Page 31 of The Lord Meets His Lady
Maude Turner’s unread letter had been the push Genevieve needed to eventually seek Elise Sauveterre. Under Elise’s patient tutelage, the world of words had opened, changing everything…her speech, her mind, her view of the world. Words freed her.
“No. My mother burned it.” The thread on her glove snapped. “All I know is Maude Turner lives somewhere along the River Tweed.”
“I presume she’s not in the village here.”
“I inquired about her my first day here. No one has heard of her.”
He put on his hat, but her feet could be nailed to the ground. With his waiting eyes, his silence, this tenderness from Lord Bowles was a gift. Words trickled out of her. Secret shame was a burden she’d carried for too long.
“My mother left home at fifteen.” Her eyes squeezed shut. “She was…with child.”
“With you.”
“Yes. With me.”
A giant could be crushing her chest. She didn’t have to spill everything, but this truth wanted out. She needed Lord Bowles to see it…to seeher. Children born on the wrong side of the blanket were commonplace on Tavistock Street. Shame clouded only those brave souls who ventured into nicer places…places with families where the girls wore pretty gowns with their pretty manners.
“Apparently, my father was a married man,” she went on. “When my grandmother found out, she gave my mother the boot.” When she opened her eyes, Lord Bowles’s features had softened. “You’re not…upsetby this news, milord?”
“You hardly had a say in matters.”
She winced. “It’s sordid business.”
“I can bear it if you can.”
A breeze played with her hair. Wisps fell everywhere around her face. The chill kissed her cheeks, but best of all was the lightness inside her. He wasn’t trying to get under her skirts or steal a grope. Lord Bowles simply listened.
“Sometimes I’m not sure what I’ll say when people inquire about my family. Hiding the truth can be harder than concocting a lie.”
“Then don’t.”
“Easy for you to say,” she scoffed. “Respectable families turn up their noses at the likes of me.”
“I know how Society works.” The bored words rolled off his tongue.
She squinted west again. Light had faded, turning the vibrant blue skies a shade of charred coal. “Years ago, when we first settled at the Golden Goose, I befriended a milliner’s daughter off Lumley Court. So close to Tavistock Street…” She whipped around to face him. “Do you knowhowclose?”
“Very.”
She huffed. “The girl got wind of who I was, and you’d think I was diseased by how hard she worked to avoid me.”
“An unfortunate past,” he said kindly. “Now, what will you do about your future?”
Her eyes widened. Reinhard had once said similar words, but with selfish intent. Lord Bowles couldn’t be more different from the Wolf who chased her.
“Do you know your father’s name?” he asked.
She blinked, her mind digging through the dust of past conversations. “My mother never spoke of him. I gathered from what little she told me that it was a horrid time.”
“And the doll?”
“I discovered it when I was a child.” She sighed, the words as cleansing as they were crushing. “I found it in a chest and played with it. My mother was furious.”
Lord Bowles brushed hair off her face, his tenderness healing her, coaxing her. She wanted to melt into him. How empty her life had been, lacking in the smallest acts of gentle affection. Her body was lighter for having shared weighty secrets.
“Please don’t think ill of her. My motherwasgood to me. She never deserted me.”
His gloved hands stroked her cheek. The leather touch, the smell of his warmth, his skin, all anchored her. She turned into the caress and shut her eyes. Pieces of her life played out in her mind, sharp memories, vivid and as real as if lived yesterday. The struggle to read. Her uncanny skill with mechanisms and the trouble it had brought. Late nights and her mother bringing strange men to their room above the Golden Goose.
