CHAPTER 18 #2
He saw her dismay in the way her shoulders sagged and her face paled. She either really disliked these people or was afraid of them. Maybe both, and with good reason. They were the ones contending her guardianship of the child. But her chin came up as she replied.
“I will see them now. Please send refreshments to the drawing room.” Then she turned to him. “Would you please excuse me? I should go see what they want. You may stay here and finish your coffee if you wish, of course.”
“Would you like me to go meet them with you?”
She hesitated for a moment but then shook her head. “No, better they don’t see you. They are likely not aware of your involvement yet.”
“I’ll wait for you, then.”
“I don’t know how long I will be—”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll wait until you are finished.”
“Thank you.” Then her brow furrowed. “Would you like me to have a proper breakfast sent up?”
“I’m fine, Josephine. Go see what your unwelcome guests want.”
With one last nod, she discarded the apron she was wearing, no doubt to save her gown from her nephew’s messy eating, and departed in a hurry.
He was left in the nursery with a toddler who looked at him with wide, curious eyes.
His nurse was nearby, but Michael suddenly felt awkward around the child.
It’s not as if he had any experience handling children.
“How do you do?” He gave a nod and a smile to the child and received a toothy grin in response.
“Gaze!” The child pointed to him, a piece of egg blob falling from his fingers.
“Excuse me?”
“Gaze! Gaze! Gaze!”
Oh, the child was trying to say His Grace. He had probably heard Josephine address him as such. He hated it. Especially coming from her.
“Michael,” he said, pointing to his chest. “I am Michael. And you are Edward.”
“Mako,” the child repeated obediently, and Michael decided the mangling of his name was preferable to being called by his title. Unfortunately, two-year-olds didn’t make for good conversationalists, so he sipped his coffee, scrambling for what to say to the child next.
He was saved from small talk with a toddler by the nurse approaching them at that moment.
“If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace. It’s time for His Lordship’s bath. I have it ready. You see, Lady Josephine has ordered that he be given a bath after breakfast.”
He could see why, if this was the child’s normal state after breakfast.
“By all means, proceed with your usual routine.”
The nurse picked up the child and took him to another room for the bath.
Edward went happily enough, speaking unintelligible words until the door was closed behind them.
Michael was left alone with the half-eaten breakfast and unsure what to do next.
To hell with it. He had promised to wait for her, but he didn’t say he would stay here in the nursery.
It probably would be a good idea to listen in on Josephine and her relatives’ conversation.
It was the perfect opportunity to discern what was really going on without getting biased opinions from one side or the other.
Leaving the nursery, he quietly made his way to the main floor of the house and followed the voices to the same drawing room where Josephine had received him yesterday.
He had no intention of going in, but he couldn’t stand in the hallway listening in behind a door.
A servant was bound to see him, and he would not be caught in such an undignified endeavor, even if he was engaging in it.
Fortunately, a few steps down the hallway there was another door, and he was happy to see it led to a smaller sitting room adjacent to the drawing room. There was a connecting door, and by standing behind it, he could hear the conversation quite clearly.
“You see, we merely want what is best for the child, but surely you see how this benefits you too.” That was Mrs. Everleigh's voice, nasal and high with false sympathy. “We are sure a woman like you wouldn’t want to tie herself down to raise a child.”
“But I do, Cousin Margaret. There’s nothing that fills me with more joy than the prospect of raising my nephew.”
“Let us speak plainly, Lady Josephine.” This was from Mr. Everleigh, his booming voice carrying all the pomposity of a rooster on a rooftop.
Michael disliked him on the spot. “You are an unmarried, childless woman. You cannot possibly have any interest in a child you just met a little over a month ago and have even fewer qualifications to raise him.”
“Nevertheless, I was the child’s father’s choice, and I intend to do my duty by him with the utmost dedication.”
“Is that so? And how do you intend to do that? Are you going to teach him how to set a harem here in England? Educate him on the heathenish ways you learned abroad? What else are you qualified to teach him?”
“He is only two years old, Cousin Titus. Right now, he only needs to learn how to eat his food and play with his toys. Of course, when the time comes, he will have tutors and will go to school to receive the education he needs to run his estate.”
“Your stated wish to raise him is nothing more than a shameless grab for power. You wish to control his fortune to enrich yourself.” This was from Mrs. Everleigh.
“I have no need for his fortune. Unlike other people I could name.”
“Is that so? I guess being a sultan’s whore is very profitable.”
At Josephine’s gasp, his fists clenched.
They had been throwing barbs at her throughout the entire conversation, and thus far, Josephine had failed to rise to the bait.
But he could tell this one had hurt her.
It hurt him too. He had to exercise the utmost control not to march through the door and boot these two fools out of the house.
The only thing keeping him in place was her expressed desire for him not to show himself yet.
He probably had more reasons than anyone to resent Josephine’s choices, but hearing her being called a whore provoked a violent reaction in him.
Not as much as her next words, though.
“If you are going to insult me, you should at least get your facts right. He is a pasha, not a sultan. And I was not his whore, but his slave.”
A slave.
The word froze his mind. Halted his breathing.
The conversation continued on the other side.
He could hear the voices but had ceased to make out the words.
Only one ricocheted through his mind like an angry wasp, stinging at his conscience and attacking everything he thought he knew.
Shaking his foundation and perception of past events.
A slave? She was a slave in a harem? That was not what her goodbye letter had said. She thought she was leaving for a life of luxury and enlightenment.
Of course, she could have been deceived. Or she could be lying right now, just to justify her actions. But he didn’t think so. The tremor in her voice as she replied to the scathing accusation hinted at deep emotion. His every instinct believed she was telling the truth just now.
But only a fraction of the truth. Just a piece of the entire puzzle. There was more, much more. And he needed to find out the whole truth.