“So, you abandoned me, with nothing, no missive for eighteen years, as if I never existed.” Delia wiped away the lone tear that had fallen. “You are incomprehensible, Mother.”
“Don’t be a sentimental fool, Adelia.” Her mother raised a hand. “You weren’t abandoned. You were left with your father,a duke. The least he could do was care for you. Why should he be allowed to marry, have another child, and I be confined to poverty, and a girl at my skirts? The best thing I did was leave you with him. You have no idea the world I am a part of. It is no place for a young girl.” She recoiled at the last sentence.
Delia didn’t say anything for what seemed like an eternity. It was the first time since the moment she’d walked into the room that her mother had shown any concern for her.
“A simple missive, alerting me that you weren’t dead, would’ve sufficed,” Delia said, staring her mother in the eyes. They were the same as her own but lacked any emotion at all.
“I’ve never been maternal, Adelia. I only became with child to secure your father, but he was not the fool I had perceived him to be.” She placed one hand on her hip, not looking chagrined at all.
The words cut deep, deeper than Delia ever imagined. The woman standing in front of her never wanted a daughter. She wanted a duke, and nothing more.
Having heard enough, Delia stood, suddenly aware of her lack of clothing. “I wish you the best, Mother.” She walked past her mother and placed her hand on the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”
“I know I seem harsh, but you will understand one day. When your handsome earl finally marries?—”
“I’m not his mistress,” Delia shouted, not liking her mother’s accusation. “And I never will be.”
She had no plans to become Hunt’s or anyone’s mistress. Her life would always be her own, no matter what.
“Really? It doesn’t smell like it, dear.”
The words slapped Delia across the face, crashing down on the euphoria of the night before and that morning. She had foolishly refused to think of the consequences of allowing Hunt in her bed, but there would be repercussions. Not only had hecompleted in her, but now she was in danger of losing her heart to him.
What future could she, the bastard daughter of a duke and a courtesan, have with a respectable earl?
None.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
“Your water, miss.” A maid said through the door.
The thought of Hunt sending a bath up for her, warmed Delia’s heart.
“I hope we see each other in London,” her mother said.
Taking a deep breath, Delia held her head up high, refusing to show her mother that her words had met their target. “If we do, I’ll pretend like I don’t have a mother.” She opened the door, allowing the maids to come in holding buckets of steaming hot water. “Goodbye, Selena.”
For a moment, her mother looked injured but quickly recovered and walked to the door. She stopped for a moment to look at Delia.
Her mother placed a hand on Delia’s arm. “Do be careful, Adelia,” she said coolly. “Men like him do not marry women like us.”
Her mother left her standing at the door as the maids scurried into the room.
Delia swallowed, suddenly unable to find her voice, her body cold, the glimmer of hope that had sparked inside of her now snuffed out, forever buried by her mother’s words.
Chapter Twelve
Hunt gazed over at the woman who’d stolen his heart in just a few short days, wondering what he’d done to cause the shift in her demeanor. After her conversation with her mother, Delia hadn’t been the same. The fire had dimmed in those deep brown pools that usually were expressive and full of life. She’d hardly uttered a single word to him, other than a yes or thank you. There was no hint of a smile on those full lips that he’d kissed so thoroughly that morning.
They had barely had time to bask in the elation of their lovemaking when her mother interrupted. Hunt had suspected that allowing Delia’s mother entry into the room would end badly. After all, the woman’s insouciance toward her daughter had no end. However, Delia insisted on speaking to the woman. Hunt wanted nothing more than to interject, but he respected and valued Delia’s strength. It mattered not that every part of him wanted to stay rooted in that room, protecting her from the horrid woman who’d given birth to her. Delia was her own woman and could make her own decisions.
Any mother who would openly deny their child was no mother at all.
It reminded Hunt of his father and his constant insistence that Hunt and Helen were bastards.
After a breakfast filled with uncomfortable silence, they continued their journey, setting a grueling pace in an attempt to reach Augustus and her sister. Hunt hoped they hadn’t lost much ground, but if he knew anything about his cousin, it was that the other man would not do anything that would interfere with his own comfort, like waking early to gain ground. Hunt wasn’t entirely positive if Augustus knew they were in pursuit.
Hunt still wasn’t aware of his cousin’s plan or what his intentions were with Delia’s sister, but whatever they were, it would not end well for the girl.
