CHAPTER TWENTY
“Trevane. A word, if you please.”
Lord Arthur’s voice cut through the murmur of conversation in the parliamentary antechamber, carrying the particular edge of a man who had been waiting for this moment. Rhys turned from his discussion with a colleague to find the older peer approaching with an expression that suggested trouble.
Lord Arthur was one of the pillars of traditional society, a man whose opinions carried weight precisely because he rarely offered them. When he spoke, people listened. When he disapproved, careers faltered. His attention was never casual and never welcome.
“Arthur.” Rhys inclined his head with careful neutrality.
“How can I be of assistance?”
“You can confirm or deny a rumour that has reached my ears.” Arthur positioned himself so that their conversation was visible to the several dozen peers and officials who populated the antechamber. This was deliberate, Rhys realised. Whatever was about to happen, Arthur wanted witnesses.
“I was not aware that I owed you confirmation of rumours.”
“You owe me nothing. But society owes itself the truth, particularly when that truth concerns the behaviour of its members.” Arthur’s voice carried just enough to reach the nearest listeners.
“Is it true that you have been maintaining a household in Cornwall that contains three illegitimate children? Your illegitimate children?”
The antechamber fell silent. Conversations died mid-sentence. Heads turned with the particular attentiveness of people witnessing something they would discuss for weeks.
Rhys felt the weight of every eye in the room settle upon him.
This was the moment he had known would come eventually, the reckoning he had been dreading since the day he first held his daughters in his arms and understood that cherishing them meant exposing himself to exactly this kind of scrutiny.
He had a choice. He could deny it, deflect and employ the charm and misdirection that had served him so well for the past fifteen years. He could claim ignorance or distance or some misunderstanding that would allow him to escape this confrontation with his reputation intact.
Or he could tell the truth.
He thought about Anna, with her attendance registers and her fierce intelligence and her determination to impose order on a chaotic world.
He thought about Viola, who had been too afraid to speak above a whisper until a governess taught her that her voice mattered.
He thought about Thistle, who ate beetles in the name of science and loved her toad with a love that had not yet learned to protect itself.
He thought about Mel, who had told him not to decide what she could bear. Who had asked him to decide what he was willing to fight for.
He thought about the man he was trying to become, and the man he refused to be anymore.
“Yes,” he said.
The word fell into the silence like a stone into still water, sending ripples through the assembled peers. He could see shock on some faces, satisfaction on others and the particular gleam of excitement that appeared when scandal was confirmed.
“Yes,” he repeated, louder this time.
“I have three daughters. They live in Cornwall, in my household and are cared for by an excellent governess and a devoted staff. Their names are Annabelle, Viola, and Thistle. Their mother was a woman I cherished deeply and failed utterly, and they are the best thing I have ever done.”
The silence stretched. Arthur’s expression shifted from anticipation to uncertainty, as though the response he had received was not the one he had expected.
“You admit it,” Arthur said finally.
“Openly and without shame.”
“I admit the truth, as for shame. I am ashamed of many things. I am ashamed that I was too cowardly to wed their mother when she was alive. I am ashamed that I spent years avoiding my responsibilities to them. I am ashamed that it took me so long to become the father they deserved.” Rhys met Arthur’s gaze without flinching.
“But I am not ashamed of them. I will never be ashamed of them. They are brilliant and fierce and remarkable, and any man would be proud to call them his own.”
“They are illegitimate, born out of wedlock.”
The word hung in the air, ugly and deliberate. Arthur had meant it to wound, to remind everyone present of the social stigma that attached to children born outside matrimony.
Rhys felt something shift inside him, some final barrier falling away.
He had spent fifteen years hiding, fifteen years deflecting, so many years pretending that the things that mattered most to him did not exist. And here, in this antechamber full of peers who would judge him regardless of what he said, he found that he no longer cared what they thought.
“They are my children,” he said quietly.
“The circumstances of their birth are a reflection of my failures, not theirs. I will not allow anyone to use that word as a weapon against them.”
