loved her. He thought he might have always loved her, back from when he’d first clung to Sebastian’s friendship right after his mother had left.
He’d not known it himself, of course. His love had been shielded for what it was by his natural protective instincts.
But it was love. And it was more frightening to face than being in the ring with a massive boxer whose arms were the size and strength of railroad pistons.
“Ignatius?”
His mother peered into the library, her expression one of concern.
He waved her in, and she entered, shutting the door behind her. She took a seat beside him on the sofa, picking his hand up and holding it in hers.
“What is wrong?” she asked in a soft voice.
And he told her.
Speaking as he never had before.
At the end of his recitation, she leaped up from the sofa, her eyes wet from crying. “You cannot think you are anything like him.” She spoke fiercely. “He was cruel, and you are nothing like him.” Her hand shot out in an accusing gesture. “Is it the actions of a monster to find and protect the people whose births were no fault of their own?”
Nash began to speak, but couldn’t say anything before she continued. As usual.
“I wanted to come earlier, I told you that.” She was pacing in her agitation now, proof indeed that she was his mother. “But I didn’t until I knew for certain who you were. You found me, but of course I knew where you were. I’d gotten news of his death, and I nearly came then, but I—” She shook her head as she bit her lip. “I wasn’t sure who you were. If you were like him. But I made inquiries, and everything I heard—everything anyone has said about you—is that you are a generous person who wants to right all the wrongs in the world.” She gave a soft chuckle. “Not that you could have accomplished that, of course, but you have done what you could. I made certain to ask the people who were most affected by you, your father’s children, what they thought.”
“You spoke to them?” Nash said, surprised.
“No, but I hired people who got them to share their experiences of you. I didn’t want to return to your life until I knew for certain that you would be worthy of it. And you are, Ignatius, you are.” She sat back down, taking his face in her hands. “Your father was a monster. You want to right wrongs, and sometimes you use your fists. But that does not mean you are him.” She shook her head. “You were so young when I left, it is no wonder you have the wrong idea about who you are. But you have to believe that you are the best possible person you can be.”
A pause as she took a deep breath. “You cannot allow the boy you were at ten to define your life now.”
He gazed at her, feeling her words settle into his brain. Was she right? Was he the best possible person he could be? Was that the person he was choosing to become?
They both turned at the sound of the door opening, and then the dowager duchess made her way inside, using her cane for support.
Nash got up to draw his chair closer to her, and she sat, resting both her hands on top of the cane.
“I heard you arrived, Helen,” the dowager duchess said, looking at his mother. “I was hoping you would come.”
“It is good to see you, Your Grace,” his mother replied. She glanced at Nash, who had positioned himself near the fireplace, leaning on the mantel. “Ignatius has been speaking to me about his father.”
The dowager duchess’s expression tightened. “I regret everything I didn’t do to help you.”
Nash’s mother leaned forward to pat the dowager duchess’s knee. “I know that. You helped me as much as you could.”
The dowager duchess nodded.
“And now it appears that Ignatius has fallen in love.”
The dowager duchess’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Lady Felicity?”
“No,” Nash said. “Definitely not Lady Felicity.”
“Oh good,” the dowager duchess replied. “When any idiot can see it is that Lady Ana Maria you are in love with.”
Nash snorted. “I gather I am the idiot?”
The dowager duchess waved vaguely. “If the description fits,” she began, sounding her most supercilious. “But I was hoping for this, even though you insisted she was not being considered. Likely you had some idiotic reason—”
“Such as worrying I would end up like my father?” Nash