Chapter 21
Nana Peace.
Ezra put his head in his hands. God above, how had his mother gotten caught up in this?
When Hugh’s information had eliminated Ambrose and Reginald from the list of Artemis’ potential fathers, Ezra had assumed that the remaining candidates were only two: Moses Warson, Aaron and Clio’s father, and Cornelius, their grandfather.
His own father had not occurred to him, not even once.
And then Iris had said Nana Peace.
His father wouldn’t have given his by-blow the name Lightholder. But his mother, as full of family pride as she had always been…
She might have, if she loved the child. He didn’t quite understand how she could love a child that was the proof of her husband’s infidelity…but then again, maybe he could. Didn’t he care for Iris, even though her very presence was ripping at the seams of everything he knew about his family?
So maybe it was true. Goodness. Maybe it was all true.
For years, Ezra had resented the coldness his mother had shown his father. He had always assumed it was because Peace was haughty and superior, thinking that Jeremy was below her in status.
But what if it had been because Jeremy had fathered an illegitimate child? And, if so, how had Peace come to care for the girl enough that she still visited Artemis’ daughter?
With a bitter laugh, he thought of the way his mother had always spoken so proudly of her charitable causes. This would have been the ultimate charity: raising her husband’s by-blow.
God, he didn’t know if that was admirable or hideous.
He must have sat there for ages, because the next thing he knew, Letitia was standing right in front of him, looking as though she had already called his name once or twice.
“Sorry,” he said, blinking up at her. She looked angelic, the sunlight gleaming behind her, setting her red hair ablaze. Fire was responsible for the most terrifying night of his life, but now, it brought him unspeakable comfort.
“It’s all right,” she said. “Are you all right?”
He nodded, then shook his head, then shrugged.
“Peace was my mother’s name,” he said. The rest of it was too entangled to separate, even in his mind, let alone his words.
“Oh, Ezra,” she said, sinking to sit beside him. She took his hands. It grounded him. He wished he could hold on forever.
He shook his head as if he could dislodge all the spiraling thoughts.
“How did the interview go?” he asked. “Is that what you came to tell me about?”
She nodded and—to his dismay—dropped his hands. He tried to remain attentive as she told him about some governess that wouldn’t be her, but it was hard.
“You would recommend her?” he asked when she made it to the end of her explanation.
“I would.” Letitia’s smile was decidedly bittersweet. “I think she will get along well with Iris.”
“Good,” he said absently. “That’s good.”
He knew he was treating this matter like it wasn’t important when it was actually extremely important. But he had to trust that Letty knew that he knew that. Knew that he valued Iris immensely.
He just could not think straight.
“Thank you,” he said emphatically. “I know you didn’t need to be here, that you didn’t need to help with this. I just—”
“Ezra,” she interrupted. “Stop. I am happy to help.”
She meant it, too.
He laughed.
“You’re too good, do you know that?” he asked.
She grinned. God, it was so easy between them, except for when it wasn’t.
He suddenly remembered something that he had nearly forgotten in the mental chaos of Iris’ revelation.
“I wanted to do something to thank you,” he said.
“Because—let’s be honest, Letty, you went beyond my wildest expectations with Iris.
You weren’t even here the full month, and she can barely stop talking now.
And it just so happens that my cousin has a box at the opera.
They’re doing The Barber of Seville. You want to see it. ”
Letitia had a look on her face that said she had so very many questions, but the one she settled upon was, “How did you know I wanted to see it?”
This wasn’t a flat refusal, which Ezra took as a first step toward victory.
“Sarah mentioned it, back when I was pretending to be Mr. Swifton at your old rooms. I planned to use it to convince you to come work here, but you had the idea to employ Sarah instead.”
Letitia looked as if she could not decide whether she was annoyed by his past deception or charmed. He smiled to encourage her to lean into his charm.
“I do want to see it,” she admitted. Another step to victory. “But I can’t go to the opera with you, Ezra. Are you mad? To start, I haven’t anything to wear.”
He settled back in his chair. He was starting to feel a little more like himself.
