“Amelia?”
“People always go quiet,” she griped. “Whether through pity, amusement or disgust.”
Hugh wished to punch someone – preferably all thosepeople, but…
“You mistake my hesitation, Amelia, because your parentage prompts nothing of the sort within me. I was just taken aback, that’s all.” He looked to his bruised knuckles. “Let me tell you of my own mother and father. Their marriage was arranged by their parents for money and prestige, their wedding attended by the upper echelons of society. But they loathed one another. Father was a gambling wretch, Mother a cold diamond, and sometimes I am amazed they even managed one night in a bed together to beget me. They were filled with hatred for one another, bemoaned their lot for their entire lives and died miserably.”
Her lips pursed to a silentOh.
“I say this not to gain sympathy but so you realise that I care not a brass button for society’s judgement as to what merits acceptability or happiness.” He rubbed a hand over his stubbled cheek. “I presume you remained with your mother then, as…”
“As you never knew the Duke of Swanford even had a daughter? No. No one did.” She turned back but her lashes swept downwards. “So you are correct, I was raised by my mother as a gentlewoman but in a somewhat…tumultuous household.”
“And your father?”
Those lashes closed. “I recall little of him, did not see him much, but when I think back, I feel…sadness.”
For once, Hugh stayed quiet, sensed there was so much more.
Her eyes opened to stare at him for a moment. “I suppose you will plague me until you know all.”
No, Hugh would not, for he could see it caused her pain.
So willing to wait until Amelia trusted him and wanted to tell him, he merely seized her hand – small and soft betwixt his bruised and calloused mitts.
But she sighed. “My mother was an army officer’s daughter, you see, left orphaned, and so she came to London for work, as a companion or some such.” A grim smile. “She was seventeen, pretty and innocent, and I’m sure you’ve heard this timeworn tale many a time. The young duke met her in Vauxhall Gardens and became her first protector. I was born a year later. I remember him as kind but rather…soft. I remember Mama rushing around, impatient and joyful when he was to visit. I… She loved him, you see. After all, they were together for eight years, and I believe it was reciprocated, but…” She swallowed and her face became suffused with hurt.
Hugh yearned to banish it but knew not how.
She lifted her beautiful amber eyes. “A duke has to marry, does he not? One of his own class. And the duke, for all his faults, believed in faithfulness to his duchess, so he… After all that time, he just let go of my mother. Let her go and married a debutante with her faultless lineage.” Her lips trembled. “I remember tears and cries; I remember being moved to a smaller house of his and Mama buying me a kitten. I…I never saw him again.”
Hugh wished to tear the chicken-hearted coxcomb’s head off – even though he was dead. Instead, he gripped her hand more firmly. “But your father made sure you were cared for and…”
“Money was sent for my upkeep but not enough for Mama also and we had to pay a rent. I heard his new duchess was quite…commanding. Kept a close eye on the purse strings.”
Hugh now wished to punch the coxcomb fourth Duke of Swanford’s decapitated head – even though he’d be twice dead – and although such contracts with courtesans were played out each year in London, her father should have had the ballocks to ensure that his past mistress, an innocent at that, need never have worked again. He should have been a presence in his daughter’s life, not let her go also. It was not unheard of for a nobleman to bestow a dowry upon a merry-begotten child, acknowledging them within his world.
Amelia straightened her shoulders. “So, Mama rose from the ashes of her lost love and became the Butterfly Courtesan. Never staying with one lover for long, always playing a part: the patient confidante, the sensual paramour. But she never allowed herself to love again.”
“It sounds to me,” he said softly, “as though your mother was a woman of strength and courage.”
Amelia smiled. “She was and although many have tried to shame me for my lack of legitimacy and my mother’s occupation, I feel naught but gladness when I think upon my childhood. Unconventional, to be sure, but joyful.”
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back. “Any shame belongs to those like my parents who spread naught but sorrow. As for your own parentage…” He smiled. “Have you heard of FitzRoy, the fourth Duke of Grafton?”
“A Whig member of parliament until he became duke, yes?”
His clever Amelia.
“Certainly, but the Grafton dukedom was only created by Charles II for the benefit of his illegitimate son. Same goes for the Duke of Saint Albans whose ancestral mother was the actressNell Gwyn. Do they feel shame for their illegitimate ancestry? No.”
Her lips quirked. “Money and title help people forget.”
“Of course, but what I am trying to say is that it’s damn Janus-faced of theTonto disdain a child for illegitimacy when some of the most illustrious titles are due to exactly that.”
Amelia smiled. “Only you could see it in such a way.”
He could not help but lean forward, place a hand to her cheek.
