The Girl in the Steel Corset - By Kady Cross Page 0,32

with a pair of open arms.

Silas Burke was of moderate height and build. In fact, everything about him was moderate—his temperament, his income, his appearance. He was nothing extraordinary except to his wife and stepdaughter.

“Oh, ho!” he cried, practically sweeping off her feet. “Look who we have here! Mary, see who’s come for a visit!”

Smiling, Finley looked up into his warm brown eyes, framed by deep grooves that proved his good nature. When she heard her mother’s footsteps on the stairs, she stepped out from around Silas to greet her, as well. More hugging and laughing followed. It wasn’t until her mother stepped into the store for introductions that Finley remembered she wasn’t there for a pleasant visit. Her mother’s pale face as she stared at Lady Marsden made Finley’s stomach drop.

“What are you doing here?” her mother demanded of Lady Marsden, drawing a shocked glance from her husband.

“Mary!” he exclaimed, his face flushing. It was terribly rude to speak to a lady of rank in such a tone, but Finley’s mother wasn’t about to apologize.

“I told you people to leave us alone.” Her mother practically trembled with rage. “Edward said we were safe—that we would never be bothered again.”

“You know each other?” Not that Finley needed an acknowledgment, but she wanted to hear it all the same.

It was Lady Marsden who answered. “We used to. Although, Mrs. Burke and I haven’t seen each other since I was but a girl. Edward was my late brother. How are you, Mary?”

Finley frowned. For Griffin’s aunt to refer to her mother by her Christian name, or for her mother to refer to the late duke in a similar manner, they must have known each other very well indeed at one time. Her only consolation in this confusion was that Griffin didn’t seem any more aware of what was going on than she was.

Her mother, back stiff as a board, replied, “I was very well until a few moments ago.”

There could be no mistaking the insult this time. “Mama, we need to talk to you,” Finley said, taking control before her mother did something foolish like toss the marchioness out of the shop. “May we go upstairs where it’s more private?”

Her mother looked as though she’d rather swallow rat poison than go anywhere with Lady Marsden, but the gentle slump of her shoulders signaled defeat. That innocent gesture formed a cannonball of dread in Finley’s gut. She wasn’t sure she wanted to have this conversation anymore, no matter how much she wanted to discover how to fix what was wrong with her.

The lot of them climbed the stairs in single file, Finley’s mother leading the way and Silas at the rear. He’d even gone so far as to flip the Closed sign over and lock the door so they wouldn’t be disturbed.

Burke’s home was a comfortable space—certainly not as grand as the Duke of Greythorne’s mansion, but welcoming and warm. Fitzhugh, the family cat, trotted over to Finley and twined himself between her ankles before rubbing his head against Griffin’s calf. To his credit, the duke bent down with a smile to pet the fluffy orange tom.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” he spoke, rising to offer Silas his hand. “It’s just that I discovered a strange connection between our families and I’d like to learn more. I’m sure Finley would, as well.”

Mary’s eyebrow rose at the familiar use of her daughter’s name, and Finley blushed a little. She straightened her shoulders. “Mama, how is it possible that you and my father knew His Grace’s parents?” She couldn’t help but sound incredulous. It was too strange to fathom. “Is it true that my father was Thomas Sheppard, not Thomas Jayne?”

Her mother looked as though she might be ill. Surprisingly, Lady Marsden came to the rescue. “Perhaps we should sit?”

Mary nodded. Her face was pale, but she led the way to the small parlor where Finley had often lain about and read on a Sunday afternoon.

They seated themselves almost as if preparing for battle— The Burkes on one sofa, Griffin and his aunt on the other. This left Finley to sit by herself in a high-backed chair. How appropriate that she be odd man out, as that was actually how she felt.

“I’m not certain where to start,” her mother remarked, a hint of anxiety in her voice.

Silas reached over and took her hand in his own. “The beginning is often a good place.”

Mary smiled at him. For the first time in her short life, Finley