Chapter 24

24

“…and I have irrevocably begun to think of you as…”

Chastity could see Lord Wardbury’s lips move. Could hear the words he was saying. His face was before hers, passion and conviction in his brown eyes.

But she couldn’t really listen.

Her eyes kept drifting away, across the room, towards Lucien. Lucien, who had Lady Osborn practically hanging on his arm, her breasts so close to him, they were almost touching… Right here, in public!

“I could not imagine a better wife” was what Lord Wardbury was saying, and she finally looked at him, her eyes widening. “Please, Lady Chastity, would you do me the greatest honor of marrying me?”

Gasps and whispers sounded around them, and Chastity realized she was not the only one listening to him. Several people leaned towards them, surrounding them, including Mr. Audley and Captain Harrington, both of whom watched them with tight frowns. Dorian’s intense eyes were fixed on her, waiting. Patience bit her lip with the most worried expression.

And the Duke of Pryde.

And Lady Virtoux. Miss Rixon.

Everyone.

Lord Wardbury dropped to his knee in front of her, his eyes shining with tenderness and appreciation.

What about Lucien?

She looked across the room at him.

He was most definitely listening, his expression pained. And while Lady Osborn kept talking, all of his attention was acutely on Chastity.

The grand ballroom fell quiet; only whispers and the rustle of clothes sounded. Even Lady Osborn realized what was going on and shut her mouth.

“I…er…” Chastity mumbled.

“Lady Chastity,” Lord Wardbury said again, “would you do me the greatest honor?”

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. This was it. Her aim and goal all along. She had done the impossible. One month ago, she had been an awkward spinster, a bluestocking in dowdy gowns, who was polite society’s object of ridicule. Her only worth had been her mind, her unwelcome contribution to science. She had hid in Whitechapel, endangering her reputation and well-being. She couldn’t have imagined not one but three men would drop to their knees and ask for her hand. She now understood that she was the kind of woman who could have it all…brains and beauty. A feminine scientist who could attract not one but three proposals.

So why did she not feel the satisfaction she had aimed for? Why was her stomach tightening not in triumph but in worry?

And why couldn’t she look away from the only man in the room…in her life…who mattered?

She wanted Lucien to stop Lord Wardbury. To cross the floor and proclaim to Dorian, to Wardbury, to Audley, and to Harrington that she was his.

To ask for her hand.

She waited. Her foolish, senseless heart fluttered with hope.

As though reading her mind, he opened his mouth. There it was, the indecision, the doubt. The pain, the conflict thundering behind his eyes.

He took one step towards her, and her heart lurched up her throat.

He was going to come to her, was he not? He was going to do all those things…stop Wardbury, make a claim on her…

But there was some kind of movement at the grand ballroom doors. A rustle of skirts, the sound of shoes against the floor.

“Madam!” called Pryde’s butler. “Madam, you are not to go in?—”

“His Grace, the Duke of Luhst,” came a female voice with the same thick accent that Chastity heard everywhere in Whitechapel. “Where is he?”

Everyone looked at the entrance doors. A woman in her fifties holding a child of three years or so rushed in, followed by Pryde’s butler, who breathed heavily. The woman had a shawl with holes around her shoulders, the skirts of her dirty dress had patches and tears. It was clear she hadn’t washed for months. Patches of unruly gray hair stuck out from under her bonnet. The child, balancing on the woman’s hip, was dressed much the same. A dirty, ragged bonnet on her head, her too-short skirt torn and caked with dirt showing two grimy, skinny legs, one bandaged in filthy rags. The girl in the woman’s arms had golden locks and big eyes, and the prettiest face Chastity had ever seen.

Pryde rushed towards her, frowning with concern. “Madam, please, follow me to my study, I am certain we can resolve any matter in private.”

They looked familiar. Chastity frowned, and the next moment she knew…

Mrs. Murray and Stella!

She saw the moment Lucien snapped inside. The widening of his eyes, the complete paling of his skin, the way his body wavered ever so slightly. “At your disposal,” he said. “Please, Constantine, they came for me.”

Chastity stopped breathing. As though echoing her sentiment, complete silence fell on the room.

Chastity felt like someone had dealt her a forceful blow to her very core. The thoughts in her head were moving fast, putting the pieces of the puzzle together, and yet she couldn’t allow herself to believe what she already knew deep in her gut.

“This is Stella,” said the woman.

