“I won’t. Please don’t hope that I will. You’ll only be disappointed.”
“I’d rather risk disappointment than take no risk at all.”
With that, the Earl of Tewksbury strode out of the room, leaving her wishing that he’d at least kissed her before he left.
“You have a visitor in the parlor.”
Althea gave a start at Jewel’s voice coming to her unexpectedly. She’d been reading the invitation Benedict had left with her five days earlier, not the first time she’d done so, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Every time she did, she envisioned him taking her in his arms and sweeping her over the dance floor. It was a beautiful dream, one that also visited when she slept. Except then, when they circled the room, as they passed by, people gave them their backs. She would awaken in a sweat, heart thundering, guilt gnawing at her because she brought him such shame.
“Is it him?” Had he come to ask her again?
“It’s a woman. Says she’s the Duchess of Glasford.”
His mother. Why would she come here? She shot to her feet, patted her hair.
“Do I look all right?” She shook her head before Jewel could answer. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” What did she care what the duchess thought of her?
She dashed down the stairs and into the parlor, stumbling to a stop at the sight of the woman in the wheelchair. She needed to talk to Jewel about communicating more information so she wasn’t taken by surprise. Hell, she needed to have a word with Benedict. Why hadn’t he mentioned his mother’s situation? She curtsied. “Your Grace.”
“Miss Stanwick?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
The woman tilted her head up to the man standing beside her. “John, please wait in the foyer until I’m ready to depart.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The man walked out, a servant, no doubt, who saw to her needs.
“I’ll see about having some tea brought in,” Althea said. She should have thought to tell Jewel to fetch it.
“Don’t go to the trouble. I won’t be staying that long.” The woman contained a calmness, a gentleness, that seemed too soft for this world. She tilted her head toward the sofa. “Please, sit.”
When a duchess asked, you did it, even when you didn’t want to. Althea sat. “How may I be of service, Duchess?”
“You may come to our ball tomorrow evening.”
Her stomach dropped to her toes; her fingers knotted in her lap. “I’m not sure how much you know about my relationship with Benedict—”
“Oh, I suspect I know nearly everything, Miss Stanwick. Our son spoke about you with a great deal of fondness while we were in Scotland.”
“Then you know my father is a traitor.” She was expecting her not to know, to see shock make its way over her face.
“I do, yes. He was involved in a plot to see the Queen murdered as I’m given to understand.”
Her fingers were going numb. “As a result, you know I am not welcomed in Society. If I attend, it will be quite awkward, not only for me but for you and, more important, for Benedict. I will receive cuts direct. People will turn theirbacks. They will whisper ugly things about me, my father, you, Benedict. They’ll wonder why you invited the daughter of a man who was hanged for being a traitor, a man whose children were denied their birthright. Your standing could suffer. It won’t at all assist Benedict in finding a proper wife, one who will be proud to be at his side, who will love him. I’ve tried to explain all this to him, to make him see, but he hasn’t been part of the aristocracy long enough to know how this will play out. He simply doesn’t understand.”
“But you do. You understand perfectly. Have the courage to show him. Only then will he truly understand the sacrifices that must be made.”
Her entire body, mind, and soul rebelled at the notion. The humiliation she would suffer, the shame, the chill that would settle in her bones. It had nearly killed her before. The months since had toughened her, but was it enough to withstand the bludgeoning she would receive?
The duchess clasped Althea’s hands. “If you truly love my son, you must attend the ball. You must force him to see the repercussions of your presence. Otherwise, I fear he will cling to the possibility of having you, and will never seek out another, will never know happiness. I love him far too much not to do what is best for him. I am in this wheelchair because of my love for him and his father, and yet I have never regretted a day of it. Knowing what I would suffer, I would do it all again in a heartbeat. How much do you truly love my son, Miss Stanwick? What would you endure to ensure his future happiness?”
Chapter 30
As the coach the duchess had sent for her made its way hastily through the streets, Althea fought her nerves, strived for calm. She’d almost instructed the driver to return to the duke’s residence without her, but eventually, she’d climbed inside.
She had considered the green gown, but in the end went with the red. To ensure Benedict understood fully all the ramifications of her presence, she had to be as visible as possible. In a small secret pocket, she’d slipped the match safe he’d given her because she knew on the journey home, which would begin shortly after she arrived, she would need the reminder that even in darkness she could find light.
