He did not want the reminder of what he might have had, if not for this.
Finally, he confessed. “Tremley has known my secrets for all our lives.”
She’d known there was a connection, of course, but not what it was. It had never occurred to her that he and the earl might have been so connected for so long.
She watched him carefully, working to keep the shock from her face. Working to keep herself from asking the myriad questions immediately on the tip of her tongue.
“My father died when I was no more than four.” He looked away, into the darkness, and she watched him in profile as he spoke, loving the strength in his face. The emotion there. “And my mother, saddled with a child and no knowledge of how to live on the land, was offered a place in the main house.”
“Tremley’s house,” Georgiana said.
He nodded. “She went from farmer’s wife to washwoman. From sleeping in her own house to sleeping in a room with six other women, her child in her bed.” He looked up at the trees rustling in the spring breeze. “And she never once complained.”
“Of course she didn’t.” Georgiana could not stop herself from speaking. “She did it for you. For you and your sister.”
He ignored the words. Pressed on. “The estate was horrifying. The former earl, if you can imagine it, was worse than the current one. Servants were beaten. Women were assaulted. Children were pressed into service too harsh for their age.” He looked into the darkness. “My mother and I were lucky.”
Georgiana had not even heard the story, and she knew there was nothing lucky about it. She wanted to touch him, to give him comfort, but she knew better. She let him speak. “He took an interest in her.”
She’d known the words were coming, but she hated them all the same.
“He offered her a trade – her body for my safety.” Her brow furrowed at the words, and he noticed. “Or, rather, not my safety. My presence. If she did not give him what he wished, he would send me away. To a workhouse.”
Georgiana thought of her own child, of her own past. Of the threats she’d faced – never so cruel. Never so damning. Even when ruined, she’d still had the luck of the aristocracy. Not so this woman. This boy. “Why?” she asked, “Why torture her?”
He met her gaze. “Power.” He paused and collected his thoughts. Went on. “I was allowed to stay, but made to work – I’ve told you this bit.” She reached for him then, unable to stop herself. Unable to resist comforting the boy he’d once been. He pulled away from her touch. “No. I won’t be able to tell it all if you…” He hesitated, then said, “Once, I resisted the work. He punished her.”
“Duncan,” she whispered.
“I could not stop him.”
She shook her head. “Of course you couldn’t. You were a boy.”
His gaze snapped to hers. “I am not a boy any longer. And I could not stop him from hurting his wife.”
“You cannot compare the two.”
“Of course I can. Charles – the young earl – he was as bad as his father. Worse. He was desperate for approval, and he took pleasure in the power that came with being the future earl. He learned to throw a remarkable punch.” His fingers came to his jaw, as if the words brought back the blows. “He did terrible things to the servants’ children. I stopped him more times than I could count. And then…” He trailed off, lost in thought for a long moment before he looked back to her. “The countess never goes back,” he vowed. “I’ll pay for her to go anywhere in Christendom. Anywhere she chooses.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“I mean it,” he said, and she recognized the fury in his gaze.
“I know.”
He took a long breath, released it on a wicked curse. “When I was ten, my mother became pregnant.”
She’d done the math already. She’d known Cynthia was not his full sister. Now, she finished the calculation. Her eyes went wide. It was his turn to nod. “You see how it fits together.”
“Tremley.”
He dipped his head. “She is his half sister.”
“Christ,” she whispered. “Does she know?”
He ignored the question. “The earl pushed my mother to be rid of her, first when she began to increase and then again when Cynthia was born. He threatened to take her away. To give her to some well-meaning family somewhere on the estate. My mother refused to allow it.”
“I am not surprised,” Georgiana said. “No woman would be willing to let you go.”
He looked to her. “I imagine you would have done the same.”
She lifted her chin. “With my dying breath.”
He put his hand to her face, cupping her cheek in its warmth. “Caroline is lucky to have you.”
“I am lucky to have her,” she said. “Just as your mother was lucky to have you both.”
“There should have been three of us,” he said. “The third was stillborn. A brother.”
“Duncan,” she said, putting her hand to his on her cheek, her eyes filling with tears for him. For what he had seen.
“I was fifteen. Cynthia was five.” He paused. “And my mother… she died as well.”
She’d known it was coming, but the words still tore at her.
“He killed my mother,” he said.
She nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks for the loss of the woman she would never know. For the loss of the boy she would never know. For Duncan. She filled in the rest. “You ran.”