The blackmail letter said he had a child. Mrs. Murray’s daughter had died in childbirth. Stella had golden locks and the face of an angel. And now that the girl’s eyes were no longer reddened by tears, she could see that they were not the common blue she had first assumed but the most lovely, unusual shade of violet.

“A letter arrived,” said Mrs. Murray. “Telling me Stella’s father is the Duke of Luhst and where I can find ya.”

Chastity’s head was spinning.

“This is yer daughter.”

“She cannot be,” Lucien said. A wave of murmuring and gasps passed across the room. He looked at Chastity, his expression pained and haunted.

She stared back, realization splitting her heart in two. Wardbury was still on his knee, even though he was watching the scene unfold with the same shock as everyone else.

“You’re lying,” Lucien said to Mrs. Murray as he came to her. “I have never?—”

“This is me grandchild,” said Mrs. Murray sternly. “Me daughter died givin’ birth to her. Yer own flesh and blood has been starvin’ in Whitechapel ’cause I lost me work as a washerwoman, and I can’t even feed meself.”

Lucien stared at the child. Then at everyone else…

Chastity’s stomach was in knots. What would he do? Having a child was his worst nightmare. He could deny it, publicly denounce the woman. But this was a huge scandal. The gossip mill would ensure the news would appear in every society gossip paper in only a few days.

Chastity watched in disbelief as Lucien stared at the woman and the child, his face a mask of confusion and denial. Her heart raced, her stomach twisting.

“Madam, I believe you are mistaken,” Lucien said firmly, his voice carrying across the silent ballroom. “I have never seen you or your daughter before, and I can assure you that this child is not mine.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, and Chastity could see the anger and desperation in her face. “Yer lyin’! How do ya know ya never met me daughter when I havena’ even told ya her name? Me daughter, Alice, told me all about a nobleman in a yellow waistcoat. She said ya met at the Rose & Crown tavern in Whitechapel. Ya drank and had her sit on yer knees, and then took her upstairs. Even gave her a gold ring as payment to keep her mouth shut about ya, ya did! And she never told nobody yer name. Not even me. It kept us fed for half a year…but when the money was gone, she had to return to the tavern…got ill…and died giving birth to Stella.”

Chastity felt a stab of pain in her chest, the thought of Lucien with another woman, of him fathering a child, tearing at her heart. He glanced around the room with a clenched jaw, clearly aware of the shocked and curious faces of the guests.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Lucien said, his tone harsh, almost punishing, “but I have no recollection of your daughter or the events you speak of. If we had been together, I must have been too drunk to remember. Because I always ensure there is no possibility of children.”

Chastity’s eyes widened, a sense of disbelief washing over her. How could he deny any responsibility for the child? The girl looked just like him. Chastity had never seen another person with that eye color, aside from Lucien’s mother. If he truly wanted to change, as he had just told her, he would have made a commitment, not just to Chastity but to poor Stella…

“She was no whore, she was a serving maid. She didn’t go off with every lout who came onto her. But how could she refuse a charming gentleman of rank with eyes like yers?”

“Please, hold your tongue!” Lucien roared, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re in distinguished company.”

The girl must have become scared by Lucien’s harsh tone. She squirmed in Mrs. Murray’s arms, as if trying to get away, which caught her grandmother off guard. Stella slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor with a soft thud, her tiny face scrunching up in pain. A collective gasp echoed through the room, but before anyone could react, Stella scrambled to her feet and broke into a run, limping heavily on her bandaged leg.

Chastity’s heart leapt to her throat. Without thinking, she left Lord Wardbury’s side and rushed towards the child. She scooped Stella up in her arms, holding her close. The little girl tried to fight her, but Chastity whispered, “It’s me, Lady Chastity. Do you remember, I helped Dr. Sterling with your leg…”

Stella’s long-lashed violet eyes—so much like Lucien’s—watered as she studied Chastity. She whimpered and buried her face in Chastity’s neck, her small body trembling.

“Shh, Stella, it’s all right.” Chastity gently stroked the girl’s back. “Are you hurt? How’s your leg?”

Stella sniffled but said nothing. Chastity kept murmuring to her, as she saw Patience and a few other ladies make their way to her. But Stella didn’t need Chastity or any of the other ladies.

There was just one person she needed, the one person who could protect her, care for her, and give her the life every little girl deserved.