“As it happens,” he said, crossing his legs in a way that many, many people had told him came off as rakish, “I have arranged for clothing for you for just this purpose.”
Letty touched lightly between her eyebrows as if a headache was brewing.
“Dare I even ask what you think would be appropriate attire for me to wear to the opera?” she asked wearily.
“I take offense to that,” he said lightly, even though he absolutely did not.
“Because I am highly fashionable. I will have you know that. But,” he went on before she could let out whatever little quip was brewing behind her clever eyes, “I did not select it myself. That was Persephone. And she and her husband, the Duke of Nighthall, will serve as chaperones. So, you see, there is nothing improper in it at all. If anyone asks—which they will not—Hugh does not inspire idle conversation; you will see, we can say you are her companion. No scandal.”
“You have thought of everything, then,” she said dryly.
“I have,” he agreed. “So, all you have to do is accept.”
He held his breath. This was a gamble, he knew. But he wanted it very badly. He yearned for her to have just one night where nobody needed anything from her, where she was fawned over and treated like she was as spectacular as he believed her to be. And Persephone had been eager to help.
“Very well,” she said, shaking her head ruefully. She was smiling, though. He could nearly always make her smile. Shocking how proud that made him. “I accept.”
* * *
Letitia didn’t know how she had gotten here.
The here in question was a duchess’ dressing room.
The gown she was wearing was the most beautiful thing she had ever worn. She had to stop herself from running her fingers over the fine fabric, as if she were a country bumpkin who had never heard of silk before.
“I admit, I was a bit cautious about the color, given your lovely hair,” said the Duchess of Nighthall, circling Letitia and assessing her appearance with a keen eye. “But I think the rose color is perfect on you. It brings out your complexion marvelously.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Letitia said. She curtsied, though perhaps not as deeply as she should have. She had a fear of wrinkling the cream-colored skirts, which were embroidered near the hem with flowers the same dusty pink as the bodice.
Fashionable waistlines had dropped over the past few years, so this gown fit snugly against her body until the bottom of her ribcage, where it gently flared out.
Letitia usually wore gowns that were several years outdated, either because they were hand-me-downs from a wealthy employer or because she fought to make each dress last as long as possible.
She had not worn this new style yet and was pleased to see that it flattered her more than the high-waisted look of previous years.
Two to three years later, Letitia would probably end up owning one of these fashionable gowns, once Society had moved on to some new obsession. She looked forward to that.
“Oh, please, call me Persephone,” the duchess said, waving off the title. “We are to be friends, at least for tonight, aren’t we?”
It was a sure sign that acquaintance with Ezra was eroding Letitia’s good sense, because she spoke without thinking.
“I truly don’t think I can be on such informal terms with another duchess,” she said plaintively. “Clio is quite enough, and she wasn’t even a duchess when I knew her first.”
This was not a polite or proper response, but thankfully, Persephone only laughed.
“Well, I am going to insist,” she said. “Because I have now decided that we shall be friends for much longer than just tonight.”
Letty could not help but laugh. The duchess—Persephone—was endlessly kind, and she had not given so much as a single hint that she found it odd that Ezra was taking his former governess to the opera. Letitia was endlessly grateful.
She was even more grateful for the woman’s fashion advice (not to mention borrowing her maid, who styled a much more elegant coiffure than Letty ever could have managed herself) when they went down the stairs and saw Ezra and Hugh sitting in the parlor, sharing a drink before their night out.
When he saw them, Ezra froze, his glass halfway to his lips.
Letty’s entire world narrowed down to the awestruck expression on his face. She only vaguely registered that Hugh had stood to praise his wife, to press adoring kisses to each of her cheeks.
They didn’t matter, not when Ezra was looking at her like that.
“Letty,” he breathed, and she didn’t even have the heart to scold him for such familiarity whilst in company. “You look… so beautiful.”
She ducked her head and smiled, feeling herself blush. The redness didn’t fade completely by the time they reached the carriage, and during the short ride to the opera, the distance felt longer because of the traffic-choked streets.