“And what do you intend to do about it? You cannot legitimise them. The law does not permit…”
“I am aware of what the law permits. I am also aware that the law cannot compel me to be ashamed of people I cherish.” Rhys took a step toward Arthur, close enough that his next words would carry to every listener in the room.
“I intend to raise my daughters with every advantage my position can provide. I intend to ensure that they receive the education and the opportunities they deserve. I intend to introduce them to society when they are of age and dare anyone to treat them as less than they are.”
“Society will never accept…”
“Society will do whatever society chooses to do. I cannot control that. What I can control is my own behaviour, my own choices, my own refusal to pretend that my children do not exist.” He paused, letting the words settle.
“I have wasted so many years being what society expected me to be, a rake, a scandal, a source of entertainment for people who found my failures amusing. I have finished performing for your benefit. I have finished hiding the things that matter to protect a reputation that never deserved protection.”
The antechamber remained silent. Arthur’s expression had shifted from confident accusation to something more uncertain, the expression of a man who had expected an easy victory and found himself facing unexpected resistance.
“You will be ruined,” Arthur said finally.
“Socially, politically. No one of consequence will associate with a man who openly acknowledges such… irregularities.”
“Then I will learn who my true friends are.” Rhys turned from Arthur, surveying the assembled peers with deliberate attention.
“Any of you who find my situation unacceptable are welcome to avoid my company. Any of you who judge my daughters for circumstances beyond their control are welcome to your opinions. But any of you who attempt to harm them, to spread rumours about them, to use their existence as ammunition against me or against them, will find that I am a formidable enemy when the people I cherish are threatened.”
He walked out of the antechamber without waiting for a response. Behind him, the silence erupted into a chaos of whispered conversations and shocked exclamations that he did not bother to hear.
The confrontation was over. The truth was out. Whatever came next, he would face it as himself rather than as the performance he had been maintaining for half his life.
***
Benedict found him in his study surrounded by correspondence that had arrived in the wake of his parliamentary declaration.
Some letters expressed support, tentative or enthusiastic depending on the writer.
Others expressed condemnation, ranging from polite disappointment to outright hostility.
A few were from people he had considered friends, informing him with varying degrees of regret that their association must come to an end.
“Well,” Benedict said, settling into his usual chair.
“You’ve certainly made the evening editions interesting.”
Rhys looked up from the letter he had been reading, a particularly vitriolic missive from a countess who had apparently taken personal offense at his refusal to be ashamed.
“The gossip sheets?”
“Three separate publications have already run stories. ‘Duke’s Hidden Family Revealed’ is the most popular headline, though ‘Trevane’s Shameful Secret’ runs a close second.
” Benedict paused. “There’s also a particularly creative piece suggesting that your daughters are actually the children of a foreign prince and that you’ve been hiding them as part of an international conspiracy. ”
“That sounds exhausting. I can barely manage to be one person consistently. Maintaining an international conspiracy seems beyond my capabilities.”
“I told Serena you would say something like that. She’s quite proud of you, by the way.”
Rhys set down the letter he had been reading and met his friend’s eyes.
“Is she? Most people seem to think I’ve destroyed myself.”
“Most people are simpletons.” Benedict leaned forward, his expression serious.
“What you did today took courage. Real courage, not the performative kind you’ve been displaying for the last fifteen years. You stood in front of the most powerful men in England and told them that you would not be ashamed of your children. That matters.”
“It may matter. It may also have accomplished nothing except making my life considerably more difficult.”
“Your life was already difficult. You were just pretending otherwise.” Benedict paused, considering his next words carefully.
“Serena wants to offer her assistance. She wants to write to Miss Grace, prepare her for what’s coming. Society is going to be… unkind. If Miss Grace is going to be part of your life, part of your family, she needs to understand what she’s facing.”
Rhys thought about Mel, about her practical efficiency and her clear-eyed honesty and the way she had told him not to decide what she could bear.
“She is fully aware of what she’s facing. She’s known since before any of this happened.”