the reins of the conversation as everyone fell silent. “Do you want to hear them?”
She gazed up into his earnest face. “Yes, Father.”
He nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. “We can remain silent about the matter. Hush up the truth and attribute this Renton fellow’s blackmail to another reason. You’ll remarry Helmswick in a private ceremony. Your children will continue to be presumed legitimate and young Georgie will one day inherit the earldom.”
Eleanor sat with her back ramrod straight, her face wan, her lips bloodless. I wondered if she was contemplating the child she carried inside her—Marsdale’s child. From the manner in which he watched her, I felt certain she must be. Would Helmswick claim the child? And if he did, would he make his or her life miserable because of their true parentage? Not that he seemed to show either of his children much attention or affection, but at least he didn’t scorn them.
The duke clicked his tongue. “Or we can allow the truth to become known. We’ve weathered scandals before. What’s one more?” He cast a gimlet glare at the valet. “Mr. Warren and this vicar who performed the ceremony will bear witness to the event, as well as the fact that the parish registry was stolen to conceal it. I will broker a deal of some sort with Helmswick. One to the effect that I will request leniency from the Crown on his behalf, and allow him to retain your marriage settlement, so long as he relinquishes any rights to you and your children, and signs them over to my care.” Eleanor, as a woman, could not be granted that authority. “And agrees not to pursue charges against John.” He paused in front of her, his eyes warm with the same mixture of love and firmness I remembered my own father exhibiting whenever I’d come to him asking for his help with something I’d bungled, well intentioned or not. “You will be free then to wed again, to whomever you please.” He arched his eyebrows at Marsdale, who straightened from his slouch. “I assume you will come up to scratch this time.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” he replied, though his eyes were only for Eleanor.
The duke nodded once decisively—a promise of swift retribution should Marsdale not honor his word. Then he offered his daughter a regretful smile. “In that instance, I’m afraid there is nothing I can do to salvage Georgie’s inheritance. And not being Marsdale’s son, he won’t be able to inherit his dukedom. But he will be loved and cared for, as will young Selina.” He glanced around at all his children who were present. “As you and your brothers have always been. As all my children are.” His gaze resettled on Eleanor, sincere and affectionate. “The choice is yours.”
I studied her face, the way her gaze continued to be drawn to Marsdale’s hopeful one, and I knew which way the wind was blowing. For Marsdale’s sake, I was happy, but I knew the road forward would not be paved with roses.
The duke turned to Gage. “Now, about John.”
Having already relayed all the pertinent facts I’d gathered, I elected to leave the debate over the duke’s son’s fate in Gage’s more than capable hands, excusing myself to retreat to our chambers. From which I had no intention of emerging for dinner. I trudged up the stairs without the aid of anyone, too tired to feel anxious, though careful to mind my step, and staggered through the sitting room door.
Anderley and Bree, who had been standing very close to each other near the windows, suddenly leapt apart. However, I was too exhausted to care what sort of romance was blossoming between them and whether it spelled trouble. I passed them by with barely a glance, raising my hand in dismissal. “Carry on.”
A few short moments later, Bree joined me in my bedchamber, finding me partially reclined on the chaise longue. She gazed down at me in fond scolding, a faint tinge of a blush still cresting her cheeks. “You’ve run yerself ragged.”
“I have,” I agreed. There was no point in refuting the fact, or defending my actions. They spoke for themselves.
She smiled softly. “Let’s get ye changed into somethin’ more comfortable.”
Bree made swift work of removing my day garments, so that when the duchess rapped on the door of my bedchamber a quarter of an hour later, I was once again ensconced on the chaise, this time wrapped in my indigo silk dressing gown with a rug