With Stella still in her arms, Chastity turned to face Lucien. His face was a mask of horror as he stared at them, as pale as a rag. Ignoring the heavy attention of the guests on her, Chastity walked towards him, the heels of her yellow slippers knocking softly against the wooden parquet floor.

“Lucien,” she said softly, “Stella needs you. Take her.”

As though she held not a child but a snake, Lucien took a step back. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Chastity insisted. “She’s your daughter. You have a responsibility to her.”

Their eyes met, and Chastity felt as if she were offering him more than just the child. He could become the man she knew he was, buried deep inside, hiding behind the protective walls he had built over the years.

“You said you wanted to change,” she whispered. “Here’s your chance. Take it.”

Lucien’s eyes flickered between Chastity and Stella. For a brief moment, Chastity thought she saw something soften in his eyes. If he took responsibility for his daughter, he would be ready for marriage. He’d leave behind his fears, take down the walls he’d built around his heart.

“You will never be like them,” she said softly. “You could never hurt her like they hurt you. Like my papa hurt me. You call me Star. You are the sun, Lucien.”

His eyelashes trembled as his own eyes watered, and she saw the exact moment when he panicked. The terror in his eyes. He looked like a cornered animal.

Then, like a door slamming shut, his expression hardened.

And she knew. He wouldn’t choose her. He wouldn’t choose Stella. He wouldn’t change.

He chose his armor.

“No,” he said.

The word broke something inside her, too. She felt a crack of something invisible but as painful as a broken limb. His refusal wasn’t just about Stella.

It was about her. About them.

Mostly, it was about him.

Mrs. Murray hurried to Chastity and took Stella from her arms. The poor girl wrapped her arms around the woman and laid her head on her shoulder. “’Tisn’t right!” said Mrs. Murray. “Rejectin’ yer own blood.”

The ballroom remained silent, the tension palpable as Chastity felt so many pairs of eyes on her. She felt more alone than she ever had before.

“I cannot take responsibility for a child I had no knowledge of,” Lucien said, his voice growing colder. “Do you think you’re the first one who’s tried to take advantage of my wealth and status, hoping to secure a better future for yourself?”

The woman’s face reddened with anger, but Lucien silenced her with a raised hand. “I will not discuss this matter further, especially not in front of all these people. If you have any legal proof, I suggest you go through my solicitor. Good evening, madam.”

Chastity watched in stunned silence as Lucien turned away from the woman and the child, striding towards Lady Osborn. He took her arm, whispering something in her ear, and Chastity felt a fresh wave of pain wash over her as she saw the smirk on Lady Osborn’s lips.

As they walked towards the doors of the ballroom, Chastity couldn’t move. He hadn’t claimed her. He hadn’t proposed to her. He hadn’t taken responsibility for the little girl. He’d denied the truth and the love they had almost shared.

Murmurs and whispers of the other guests washed over her, the scandal already spreading like fire.All she could think of was Lucien, the man she had thought she knew, the man she had begun to love. How could he have done this? How could he have turned his back on her and on the truth?

As Mrs. Murray was escorted out of the room by the butler, and the whispering of voices and swishing of dresses and shuffling of feet filled the room, Chastity was numb, rooted to the spot. Someone came to her, and she looked up at Lord Wardbury.

“Are you all right, Lady Chastity?” he asked. “That was quite a shock. And you protected the child so bravely… You have such a tender heart. I could not hope you might seriously consider my offer…”

There was nothing to think about, she thought. She got her proposal. She won. Her plan had been to deny Lord Wardbury because she never intended to marry.

And yet, she had imagined being married to Lucien. Had he proposed, she’d have said yes. And that silent rejection stung her, the pain of betrayal surging through her.She was numb and lost and so hurt.

Lucien owed her the support for her research. He had also given her a building for whatever purpose she pleased. She didn’t need Lord Wardbury’s support. She should say no to him, right away. She had everything she ever wanted.

Except for the man she loved.

And yet, she felt so alone.

Lucien had showed her what it would be like to have someone to share her life with. She wanted to be loved. She wanted the warmth of true intimacy. To be accepted for who she was.

A husband was supposed to give all that to his wife.

She looked at the handsome, accomplished, hopeful man before her, and with a chasm spreading through her heart, said, “I will marry you, Lord Wardbury.”

Lucien froze at the doors, about to walk out, his shoulders tense, as though someone had just struck him.

Then he left.