Charlotte was there in an instant, her grip firm at Jane’s elbow. “Forgive the interruption,” she said smoothly. “We’ve only just arrived. We had no idea you were entertaining.”
William stared. “Entertaining—”
“Miss Ansley has been unwell,” Charlotte continued, unfazed. “We’ve come to see a specialist in town. It’s her first time in the townhouse. She got lost—poor thing.”
Jane still said nothing. Her face was white, her body drawn tight with pain. She clutched her belly.
Charlotte’s smile didn’t falter. “Margaret is here as well. Looking for you, in fact. I told you not to coddle the child. She speaks of nothing but you.”
“I—” William began.
But Charlotte was already moving. “Come along, Miss Ansley. Let’s get you upstairs. You need rest.”
Jane let herself be led, her steps faltering but obedient. She didn’t look back.
Philomena sat very still. William said nothing. He could not. His gaze lingered on the door, now closed again, and the echo of Jane’s silence burned hotter than any words.
* * *
Philomena didn’t speak right away. She cast a long look at the door Jane had disappeared through, then returned to the painting before them.
“Well,” she said lightly, “that was rather theatrical.”
William offered no response.
She dusted a speck of lint from her skirts, her voice pleasant. “I do hope the poor girl recovers her health. She seemed quite pale. And very distressed.”
Still he remained silent.
Philomena turned her head slightly, enough to glance at him from the corner of her eye. “There’s no need for awkwardness, my lord. I’m not blind. Nor particularly naive.”
William’s jaw worked. He stared ahead, expression unreadable.
“She is your mistress,” Philomena said, not accusing—just factual. Calm. “Or was. I don’t require the details.”
The lack of denial said it all.
She let out a soft huff. “If that’s meant to trouble me, it doesn’t. Such things are expected—understood, even. So long as everyone plays their part with dignity.”
He looked at her then—slowly.
Philomena smiled faintly. “Come now. You wouldn’t be the first man of your station with certain… entanglements. I only meant to reassure you. You needn’t give her up. Not on my account.”
His pulse kicked, too fast.
She reached for her gloves on the bench beside her, slipping them on with effortless elegance. “I’m not so naive as to expect a love match. Such things are rare between people of our rank. What matters is suitability.”
She rose then, slowly, and turned to face him.
“And we are perfectly suited, Lord Blackmeer. Your father has influence at Court and the Regent’s ear. You, a future duke, are already assured a place of prominence—but your service in Spain has earned you distinction beyond birth. Men admire you not only for your name, but for your deeds. My father governs England’s foreign policy and commands influence in every court that matters. And I—I am not without ambition of my own.”
He exhaled, sharp and quiet. “Philomena—”
But she pressed on, her tone even. “With your family’s rank and reputation, and my father's name and my own efforts, there is no door at any court we could not open.” She paused, deliberately. “I mean to become the hostess whose invitations command attention, whose drawing rooms set both fashion and policy—not merely in London, but in Paris, Vienna, even St. Petersburg, if the world permits it.”
William looked away.
“So you see—it matters little how you choose to spend your… affections,” she added, more softly now. “I would not begrudgeyou the governess. Or anyone else, provided it is done with discretion. I would expect the same courtesy in return.”
