Chapter Twenty-Two

T here was much to be done before Lady Penelope returned for the wedding. Not that he was planning a grand celebration – he believed marrying her was the right thing to do, but there did not need to be some extravagant party for everyone to attend. The ceremony itself would be small, just himself, Lady Penelope, and her parents. He would write to his sisters once it was done and inform them of the events.

No, he needed to decide before then where she would reside, as well as determine, when emotions were not involved, when they ought to have an heir. When he had proposed marriage, he had initially thought it prudent to have a child as soon as possible – and surely that would have been quite likely had they lived together as husband and wife.

But now, that was not to be the case. And so these things must be planned, because he knew he could not live with a woman who had lied to him and made him question his own judgement. He felt far too angry, and he could not see that feeling subsiding anytime soon.

While he was checking the ledgers for his estates in Southampton and Somerset, as well as his London home, to ensure that everything was in order before deciding where to place Lady Penelope, he found himself rather distracted – and not by his anger, which he had managed to lock away in a box in his mind for now. It was Mrs Simmons's illegitimate son who occupied his thoughts, and he felt he had to speak to her about it, even if the conversation would surely be an uncomfortable one.

He called her to his study after supper, feeling more confident about having the conversation in his own space.

She looked a little nonplussed when she entered, so he presumed that no one had mentioned his knowledge of the past. He was pleased about that; it was good to know that Thomas was discreet and that such information was not being spread around Dunloch and beyond.

"Can I get you something, Your Grace?" Mrs Simmons asked.

"Please, close the door and take a seat," James said, gesturing to the chair before his desk.

She smoothed down the brown skirt of her day dress before sitting, her hands clasped in her lap.

"I know, when we last spoke, I said we should let the matter rest," he began, seeing no point in shying away from the reason he had called her. "But I have since learnt new information, and I need to know a little more."

"Oh. I see," Mrs Simmons said, her face turning pale.

"Before we continue, I want you to know that my previous statement still stands – this is all in the past, has been dealt with, and will have no impact on your employment here. But regardless... I need to know more."

She nodded but did not say anything, presumably waiting for a direct question from him. At least she had learnt, he thought, not to confirm anything until she was sure the person before her had accurate information.

"It has come to my attention that the child you bore thirty years ago" – he noticed her wince at the reference to her secret but did not allow it to stop him – "was, in fact, fathered by the previous Duke of Dunloch."

She gripped her hands tightly together in her lap but did not look away from him as she said simply, "Yes."

The word felt like lead filling his heart. He’d seen the evidence, but he had not truly believed it until she confirmed it in that moment.

He nodded and made sure he had control of his voice before continuing. "And this son…he was born before I was, correct?"

Again, she nodded. "He is two years older than you, Your Grace."

"And he resides in France?"

Her eyes looked a little glassy, but he was relieved that this time she shed no tears. "Just outside Paris, Your Grace. With my brother and his wife."

It was hard to picture: another son of his father, living in France, presumably leading a much more modest life than James himself. "Does he know his true parentage?"

Mrs Simmons seemed willing to answer all of his blunt questions, and once he started asking, he could not stop. He had such a thirst for information about this strange topic that he had not even known existed until recently.

"He does not," Mrs Simmons said. "All he knows of the Duke of Dunloch is that his aunt works in his castle. And that is all I ever intend him to know, Your Grace."

"But my father…he knew?"

Mrs Simmons nodded. "Yes. He arranged passage to France, my extended leave from service, and then, when I returned, we never spoke of it again."

Part of him was rather curious as to whether that had been the end of their association, but he would not ask such an indelicate question, nor expect Mrs Simmons to answer it.

"Did my mother know?" he asked, and Mrs Simmons blushed, looking at the floor. It wasn’t a question he particularly relished asking a member of staff, but there was no one else alive he could ask. No one who would know – or who he would wish to share this information with to see if they had heard rumours at the time.

"I am not proud of my behaviour, Your Grace. I knew your father…was a married man. I cannot defend–"

"I'm not trying to place blame, Mrs Simmons. My father was a man in a position of great power. He made his decisions, and I hold him alone responsible for them. I’m just trying to understand this situation, to comprehend this child who was born before me, to such a different life..."

"I do not know whether your mother knew or not. If she did, she never said anything to me. But then, that didn’t surprise me. She was a woman born to be a duchess, your mother – she handled everything with grace."

James nodded, but he was surprised to find that his thoughts were not of his mother, but of the woman who was now to be his duchess: Lady Penelope.

Had she been born to be a duchess? Her silly behaviour in tricking him and testing him might suggest not, but then she was young…and he had never known his mother when she was only two-and-twenty.

"May I ask, what do you plan to do with this information?"

"I do not know," he said honestly.

"I shouldn’t like…my son…to find out about this from anyone other than me. If he ever must learn of it at all."

James nodded. "Understood." It would certainly be even more shocking for this man than it had been for James to discover his existence. He would find he had been lied to for his entire life – and that he wasn’t truly who he thought he was.

"If you do feel that you need to meet him," Mrs Simmons said, continuing without further response from him, "I would appreciate it if you could inform me, so that I might make a plan with my brother..."

"I have no intention of turning your life upside down, Mrs Simmons," he said, reaching for a half-drunk glass of port on his desk. "I just…needed to know."

Mrs Simmons gave him a friendly smile, and he wondered if it had been hard on her to be separated from her son – a son who did not even know she was his mother – for all these years. It surely had, and yet she had never complained, never sullied the name of the Duke of Dunloch, even though she had the ability – and quite possibly the right – to.

"Thank you, Mrs Simmons," he said, feeling ready to end the conversation and retire, although he was not sure he would manage to sleep.

"Good night, Your Grace," she said, standing and straightening her skirt. "I did want to ask, if I may – did you discover the identity of our mystery guest? I heard she had left..."

James rather thought that she had probably heard a lot more than the fact that Lady Penelope had left – probably how she had been distraught, how James had sent her away. No one else in the household had dared to ask him about her, but he did not feel he could refuse to answer Mrs Simmons’s question, not when she had answered his without hesitation.

"Lady Penelope Strachan," he said, resisting the urge to grip the desk at the strength of his emotions at saying her name, at the anger he felt towards her for deceiving him, for making him feel…and then making him regret doing so.

And then it seemed like the appropriate time to inform the housekeeper, who would surely disseminate the information to the rest of the staff, that he was to be wed. It would not change their lives particularly, especially with Lady Penelope residing on another of his estates, but he supposed they ought to know. "She is to return in two months, when we will be married."

Mrs Simmons’s eyes widened, and then a smile grew on her face. "Congratulations, Your Grace. I am very pleased, for both of you. She is a sweet girl, and I’m sure she will make an excellent duchess."

James did not tell Mrs Simmons that she would be residing elsewhere, for he had no wish to explain his decisions to anyone else.