not the spitting image of Lord Harold,the young duchess’husbandat the time of conception.Notthe spitting image of the widowed duchess’ son.
The child was not her granddaughter, merely a great niece. And yes, yes. Something of an insult, he’d imagine.
A stirring at the door signified new arrivals. The babies, carried by two mop-capped women, had arrived. Little Finn, who already was reaching for his mama, and the other with a thumb in her mouth, looking about for one of her parents. Pride burst within him as he watched Cecily lift the boy high into the air, and he realized at the same time, that the duchess had been denied even this.
The little girl’s eyes indeed matched those of her father, black as night and her hair nearly the same.
When his gaze swung to where the duchess sat, he watched her smile tightly. Of course, she loved the child, but… her son…
Thomas raised his brows at all the ramifications of this epiphany.
“I think I’d be even more inclined to take spirits, if I say so myself.” Mrs. Goodnight, observant woman that she was, had watched him closely as he’d contemplated her remark. “Darling child, though, she is.”
“Beautiful baby,” he agreed, wishing to extract himself from this woman’s conversation. A cool hand dropped onto his arm though.
“Although I can’t say I’d do it again. Raising a child leaves one with little opportunity to pursue one’s own… interests.”
Upon those words, Thomas realized,hejust might be one of those interests to which she referred.
He must excuse himself before getting caught in this woman’s crosshairs.
* * *
Loretta’s eyesdrank in the sight of Sophia and Dev’s precious little girl. She wanted to squeeze and kiss the child without wishing she was Harold’s. She wanted to bury her face in the sweet fragrance of the child’s hair.
Children signified the future. They signified hope.
Harold, Lucas, Prescott… they were her past. Why hadn’t they taken her with them?
She pinched her lips at the thought and turned her head.
This world belonged to Devlin and Sophia now. Loretta tried to keep herself to the dowager house but Sophia insisted, often coming herself to deliver invitations. To dinner. Brunch. Tea. And what excuses could Loretta use?
Loretta considered herself something of an imposter.
Even Mr. Findlay fit into this gathering better than she did. How ironic was that?
Her gaze flitted across the room to where he stood with Mrs. Goodnight.
