he stepped fully into the entryway.
Turning on her heel, Callie led the way down the corridor to the small study that Effie had converted into an office of sorts for herself. “The children are well?” she asked as the door closed behind them. She was giving voice to the fear that had been plaguing her since she’d first recognized his voice. What other reason would he have to come there, after all?
“They are quite well, though I daresay they are already tearing my house apart without you there to guide them… but this is a matter of some urgency, Miss St. James,” he said, his tone grave. He moved away from her, crossing the expanse of carpet to stare out the window into the back garden. When he looked back at her, his expression was one of grim resolve. “The threat is not to the children in this instance, but to you.”
If he’d said the grass was blue and the sky green, she wouldn’t have been more surprised. “To me? You can’t be serious!” she protested.
“What do you really know of your parentage, Miss St. James?”
Callie shook her head. “Nothing. I have no notion of who my mother or father are… or were. I was left at the gate of the St. James Workhouse. Someone rang the bell and departed before the attendant even discovered me.”
“Was there any identifying information with you? Anything significant about the basket or the clothing that you were dressed in?”
Callie shook her head. She didn’t know honestly and there was likely no way to obtain any such information now. “There’s nothing… not so far as I am aware, at any rate. Before I answer any more of your questions, I think it’s time you answered mine! What is this about, my lord?”
He was silent for a moment, staring at her in a considering way, thoughtful and focused. After that long silence stretched to the point of discomfort, he began speaking abruptly, “I may know who your mother was… and your father. It was strange coincidence that shortly after you came into my employ, I was attending a meeting with several gentleman at the home of the Duke of Averston. Do you know him?”
Callie blinked. Then she blinked again and again, as if doing so would force the words he’d uttered to penetrate the fog that had claimed her mind. With no clarity forthcoming, she managed to utter, “No. Why on earth would I be acquainted with a duke? But do go on.”
He cleared his throat and began to pace as he talked. “Burney, Mr. Charles Burney, whom we happened to run into while shopping the other day was the gentleman responsible for putting together a prospective business deal that he hoped I, and the Duke of Averston, would be willing to invest in. While there—at the duke’s residence—to discuss the matter, I saw a portrait of a woman and the resemblance between you is so marked that it cannot be mere happenstance. There must be some familial link… because it is undeniable.”
“And who is this woman?” Callie asked.
His expression shifted once more, to one that was tinged with compassion. “Who was this woman… I’m afraid she is long dead, Miss St. James. And I fear her death was not one of natural causes. Her name was Mademoiselle Veronique Delaine. She was a French actress and a very successful one. She was also the mistress of the former Duke of Averston… your father.”
Callie stared at him for a moment as if he’d gone utterly mad. Then she began to laugh. “If I were the daughter of a duke and his mistress, why would I have been left at a workhouse, my lord? Surely they would have made other arrangements even if, due to societal and family pressure, they could not raise me themselves!”
“The former duke made it clear that he planned to marry her, Mademoiselle Delaine… but his mother, your grandmother, had other ideas. Your mother left you on the steps of the workhouse, I’m assuming, because she was literally running for her life and… yours. The dowager duchess is a formidable woman, Miss St. James, and I have no difficulty at all believing that she is capable of everything that Averston admitted to me, albeit in a vague fashion. She killed or had your mother killed and would likely have done the same to you had your mother not placed you on the steps of the St. James Workhouse and left you to whatever mercy