Chapter Three #2
He kept staring at her with a penetrating gaze.
It was all rather disconcerting. The duke had striking blue eyes.
Fabricating a backstory would not work with this formidable man, nor was she keen on lying.
Keeping all the falsehoods straight would be more trouble than it was worth, and she was tired of living a lie.
Besides, Augusta wanted a marriage built on mutual respect, or even a warm friendship, whether it was arranged or not.
“I have a few. I was told you are the daughter of Viscount and Viscountess Hampton.”
“I am. Have you met them, Your Grace?”
“I only became the Duke of Allenby two years ago. This is my first time in London in several years. So no, I have not met them or anyone else in the exalted peerage.”
There was a faint hint of disdain in his tone when he spoke of aristocrats. “You were not the heir apparent?”
“No. That distinction belonged to my cousin. When he died, the heir apparent distinction passed to my father.”
“And you are feeling the need to secure the dukedom’s future, Your Grace?”
The duke took a sip of his wine as he looked at her over the rim of his fancy crystal glass. “Yes. It is a duty I can no longer ignore. I thought I was supposed to ask the questions?”
Augusta reached for a grape and popped it into her mouth. “Well, I believe it’s only fair that I also make inquiries; it is both of our futures that are at stake, Your Grace.”
“True enough. You are a widow, Mrs. Cheevers?”
And there it was: the fork in the road. She refused to lie to this man, a wounded war hero by all accounts, based on what little she had been told.
“I am not a widow, Your Grace. I have never been married. My parents fabricated the tale to keep a scandal from their door.”
The duke’s right eyebrow arched, the first sign of a reaction from the man. “Care to elaborate?”
“I ran off with a married earl ten years ago.”
The duke blinked, then took a large swallow of wine. “You have been his mistress all this time?”
“No, Your Grace. Allow me to explain. The earl lived apart from his wife, as is often the case in aristocratic marriages. They led separate lives. I could cite youth and na?vety as an excuse, as they played a role in my hasty decision. But there is more. He was older, sophisticated, and handsome in his own way. I was smitten. More than smitten, I fell hopelessly and deeply in love. I suppose it was an adventure. I also wanted to escape my parents, who had plans for me that I wanted no part in.”
The duke kept staring at her, so Augusta confidently met his penetrating gaze. “Have I shocked you, Your Grace?”
“Yes, and no. I am fully aware of the depravities of the elitist class.”
Augusta bristled at the blunt words. “Depravity? I was in love, or at least, I thought I was. It is not as if I invited all of London into my bed.”
“Mrs. Cheevers, in the end, what does it matter about our pasts? I am hardly an innocent, and I’m past the age of caring whether my future bride-to-be is untouched.
It’s rather hypocritical that a man may gather all the carnal experience he can, while a woman must remain pure.
The statement of depravity was aimed at the general state of the peerage, not at you personally. I do apologize.”
The words were spoken firmly, yet sincerely.
She had never been in the company of an aristocrat who conversed with such forwardness.
Southen and her father certainly did not offer any glimpse into their inward thoughts.
Augusta liked that Allenby spoke his mind.
It showed character. “I accept your apology.”
“Is this earl out of the picture?” the duke asked.
“Yes, Your Grace. He died last month. We had not been close for the past five years, although he allowed me to stay in the cottage on his property. I could have returned home, but I decided not to until I had no choice. The new earl, Southen’s son, has given me until the end of December to vacate the premises. He also cut off my allowance.”
“Ah, so you must find a new situation forthwith.”
Augusta reached for a frosted biscuit. “I am eager to begin a new chapter in my life, and that does not include returning to my parents. But now it’s your turn, Your Grace. As I mentioned, do you wish to ensure the Allenby dukedom continues?”
“Yes. That will mean children. This will not be a marriage in name only. It will be a marriage in every sense of the word. You are nine-and-twenty?”
“Yes, Your Grace, and soon to be thirty, which means I am still able to have children. You can rest assured I am capable of having them, as I already have a five-year-old son.”
There. The secret was out in the open—the secret her parents wished her not to speak of or acknowledge, and the reason for their strained relations over the past several years.
Her mother had advised she not mention her child to Mrs. Dove-Lyon either, which Augusta initially opposed but eventually agreed to.
Augusta popped the tiny biscuit into her mouth and chewed vigorously, waiting for the duke to flounce out of the room.
According to her family, it was bad enough that she was another man’s mistress, but to bear him a child?
Her mother had begged her to keep Reese hidden away and to foster him with a family in the country (not that Augusta would ever willingly be separated from her son for long), because any prospective groom would refuse to take on another man’s bastard. Oh, how she loathed that word.
Looking at the duke’s stony expression, her mother may have been correct.