“That’s not true,” he said.
“It is!” she wailed. “You are no different from my husband. He says he needs an heir but cannot bring himself to lie with me.”
Jack’s hand fell from the doorknob. “Sir Richard never consummated his marriage to you?”
She shrugged. “He performed his duty on our wedding night but was furious when I failed to do mine and conceive a babe. I don’t know what I did wrong. Lady Buntley swears it is his fault because the first Lady Astyr also failed to give him children. So, I thought—hoped—you might—”
“You hoped I would father you a child?” Jack asked incredulously.
“Yes. Why else would I spend time in the company of one of London’s most notorious rakes? Lady Buntley says you must have given hundreds of women children, only you don’t know it.”
“Hundreds?” Jack blinked, taking in the irony of her words. All this time, he’d thought he was seducing his uncle’s wife whenshe’dbeen the one beguiling him. The notion struck him as hilarious. Laughter bubbled up so forcefully inside him that it made him shake.
“What makes you laugh?” Lady Astyr’s brows knitted together in angry unison. “Does my predicament amuse you?”
“I’m sorry.” Jack tried to steady his breathing. “Truly, I am.” But the laughter worked like a storm inside him and spilled forth a fresh wave.
“How dare you?” She wrenched the sheets as if wanting to rip them to shreds.
“Hundreds!” He clutched his chest and wheezed.
Lady Astyr bared her teeth at Jack. “Get out!” she screamed.
He opened his bedroom door and attempted another apology, but laughter choked his words.
The lady picked up a book from a side table and threw it at him. Jack stumbled out of the room, crippled with laughter. He managed to pull the door shut, just in time to hear the book thud against it.
*
Henry stared silentlyout the carriage window.
Ottilie glanced at her cousin and worried her bottom lip. Henry’s brooding was understandable, but if his thoughts spiraled out of control, he’d enter a dark place that would be difficult to escape. She had to make sure that didn’t happen.
“At least we know why your mama worked so hard to see me married,” she teased. “Now that I know how desperate she must have been, I’m a little insulted she couldn’t find me a better suitor than Lord Towne.”
The muscles in Henry’s jaw tightened.
“That was meant to make you smile.” She nudged him lightly with her elbow, but Henry’s body remained rigid. Worry poked at Ottilie’s chest. Humor would not solve this problem; she’d have to use logic to shield Henry and prevent him from slipping into darkness.
“There is no proof Lord Hudsyn isn’t your father,” she said quietly.
Henry turned to face her. “Unfortunately, I may never know the truth.”
“I hope you’re not thinking of doing anything rash.”
“If you mean giving up my title, the answer is no. I will not besmirch my father’s memory by airing our family’s sordid past in public.”
Ottilie sighed a breath of relief. “I’m pleased to hear it, because there is as much chance you’d be giving up your claim to your legitimate title.”
“I will never dishonor my father’s memory, but how can I hold my head up in society, knowing the title I’m honored with might not be legitimate?”
Ottilie reached for her cousin’s hand and squeezed it. “The same way King EdwardIV did. His mother engaged in a liaison when his father was away at war, so people claimed he was illegitimate. Do you think it should have been enough to make him relinquish his claim to the throne?”
“Of course not,” Henry said. “It’s balderdash. People always question the legitimacy of kings and queens. Endless wars have been fought over that very question.”
“Exactly,” Ottilie said. “No one knows if the man betrothed to their mother truly is their father—and that includes both of us. King Edward’s father legitimized him by owning him as his son, and there was no solid proof to suggest otherwise, so Edward kept his claim to the kingdom. We don’t know if your father knew about your mother’s affair with Mr. Hamilton, but wedoknow that he claimed you as his legitimate heir. I daresay, if that is good enough for a king, then it’s good enough for a baron.”
Henry squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Look at us. We are practically twins, and where do you suppose I inherited my affinity for writing poetry?”
