Page 53 of Duke of Emeralds
He laughed, the sound short and mirthless. “I think I’d know if I’d fathered a child.”
She shot him a look of pure incredulity. “That is not always the case,” she said, recalling a thousand drawing room rumors, the endless tales of noblemen shocked by the appearance of a sudden heir.
Thomas let out a sound between a sigh and a growl. “I have not.” He ran his hands through his hair. “How can ye be so adamant?”
She closed her eyes. “You cannot deny it. The hair, the eyes?—”
He waited a beat, then: “Bring me the letter.”
Hester had not expected this. She had hidden the note in the drawer of her escritoire, uncertain whether to destroy it or preserve it as evidence. Now, she rose, her movements sharp, and crossed the room. She fished out the note and pressed it into his hand without ceremony.
He unfolded it, his face tight with concentration as he read. When he finished, he looked up. “Ye believe this?”
She did not answer directly. Instead, she said, “What else am I to believe?”
He let the paper fall to the table between them. “That the late Duke was a beast who never cared for the consequences of his appetites. That the world is full of people who want a piece of Lushton, and some will use a child to get it.” He sat back, his arms folded. “That is the only thing to believe.”
Hester’s heart gave a queer little lurch. She had braced herself for anger, for outrage, for a confession if it came to that, but she had not prepared for logic.
She tried to gather her thoughts, but her mind was a pinwheel. “You truly think?—?”
“She’s not mine, Hester,” Thomas said, and there was a finality to it that she could not challenge. “But if she belongs to the late Duke, then I am responsible for her.”
The words should have been a relief. Yet something in her chest twisted, a strange blend of shame and—no, she would not name it.
“If you’re ready, I’d like to meet the girl.”
Hester swallowed. “Now?”
He shrugged. “No time like the present.”
She moved, her legs unsteady, and led him to the blue guest room. Inside, Arabella sat cross-legged on the bed, a book open on her lap. She looked up as they entered, her eyes wide and wary. The candle cast her shadow large on the wall behind her.
Thomas stepped forward, ducking his head to meet her gaze. “So, ye must be the brave little lass.”
Arabella looked at him then at Hester and back again, as if to ask who he was.
“Do you know who I am?” Thomas asked. She shook her head but said nothing. “I’m the Duke of Lushton.” He glanced at Hester. “The Duchess’ husband. And you are…?”
She pressed her lips together then whispered, “Bella.”
“Bella.” He repeated softly it with the same carefulness one would use for rare books or valuable things. “That’s a lovely name.” He squatted, so he was level with her. “Ye can stay here, Bella. This house is yers as much as it is mine. Do ye understand?”
She nodded.
“Good.” He stood, towering over both of them, and shot Hester a small, triumphant look as though he had just brokered a treaty.
Bella sneezed.
Hester smiled, the first real smile in days. “I will ask Mrs. Smith to bring some warm milk. And perhaps more honey.”
Thomas ruffled the girl’s hair then turned to Hester. “You see? No misunderstanding here.”
She looked away, her cheeks burning. Thomas’ warm hand circled her wrist then, and he leaned close. “I can see why ye were suspicious. She has our family’s hair and eyes.”
Hester looked from Arabella to Thomas then sighed and nodded.
As they left the room, Hester realized she was no longer afraid. Not of him or the girl or whatever the future might bring.
