Chapter Eleven
Miss Goldsworthy had seemed surprised to be summoned—not into the formal drawing room of Brantingham House, with its elaborate, ornamental ceiling and plush, overstuffed furnishings, but to his private office at the rear of the house.
Selwyn sat behind the small, serviceable desk, though he’d added an extra shovelful of coal to the little iron grate in order to make the room pleasant for her.
He watched her fidget in a wooden chair, surveying the sagging shelves filled with ledger books, accounts, and reports.
She lowered her gaze to the inkstand, blotters, and pen nibs, as well as the heap of correspondence before him.
She had refused to apologize for their kiss last night, which had left him tossing and turning in his bed until the small hours of the morning.
She had embraced him with such ardor! His pulse quickened as he recalled her dainty hands boldly clutching the back of his head, bringing his mouth against hers, holding him there, and claiming his lips for her pleasure.
He grew hot at the thought of her seated upon his lap, grinding wantonly against him.
He had never, never known a woman like Miss Goldsworthy, yet Selwyn struggled with what to say to her now. How could he find the words that he knew would hurt her?
Plain speaking was the only way to power through what would be a miserable business for them both.
“Miss Goldsworthy—Aurelia, if I may—I’ve asked you here because…” He took a deep, bracing breath, and then exhaled the words, “I know who your parents were.”
Hazel eyes flashed. She sat forward in her chair, all but gripping the edge of his work desk. “Who were they? How did you discover them?”
Selwyn put his hands up. He ought to have known that she was made of stern stuff.
She wouldn’t faint away, though his heart thundered in his chest. “I didn’t put the story together until last night, but it all makes sense.
There was always a nasty rumor that Lady Mathieson got caught with the coachman. ”
She sat back, stunned. “My father was a coachman and my mother was Lady Mathieson, the wife of that dreadful man from last night?”
Half of society suspected—and Mama seemed to have known it to be true—that Lady Mathieson had attempted to leave her husband, and was only caught with a coachman because the man was driving her to safety.
There had been nothing untoward between them, though the presence of another man had given Mathieson the proof he’d needed to accuse his wife of infidelity.
He had shamed her into seclusion and would have divorced her had she not died in childbirth.
“It seems that Lord Mathieson, who would’ve been your legal father no matter what he accused your mother of, gave you away,” Selwyn explained. “At least the man had a conscience, for he saw to your care and comfort over the years.”
In a fit of jealousy, Mathieson had robbed her of a home, a family, and connections that would’ve served her well in life. A wardrobe, an education, and a modest allowance were paltry compensation for everything he’d stolen from his innocent child.
“What happened to Lady Mathieson?” she asked before correcting herself, “What happened to my mother?”
“She was sent away for her confinement.” There had been no polite way to say it.
“To give birth to me?”
He nodded. “Sadly, she died shortly thereafter. You’d have to ask Mathieson for the details, though I doubt he’d admit the truth. Such arrangements happen all the time, and more often than society cares to admit. All that matters is that he never acknowledged you—which he ought to have done.”
It was a cruel blow, and she ducked her head to absorb it. “If Lord Mathieson does not want me, then I don’t want his money. I will leave my legacy to a lying-in hospital for…unwed mothers and their babies.”
“That’s admirable, but how will you live?”
“I shall work,” she said, meeting his eyes at last. “I’m educated, intelligent. I was brought up expecting to be a duchess, so surely I can manage as a governess or a paid companion. I might even seek employment at Ladies College.”
Selwyn understood her need to distance herself from the man who’d wronged her. She would want to give the money away and to break free from a life that had suddenly turned shallow and false. Yet he owed her some friendly advice. It was in Selwyn’s nature to urge caution.
“Don’t be hasty, Miss Goldsworthy, I beg you. There’s no reason to upend your life simply because you found out who your father is.”
Mathieson wasn’t worth a second thought. The fellow deserved his shunning. He was owed a horsewhipping. If there was any justice in the world, he ought to have been called before the courts for his misconduct, but as in so many things, it fell upon the woman to shoulder the blame.
“Does he know who I am?” she wondered. “Do you think he recognized me last night, and that is why he acted strangely?”
“I suspect so.” Mathieson had followed the progress of her life. He’d paid for her education at one of the finest girls’ schools in Britain and provided her with the means to live independently. “Now that you know the truth, what do you wish to do about it?”
“I want to hear these words from his mouth.” She set her lips into a grim line—an embittered look he’d never before seen on her pretty, freckled face. “I want him to confess what he’s done to me. Will you take me to see him, Your Grace?”
Selwyn feared that he’d stirred the pot. Honor demanded that he tell her what he knew, but what good could come from embroiling either her or his family in that old scandal? Yet he was a gentleman, and he held Aurelia Goldsworthy in the highest esteem.
“I will take you,” he vowed, “though I cannot guarantee you’ll receive any closure on the matter. Mathieson is a snake and a villain who cast out his young wife and newborn daughter. He’ll not look kindly on you now.”
Selwyn had promised her protection and support, and as the Duke of Brantingham, he was capable of sheltering her from the very worst slander. Yet the last thing she needed was another man making decisions about her life.
She was strong enough to stand on her own, but he would be there for her as a stalwart advocate.