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“You’ve seen it?”
“I grew up in it.”
“You grew up—” Daphne’s fingers flew to her mouth, all the color draining from her face. “That’s the workhouse you lived in?” she whispered. “That deplorable place in Leicester I just described?”
“And what you described was hardly the worst of it,” Pierce confirmed, a tortured look in his eyes. “There was the dead room, where I was frequently punished by being locked amid decaying dead bodies and darkness—longer each time I disobeyed the headmaster’s inhuman demands. Alongside the dead room was the foul ward, where women tortured by syphilis screamed in agony on the beds and floors, together with those women distorted by unnameable skin diseases caused by living in filth. There was no ventilation, the smell was everywhere—” Pierce broke off, his breathing harsh.
Wordlessly, Daphne went to him, fighting back tears of revulsion and pain. Pierce needed her now—needed her strength, not her pity. She wrapped her arms securely about his waist, lay her head on his chest. “There is purpose to everything, even if we ourselves cannot discern it. You were subjected to such a life for a reason, perhaps the same reason you survived it. My God, you’re strong.” Daphne turned her face, brushing her lips against his skin.
Slowly, Pierce averted his head, staring down at her as she shared his remembered pain. “I’m sorry, Snow flame,” he said gruffly, his arms closing around her. “I never should have exposed you to such horrors.”
“I’m proud you trusted me enough to confide in me,” Daphne demurred. She leaned back to meet his gaze. “Tell me about your mother.”
“My mother.” A resigned sadness settled over Pierce. “She was beautiful—or perhaps she only seemed so to me.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. After long years of workhouse life her beauty faded, her health deteriorated, and I lost her.”
“She gave birth to you in the workhouse?”
“Yes. She had been a tavern maid at a London pub. That’s where she met Markham. Evidently, their affair was torrid, but, at least from his perspective, temporary. You see, the duke had a very proper, very legal duchess at home. Ironic how he conveniently dismissed that reality when he bedded my mother, just as he unfeelingly dismissed my mother when she went to him with the knowledge that she carried his child.”
“He offered her nothing?”
“Initially, no. According to the letter he left with his solicitor, he had a change of heart some months later and went back to the tavern to see for himself that my mother was well. By that time it was too late. Mother was long gone, dismissed the instant the tavern keeper discovered she was with child.”
“Did your father abandon his search at that point?” Daphne asked softly.
“Seemingly not. I’ve been told he hired investigators who traced my mother and me to the workhouse in Leicester, and that he intended to forsake his glittering life and claim us.” Pierce gave a harsh laugh. “That never came to pass. The duke’s wife chose that moment to do what she’d been unable to for years. She conceived his child. Needless to say, a legitimate heir has priority over a bastard. So the duke remained at Markham, and we remained in hell. Mother held on as long as she could. But she was never very strong. She died when I was seven.”
“You were so young. How devastated you must have been.”
“She was the only stability in my life. I never knew my father, and I hated him for what he’d done. When my mother died, it was the first time I felt truly abandoned.”
Instinctively, Daphne ran caressing fingers along Pierce’s spine. “Your father paid dearly for his selfishness.” Her eyes misted with emotion. “He never had the joy of knowing you.”
“Clearly, he considered that no great loss.”
“You can’t be certain of that,” she protested.
“Can’t I? If he were so distressed, why didn’t he damn protocol and claim me? No, Daphne. I don’t think Markham agonized over my absence from his life.”
“Then the misfortune was his. Moreover, from what I’ve heard, you weren’t his only loss. His other son was killed in a riding accident, which drove the duke into seclusion.”
“I presume. Tragmore told you that.”
“He did, yes.” Daphne nodded. “I believe he was fairly well acquainted with the late duke.”
Another harsh laugh. “Very well acquainted.” Pierce’s hands clenched in Daphne’s hair as he answered her questioning look. “In order to collect the funds Barrings owed him, Tragmore visited the headmaster frequently. I eavesdropped on every one of their meetings.”
“I see.” Daphne blinked at the rapid change of subject. “I assume my father never discovered your presence?”
“Never.” Pierce shook his head. “To this day he has no idea I witnessed his illegal dealings, nor that I observed him and his companion each time they arrived.”
“His companion?”
“Tragmore didn’t visit Barrings alone. He was accompanied by none other than the Duke of Markham.”
Daphne inhaled sharply as Pierce’s point struck home. “The duke was involved with Father’s scheme?”
“Yes and no.”
