“His Grace instructed Mr. Newton to order the very best for you and the Misses Foley,” Bertha said. “Gowns, hats, all the accoutrements. The modiste will be by to ensure that everything fits properly.”
“Hooray!” Glory raced out of the room to find her loot.
“How generous of His Grace.” Even Hypatia sounded impressed.
Maggie didn’t know what to say. The elegant suite, the finery…it all seemed unreal. As if she, Maggie Foley, would wake up any minute now from some fantastic dream.
Yet it was real; Rhys had made it real.
If I could, I would give you everything.
She felt heat press behind her eyes. Not because of the expensive trappings…but because Rhys thought her worthy of them. And, for the first time, she felt she was.
Bertha took charge of the unpacking with the zeal of a general leading a war campaign. With nothing better to do and too awake to go to bed, Maggie and Hypatia settled in Maggie’s sitting room. Hypatia had her own separate suite, and Glory’s room was attached to Maggie’s by an adjoining door. Distant whoops could be heard from the girl, who instead of sleeping, was clearly testing out her featherbed.
“Do you think she’s being too loud?” Maggie asked apprehensively.
Her feet up on a velvet footstool, Hypatia sipped contentedly at her beverage, which she hadn’t bothered to mix with tea. “Mivart’s has seen far worse, I’m sure. No one revels like the Upper Crust.”
“It feels strange being here.”
“You’d better get used to it.” Over her spectacles, Patty gave her a pointed look. “Now that we are alone, it is time for atête-à-tête. Has His Grace made clear his intentions toward you?”
Guilt gnawed at Maggie. Hypatia was her kin and closest friend, yet there were confidences she hadn’t shared. She knew that Patty had guessed the nature of her relationship with Rhys and seemed to bear no ill judgement. She was less certain how the other would react to the news that Rhys was Glory’s father.
Rhys…and not Patty’s own brother.
Rhys had once called her “formidable”—God, she wished she had the same confidence in herself. Yet here was a chance to test her courage…with the woman who was a true sister to her.
“Rhys and I are lovers.” Then, before she lost nerve, “And he is…he’s Glory’s father.”
Hypatia’s cup clattered onto its saucer. “I think you had better start from the beginning.”
Maggie did. She left nothing out. Not even the lack of marital intimacy between her and Paul.
When she was done, her hands were trembling. She clasped them together in her lap, awaiting her sister-in-law’s edict. Would Hypatia condemn her?
“My poor dear.” Leaning over, Hypatia squeezed her hand. “What a burden you’ve carried.”
Relief dampened her eyes. “Glory was never a burden. But I hated lying to you. Paul thought that it was best for everyone to believe that Glory was his—even you.”
“I understand my brother’s decision. He was lucky to find a wife like you, Maggie, and a daughter like Gloriana.”
“You don’t hate me?”
“Hate you? Why on earth?”
“Because I was…impure before my wedding night,” she said in a small voice.
“If I judged you for that, I would be a hypocrite. And you know how I hate hypocrisy.”
Maggie blinked. “Are you saying…?”
“I was young and impetuous once,” Hypatia said. “He was a soldier, and he never came back from the war. I was more fortunate than you: all I suffered was a broken heart. And how could I possibly hate you when you’ve been so good to us Foleys?”
A tear slipped down Maggie’s cheek. “I owe so much to Paul. To you.”
Hypatia handed her a handkerchief. “The truth is Paul and I oweyou. You took care of him, his shop, and his household. You gave him a child to dote upon. You accepted what he could offer in a marriage, which not all women would.” The understanding in the other’s eyes made Maggie flush. “As for me, I could not ask for a more sensible, loyal, and bosom friend.”
