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She knows that I’m a bastard.

How?

And how long has she been privy to that knowledge?

Joy swallowed, unable to form a response. No, unable to speak due to her heart having launched itself into her throat, where it remained lodged and beating a panicked cadence.

And she suspects she knows who my mother is—was.

A wholly unforeseen wave of sadness poured over Joy. She’d never entertained any notion of finding her parents. But if the countess was indeed her mother, she’d never have a chance to meet her.

You wouldn’t have anyway, in all likelihood.

“In case you are concerned that I’ll sack you, Joy, I don’t give a beggar’s prayer about your parentage.” A kind smile wreathed Sabella’s face. “I’ve suspected since the day I retained you as my companion that you might claim an unacknowledged relationship to the former countess. You needn’t fear it makes a jot of difference to me.”

Such relief winged through Joy, she almost sagged against Brandon. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Now, I’ll leave you two alone.” Sabella lifted her cane and gestured between Brandon and Joy. “Do get on with it, though, Brandon. I’m quite famished, and we’re having Coq au Vin.” She flashed a girlish grin. “Mrs. Wilkie has been experimenting in the kitchen. I find I quite anticipate what she’ll next prepare.”

With that proclamation, she departed, leaving Brandon and Joy gaping after her.

Shaking his head, Brandon stared at the empty doorway.

Sabella’s bold as brass intimations that he should propose at once were overshadowed by that peculiar comment about the countess. Given Joy’s sudden pallor and the conflicting emotions rapidly parading across her face, he’d wager she knew what Sabella's remarks meant.

“Joy?” He turned her to face him and notched her chin upward with a finger until she reluctantly met his gaze. “Are you all right?”

His much-anticipated proposal would have to wait.

Face taut, she blinked several times, her lashes sweeping slowly up and down, almost as if she didn’t see him.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Brandon cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb over the incredible softness.

Her gaze riveted on his before skittering away.

“Brandon, I must tell you something.”

“You know you can tell me anything, my darling.” Smiling, he kissed her forehead. Now that he could finally claim her as his, once he declared himself, that was, he couldn’t seem to stop kissing her. “Is it something we should sit down for?”

Head angled, she considered that for a moment, then gave a little nod. “Yes, I believe so.”

“Then sit, we shall.” He took her hand and led her to one of the other settees. After seeing her settled, he sat beside her and took her hand in his once more. “Tell me. What has you troubled?”

“I’ve been a companion to Mrs. Thackpenny for five years.” Joy’s shoulders rose, and her bosom expanded as she drew in a deep breath. “This has been my first and only position.”

Brandon knew that already, but he wouldn’t rush her explanation.

“I was raised in a foundling home called Haven House and Academy for the Enrichment of Young Women,” she said.

She fidgeted with the edge of a small, hideously ugly needlepoint pillow squished between her and the side of the settee. Reciting the tale as if she’d rehearsed it many times, she swiftly explained how all of the girls from Haven House and Academy for the Enrichment of Young Women were illegitimate daughters of desire. All were born on the wrong side of the blanket.

Raising her chin, which quivered the merest bit, she bravely forged onward. “I’ll understand if you want nothing further to do with me, now that you know my shameful secret.”

“Silly, foolish darling,” he murmured low, his voice tight with emotion.

As if the circumstances of her birth would in any way diminish his love for her.

Joy jutted her chin out, and no poker was straighter or stiffer than her rigid spine. “You think my being a bastard is silly? That my concerns are foolish?” she accused, hurt leaking into her clipped words.