“What were you considering for recompense?” Finn asked.
“Twenty-five quid a month.”
“As you said, you’re talking forty years of by-blows. How wealthy are you?”
“Wealthy enough.”
The Trewlove brothers exchanged a glance. Rook envied how, having grown up within each other’s shadow, they could effectively communicate without using any words. His father, obviously finding no joy in having children, had been willing to risk having only an heir and not a spare. Rook had never known loneliness until Eton. He thought he’d adjusted until it no longer mattered but at times like this, he experienced sharp pangs of feeling isolated, missed having someone who not only knew but understood his very soul. Someone whose soul he’d explored to its very depths. But even as he had those thoughts, images of Nora floated through his mind.
Leaning back, Aiden crossed his arms over his chest. “You do realize that you’re likely to have people arrive at your door who arenotrelated to us in any manner whatsoever. They’ll see your generosity as an opportunity to take advantage, to put coins in their pockets.”
“I’m not a fool, Aiden. I’m well aware that in some instances, that will be the case. But if, through this action, I’m able to help evenoneof my true half-siblings who is in need—because there must be some, like you and Finn, who knew he was their father—I will consider it worth the cost.”
Chapter 22
Leonora sat in Rook’s front parlor serving tea—so much tea—to those who were awaiting an audience with him. The favor he’d asked of her was to serve as hostess at his residence as he met with his father’s offspring.
The number was shocking really. At first, they’d trickled in. She hadn’t bothered to count, but then they’d begun to arrive in greater numbers, and now every seat was occupied, and some people were standing along the walls. If she had to guess, she’d say close to a dozen people had either already spoken with him or were waiting to. He met with each individually in his library. They’d probably be here all afternoon and possibly into evening.
The butler had been charged with writing the visitors’ names in a little notebook before escorting them into the parlor where Leonora greeted them and strove to make them feel at home. A footman escorted out those who had spent time with Rook and then escorted the next in line to the library. And Leonora served them tea.
The guests ranged in ages from the very young, who were with their mothers, to those who looked to beolder than Rook. Some had obviously dressed in finery for the occasion, as best as they could anyway. She suspected the majority lived in poverty. Or close to it.
He had told her what a monster his father was, but now she was seeing the proof of it. She didn’t doubt that those claiming to be his by-blows had in fact come from his loins because she could see shadows of Rook in every face. In the jaw, the chin, the nose, or the eyes. The cheeks, the build.
What must it be like for him to face the reality of what had been merely rumors? She was grateful and admired him for sparing his mother a glimpse of the evidence of her husband’s unfaithfulness. She knew that even if he wasn’t happy about how their marriage had come about, Rook would never not honor his vows.
It seemed wrong that they should both spend the remainder of their lives paying the price for a lack of discretion. No, they had been discreet. Except Mama had been watching her like a hawk. She’d seen an opportunity to have the lord she’d craved as a son-by-marriage and she’d pounced. Leonora felt like she had that first night at the Elysium: a man being sent to her out of obligation, not desire. She didn’t want that in a marriage. While he no longer seemed angry regarding their circumstance, she would hardly categorize him as joyful regarding their future together.
She continued to have doubts concerning the path they were treading. It reminded her of a cog with one of its protrusions broken or out of alignment, so it never properly fit with its mate to get the job done. Always just a little bit off. No steady rhythm.
The butler escorted a woman into the room. Shewas petite in stature, with hair raven black, and stunning eyes of emerald green. At her side was a young boy who couldn’t have been older than ten. Leonora smiled at her. “Would you care for some tea?”
“Yes, thank you.”
As she prepared the tea, Leonora said, “I’m Leonora Garrison, a... friend to his lordship.” She couldn’t quite bring herself to use the identifier ofhis betrothed. She recalled he’d once told her that how people addressed him indicated their place in his life. She was realizing the same applied to how she viewed herself. More friend than future wife.
“Rachel.”
Leonora’s breath caught and the teacup rattled on the saucer she held with a hand that had suddenly become unsteady. How many Rachels could the earl have taken as mistresses? “Your father’s not in shipping, is he?”
The woman’s smile was wistful. “The last I heard he was. Could Jack have some lemonade?”
Jack, no doubt a pet name for John. Johnny. Her Johnny who may have been this woman’s Johnny.
“Yes, of course.” She poured him a glass and offered it to him. He’d not inherited his mother’s green eyes. His were as dark as Rook’s. His hair was the same shade. And she thought as he got older, his jaw would become more pronounced, stronger, sturdier, and it would look very much like Rook’s. “A chair has just been vacated in the back corner.”
She watched as the woman moved toward it. She wanted to send her on her way. How dare she come here and remind Rook of one of the worst days, when his heart had been shattered. Her fury had nothing to do with the fact that he had once loved the woman, hadplanned to propose to her, and follow the gesture with a bonanza of fireworks. Nor did she want the reminder that he neither loved nor had proposed to Leonora.
As though in a trance, she poured tea, heard names called, and watched people leave the room one by one to have their audience with their half brother. If she looked to the doorway, sometimes she’d see the solitary figures strutting past as they headed for the front door and their exit, all seeming far more relaxed and content on their way out than they had on their way in.
Then suddenly, completely unaware of it actually happening, she was alone with Rachel and the boy. No one else had arrived. All the others had been seen to. The butler didn’t come call for her. The residence suddenly seemed deathly quiet, the way the air did before a storm hit.
“You’re not a servant,” Rachel said quietly, her voice sounding as though it came from a great distance, years in fact. A decade perhaps.
“No.”
“You’re the woman he’s going to marry. I saw mention of it in the newspaper. How it came about seemed quite scandalous. He always avoided any sort of scandal. He was always so... perfect. Never did anything he ought not.”
