Page 70 of A Flaming Lady's Secret Valentine
Gingerly, Raphael pushed himself up against the wall. He watched Edward toil, urging him to cease his cleaning to no avail. It seemed too good to be true that a gentleman as decent as Edward, the future Duke of Lantham, believed in the goodness of Raphael’s heart. It felt so good,in fact, that Raphael could not stand lying to him a moment longer.
“My uncle is a baron.”
Edward froze before the desk. “What did you just say?”
Raphael’s mouth was dry, but there was no turning back now. “My uncle is a baron. Before you ask, no, I will not tell you who. And my name is changed. I am not an aristocrat—”
“You’ve blue blood running through you.” Edward stared wide-eyed at the journal in his hand, dropping it on the desk and staggering to the armchair. “Whoareyou?”
As if there was an easy way to answer that question. At this point, Raphael was not sure he could answer it with any honesty anyway. He had worn so many masks, tried to be so many people. For now, all he wanted was to be a friend to the man who had supported him without question.
“My father was the younger son of a baron. He took up an officer’s commission in his youth and served faithfully for years away from England. He met my mother in Spain on shore leave, fell in love, brought her back to England . . .” Raphael smiled with the memory.
“My uncle disowned him. What my father had not revealed to my mother was that he was betrothed already. He broke it off, devastated the family. A few years later, he died.”
“Travers . . .” Edward shook his head softly. “I am so sorry.”
“It did not happen to me.”
Raphael inspected his knuckles, focusing on the fresh welts as he spoke.
“My mother did what she could, picking up work in London in service. She was a bit of a curiosity, an ‘exotic’ maid for ladies to vaunt. It was not enough. The debtor’s prison always called. I vowed never to let myself live like that. I was going to make something of myself, without my uncle’s help.”
“Obviously, you did. That is something to be commended.”
“My past is not spotless, I—” The words died in his throat. He did not need to admit what had come next. It could prove the last nail in the coffin for him and Cecilia. But if he had any chance of convincing her family that he was right for her, they had to know his story fully.
“I caught the attention of one of my mother’s employers, the wife of a knight. Do not even remember her name. She . . . offered to pay me.”
“For doing what?”
“Keeping her company.”
The air in the room stilled, poisoned by his confession. He could not bring himself to look at Edward. That is why he was so glad when Edward simply said, “Tell me more.”
“There is not much more. She introduced me to friends who also took a liking to me. I did not . . . Well, there’s no elegant way of putting this, but I did not bed them all. I am not proud of what I did, but I have to be proud of what I’ve become.”
“Let me guess, in exchange for your services these ladies sponsored your entrance into Cambridge? TheTondoes not deserve you, Travers. They are a crude, miserly lot.” The lord seemed genuinely upset, but it was not anything Raphael had done. “And after that?”
“After that I found work as an estate manager for Lord Vaunce, then for your father upon his recommendation. There has been nothing since.”
The wait between Raphael’s last word and Edward’s answer was excruciating. He took himself to the basin to try and wash the rest of Pincher’s blood off him. He splashed his face with that murky water and leaned against the basin. Timid sun filtered through the embossed window above to sink.
“If you told my father—”
“My lord, no.” Raphael let his head hang. “I will have nothing to do with my uncle for as long as we both live. Using his name is out of the question. I’ve come this far on my own.”
“What about Cecilia?”
What about Cecilia, indeed?If she was debating her betrothal to Radcliff, there was hope for them yet. Raphael could not be sure how much hope would be left if he told her about his past.But you love her. You would want her to be honest with you, and you would continue loving her regardless.
“She will be told when the time is right.” Raphael glanced over his shoulder. “There’s more. The blood, the cottage . . . this is Peter Pincher’s work.”
“What on earth does the groom have to do with you and Cecilia? No, do not tell me. He caught you.” Edward’s lips formed a hard line. “We will deal with Mr Pincher when the time is right but believe you me itwillbe dealt with.”
Somehow, Raphael wanted to believe him.
“The bag, then,” Edward mumbled. “You are leaving?”
