Rhys recognized Mrs. Smith from his childhood memories. She had the same smooth, round face, and her clear, brandy-colored eyes still twinkled with a youthful exuberance. Instead of the double coils, her jet-black hair was now worn in a single braided bun. As a boy, he’d thought that she, an adolescent girl, was much older than him, but now he realized she was probably only in her late thirties.
Sampling the tea, Rhys discovered it was an excellent oolong. “My uncle visited you?”
Mrs. Smith nodded. “About six months ago. He told me he had been searching for me for some time, and he was glad to have found me before his time ran out. As you are here, am I to offer my condolences?”
“Thank you,” he said gruffly. “Why was Uncle Horatio looking for you?”
Her clear eyes darkened. “He wished to talk about the past.”
“If you don’t wish to talk about it, pet—” her husband began.
“I am fine.” She smiled at him, and the brawny fellow turned ruddy. “The events are over and done with, and the living must go on. Mr. Horatio believed that I had information that could be of use to His Grace. The key, he called it, to understanding your past.”
Rhys braced, his heart pounding like a fist.
Beneath the table, Maggie’s hand found his, and he drew from her strength.
“What information?” he asked.
“About your mama, my beloved mistress.” Mrs. Smith’s expression was troubled. “About what happened…between her and the duke.”
“I know what happened.” His gut churned. “I was there once when my father abused her.”
Maggie’s fingers laced tightly with his.
Mrs. Smith let out a sigh. “Such things were not for a boy to see. Nor for a lady to endure. Yet endure them she did, my mistress.”
“I don’t know how she managed.” His throat thickened as he saw the bruises spreading over his mother’s pale skin like ink over paper. “She was so delicate and frail.”
“Yourmother, frail?Ai-yah,” Mrs. Smith exclaimed, “where did you get that foolish idea? My mistress was the strongest woman I ever knew!”
“I only meant…physically she…” He swallowed. “She was slight, and even walking was difficult for her.”
“Because of her feet,” Mrs. Smith said matter-of-factly. “In China, small feet are prized, considered a sign of feminine beauty. Her Grace’s feet were bound since she was a young girl. The bones were broken over and again, her toes folded under the soles.” She spread her fingers on the table, folding them into her palm to illustrate. “I changed the bandage daily, and I know it caused my mistress great pain.”
“How cruel to inflict such a deformity,” Maggie burst out. Then her eyes widened. “Oh, beg pardon, Mrs. Smith. Are your feet…?”
The lady laughed. “Goodness, no. I was a servant and needed my big feet to run around on.”
“Your feet aren’t big,” her husband muttered. “We Englishmen like our womenfolk to be able to walk.”
“But not to breathe. Have you ever worn a corset?” Mrs. Smith’s eyes flitted heavenward. “But that is neither here nor there. My point is that my mistress met her suffering with fortitude and grace. And I don’t mean just the pain of her feet. She did not want to leave China, to leave her home and dearest mother behind. But her father insisted she marry the duke to fulfill his ambitions, and she did so without complaint. For the honor of her family, she would do anything. Endure anything.”
Rhys’s chest tightened. He had never thought of his mother in this way. Yet Mrs. Smith’s words shone a new light behind his mother’s porcelain façade, illuminating an unexpected core...of steel.
“I wish she didn’t have to suffer what she did,” he said, his voice raw. “I wish I could have stopped my father, protected her—”
“You were a boy. What could you have done?”
Mrs. Smith’s response echoed what Maggie had told him. Yet a part of him couldn’t let go of his responsibility. His failure to defend his own mother. “I could have done more. Something.” Agitated, he stood, raking a hand through his hair. “I could have told someone, encouraged her to leave—”
“I see now why Mr. Horatio wanted you to find me,” the former servant interjected softly. “To help you see the past clearly. You think you failed your mama, is this true?”
He jerked his chin in assent.
“You did not. The truth is, you were the source of her strength,” Mrs. Smith declared.
Shame welled. “I cannot see how that is true.”
