Sarah paused her hands. “I—I wouldn’t know about his arrangements.”
“No. Of course not.” Violet reached out for a pin. “Speaking of which, His Grace has spoken of the arrangement. For the child.”
Sarah took the pin. “His Grace has always been generous. To those connected to the family.” The pin went in.
“Yes.” Violet watched her face in the glass. “Mr Vexley appeared quite shocked about His Grace’s involvement.”
Sarah’s breath caught, her hand faltered. “I couldn’t say what Mr Vexley knows or doesn’t.”
“No.” Violet held out another pin. “He seemed rather shaken. I cannot imagine why.”
Sarah’s hands stilled at her crown. She rubbed her hands on her skirts. “I wouldn’t know about that.”
“No. Of course not.”
The pins continued. Sarah was at the temple curls now, her fingers working close to Violet’s ear, albeit distractedly. Violet passed another pin across.
“Does the child do well?”
Sarah hesitated for a moment. “Well enough.”
“Does Edmund know him?”
“Ed… Mr Vexley has no part in it.”
Sarah moved to lay out the gloves. Violet twirled a curl around her finger, satisfied.
“Is there anything else Your Grace requires?”
“No. Thank you, Sarah.”
She watched her go. So, her lady’s maid was quite familiar with the duke’s cousin. It was possible that she was looking for a wealthy man to provide for her and her child. But Edmund was not a wealthy man. Unless he inherited. A chill went down her spine.
Kit was at the gate of the square garden. He fell into step and kept his voice low.
“She hired a carriage,” he said. “Out of a yard off Southampton Row. She knew the yard and she knew the driver.”
Violet kept her face toward the path.
“An hour south. A village in Surrey. She went directly to a cottage at the end of the high street without asking directions.”
They passed a nursemaid wheeling a child.
“A respectable household. A couple, middle-aged. The woman came out when she heard the carriage.” A pause. “With a boy. Dark-haired.”
Violet nodded. A maid hiring a carriage was unusual but not shocking given she had the financial support of a duke.
“She was different. Warm and motherly. She held the boy for a long time. Kissed his face all over, brought him gifts. She laughed.”
They walked while the crease between Violet’s brows deepened.
“I spoke to the villagers. The boy has been placed with the cottagers since he was an infant.”
Violet’s steps slowed.
“They called him Edmund.”
She stopped and turned toward Kit. “Do you think he’s Edmund’s son and not Harold’s?”
