Page 148 of The Boxing Baroness

“Because he is a good and decent man,” Marianne said firmly. “Besides, I would never accept such an offer.”

Désirée looked like she had more to say on the subject of aristocrats who remained faithful, but prudently kept it to herself. “What will you do?”

“Operate Barnabas’s business.”

“I don’t understand—is the money not enough? I can send more—”

“The five hundred pounds was more than gene—”

“Five hundred pounds? But my man of business sends fifteen hundred English pounds every year—on your birthday—to an English bank.”

“You send money every year?” Marianne repeated stupidly.

“You never received this?”

“No.”

“Surely somebody has?”

Marianne now understood why Sonia had been so careful to collect Barnabas’s bag before she departed. She’d foolishly believed it was sentiment on the other woman’s part. Doubtless there was information about this bank account.

“I don’t know—this is the first I’m hearing about the account or money.”

Désirée laid a hand on Marianne’s, which had clenched into a fist. “Do not fret,” she soothed, misinterpreting Marianne’s anger. “I will see that there is a new account—this one only for you to draw on. I should have done that long ago—when you were old enough to know about it.”

“That’s very kind,” Marianne said. “But you don’t have—”

“I want to. And there is the money your father put aside for you, of course.”

“He did?”

“Yes. It was only right and just. He did the same for—” She broke off.

“For the other children he fathered outside of wedlock?” Marianne guessed. “Do I have many half-brothers and -sisters?” All people she’d never be able to meet.

“A few,” she admitted. “And of course there is my Oskar.”

“You have only one child?”

“No, I have a daughter, too.”

Marianne was about to ask her name when she saw the twinkle in her mother’s brown gaze.

“Ah,” she said.

“You are my daughter, Marianne. Had the timing of your birth been different, you would have been a princess.”

“But I’m not,” Marianne reminded her.

“No, unfortunately, you are not.” Her sadness dissipated and she smiled broadly enough to display dimples. “But perhaps you might be a duchess.”

Marianne did not bother to disagree with her. The sort of life her mother led was so far from her own existence, there wasn’t any hope in explaining just how impossible such a union would be.

So she let Désirée continue to think pleasant thoughts.

At least one of them could enjoy Marianne’s future.

Chapter 35