Page 119 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

They went upstairs to the nursery where Margaret knocked on the door. "It is us, Mrs. Norris; it is safe to open the door."

The door unlocked, and Pierce rushed inside. Margaret watched as he picked up Hugh and held him closely in his arms. He looked him over time and again to make sure he was not hurt.

"Oh, my son. My darling son," he said.

Mrs. Norris and the nanny looked as white as a ghost in shock. "What happened? We are beside ourselves."

"It was dreadful, but all is well now. An intruder attacked us in the garden but the constables have taken him away now," Margaret said.

"An intruder. Oh my!" The nanny dropped into a chair, looking as if she would faint.

"It has been taken care of now, and we will not let that man ruin our day," Pierce said. "Mrs. Norris, we will have tea in the parlor in ten minutes for three."

"Three?” Margaret said. Is this the surprise?"

"You’ll see," Pierce said, smiling.

Ten minutes later, they had nearly reached the parlor when Margaret saw someone standing upon the threshold. A young woman waited there, somewhere between twenty-five and thirty years of age, dressed modestly in a gown that was elegant without being ostentatious. She had dark hair, pale skin, and an expression of such nervous uncertainty that Margaret immediately wondered who she could be.

Her steps slowed. Something cold settled in her stomach as she looked from the unfamiliar woman to Pierce. The horrible thought arrived before she could stop it.

Is this the mistress?

After everything they had just confessed to one another, after finally telling him she loved him and hearing him say that he loved her, was another woman about to appear and take her place? Margaret's fingers tightened around Pierce's hand, and she hated herself for how quickly insecurity could return.

Pierce noticed her hesitation and stopped. "Margaret, there is someone I wish you to meet."

The young woman took one step, visibly nervous, and Pierce looked towards her with an expression Margaret could not quite interpret.

"This is Ophelia Neale, my sister-in-law."

Margaret blinked.

Sister-in-law?

Before she could ask anything, Pierce continued, "Ophelia is Augusta's half-sister. She was born out of wedlock, and until recently, I had no knowledge that she existed."

Margaret stared at the young woman in astonishment, her previous fear evaporating so quickly that she almost felt foolish for having entertained it. "Oh," she managed, looking from Ophelia to Pierce. "A pleasure to meet you."

Ophelia immediately curtseyed. "Your Grace." Her voice was soft and timid, and Margaret could hear the apprehension in it.

"But how?" Margaret asked, still unable to make sense of what she was hearing.

Pierce gestured towards the door. "Let us go inside and talk." He placed a reassuring hand at the small of Margaret's back, and together they entered the room.

Ophelia followed quietly behind them, looking as though she expected at any moment to be told she had no right to cross the threshold. Margaret noticed the expression and felt an unexpected ache of sympathy. Whatever her story was, this young woman had clearly spent a great deal of her life being made to feel like an outsider.

In the parlor, Margaret settled onto the sofa while Pierce went to the drinks cabinet. He poured three glasses of sherry and handed one to each woman before taking his own seat.

"I believe something to calm the nerves before tea is served is a good idea," he said.

Then he continued, "During my search for the woman who left Hugh at Ravenfield," he began, his voice measured, "I discovered information concerning Augusta's family. The woman I was searching for had connections to someone who knew about Augusta. Eventually, I learned that Augusta had a sister. I went south to find her, the woman who left Hugh at the masquerade ball. It was this woman here, Ophelia."

Margaret looked towards Ophelia, who sat with both hands wrapped anxiously around her glass. "All this time…" she whispered, unable to finish the thought. There had been another person connected to Augusta, another piece of the puzzle that had been hidden from Pierce for years.

Ophelia lowered her eyes. "I am Hugh's aunt," she said softly. Margaret looked at her. "Augusta's half-sister, to be precise." Her fingers tightened around the glass. "Though society has never acknowledged me as such." She swallowed before continuing. "I am sorry for keeping the secret, Your Grace. I have never been welcome in high society. Because I was born outside marriage, I have always feared that my father would have me found and sent away simply to protect his reputation. I learned very young that being connected to respectable people did not mean being accepted by them. That is why I left Hugh at the masquerade in such a secret fashion. I did not know what else to do."

Margaret's heart tightened at the quiet shame in her voice. There was no bitterness in Ophelia, only the weary caution of someone who had learned not to expect kindness.