Page 77 of Avenging the Earl's Lady
“Mr.Penderbrook challengedhim, my lady,” Jenny said.
“What?”The fool.The damned, stupid fool.“Why?”
The ladies exchanged another glance and Sirena sighed.“He insulted you.”
Jane shook her head.“So?Is that worth dying for?”
“My lady, he insulted you publicly at White’s,” Jenny said.“All the gents heard.It’s all anyone speaks of.The Major called you a…beggin’ your pardon, my lady…a whore.”
She squeezed her eyes tight.Every so-called gentleman in London, every servant, every shopkeeper,everyone, was passing around that story.
She took a deep breath.“And perhaps it’s true.Quentin Penderbrook is my son.Born out of wedlock.I…confessed it to him the day before yesterday.”
Sirena’s eyes flashed fire.“You could not have been much more than a child.”
“Like I was.”Graciela squeezed her hand.Her own little girl had been born illegitimate.“By their rules it is true, Lady Jane, but not by ours, as you know.”
“There’s more,” Jenny said.“He called you Lord Shaldon’s…er…bitwas the word used, they said.”
She took a deep breath and looked up at the carved molding that ran along the coffered ceiling.A soft hand clasped hers.
“It would explain why he’s been more…congenial.We hope it is true,” Sirena said.“We would be happy to see you become the next Lady Shaldon.”
“Yes,” Graciela said.“That would make you our mother.”She laughed and then sobered.“But it is not a laughing matter, this duel.At least they are fighting with swords.It’s a bit fairer if a man has some skills.”
A chill seeped into her spine.“I have no idea whether Quentin has any such skills.Does Charley?He is his second, is he not?”
“No.”
“Bakeley, then?”
“No,” Sirena said.“Shaldon forbade it.’Tis an honor he’s taken as his own.”
“Shaldon?”Jane jumped up and paced to the window.
Shaldon was…old.Oh, he was still vigorous, and a big man, and still strong, but the Major was larger, younger.If her son didn’t fight, Shaldon would.
She couldn’t bear losing either one of them.She must stop them.
Loud voices in the corridor drew their attention.Lloyd eased the door open, his face a stoic mask, and stepped out of the way for a dark-haired man of middle-age, dressed in a coat shiny with wear and dusty knee breeches.
Graciela choked out a breath and flew at the new arrival shouting “Papa.”
