Page 6 of A Virgin for the Duke of Scars
Mother, Theresa reminded herself.She is my mother.
But the word seemed even more unnatural on her tongue than it did in her brain.
“We… I did not know,” the Marchioness admitted softly. “You were born frail, my darling. The doctor said you barely let out a cry before you choked. Nobody thought you would live past the hour of your birth.” She closed her eyes as if she were in a great deal of pain. “They thought… they thought to spare me the pain of your death. When I woke up after childbirth, you were already gone, and all I had was hope.”
Theresa blinked.
What an odd thing to say. Hope for what, exactly?
But the Marchioness smiled gently at her. “Hope is the name I gave your sister. Your twin.”
“Oh.” Theresa felt her cheeks flush. “Well, that is a very pretty name.”
“Yes, it is, but so is yours,” the Marchioness told her.
“Thank you.” Theresa smiled.
For a highborn lady, her mother seemed pretty kind, and nothing at all like the uppity women of the upper classes that Margaret had described.
“It was Sister Edith who gave it to me.”
“The nun who took you in?”
Theresa nodded happily. “Yes, she has been very kind to me.”
“But the rest were not so?” The Marchioness frowned.
Theresa winced. “It would not be fair to blame them. I… well, I can be very disobedient. They—the nuns—only meant to discipline me.”
“Well, I certainly hope they did not lay hands on you,” the Marchioness said, displeasure evident on her beautiful face.
Theresa decided that it was much more respectful to keep her mouth shut. When she had been much younger, Sister Mary had frequently whacked her bottom for misbehaving. She’d also been pinched for squirming during her prayers, and her hands had been slapped when she could not keep them clean enough.
When she grew up, her hands were deemed useless, and so they had taken to using the rod on her. Even that had not proven so effective, much to Mother Superior and Sister Mary’s dismay.
“Well, whatever happened in the nunnery, you can put it all behind you,” the Marchioness—Mother—she corrected herself, assured her. “You are where you rightfully belong now. As our daughter, you will have so much more than what the nunnerycan offer. You will have much nicer dresses in silks and velvets. Sweetmeats with every meal, or whenever you want them.”
“Truly?” Theresa clasped her hands together in delight.
Sweets were a rarity in the nunnery, as Mother Superior declared them not only wasteful but also hedonistic and sinful.
To think that she was to have one with every meal was not only cause for elation, it was also a stark reminder of the difference between her life in the nunnery and outside of it.
She was no longer simply Theresa of the Congregation of St. Agatha. She was now Lady Theresa Ellison, and she was going to have dessert after every meal. How absolutely decadent!
She smiled as she peered out the carriage window and watched as the scenery changed from the idyllic countryside to tall buildings. The wide, open spaces soon became crowded streets made even more cramped by the people rushing to and fro all around them.
Perhaps this was where she truly belonged—right here in London, with her family.
Perhaps she was truly home, at last.
CHAPTER 3
“So… this is home.”
“Yes, yes. This is Wyndham Park.”
Even the house has a name.
