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Rosamund felt the ground tilt underneath her. When it seemed like she would not be surprised by anything again, she had been proven wrong once more. Eleanor Vale had a daughter years older than Rosamund.

“A - a daughter?” Rosamund squeaked.

“Yes, my lady,” the old woman said, not knowing that she had unleashed a storm in her visitor.

“Thank you for your help, Mrs. Watson. It is greatly appreciated,” the Duke said as he rose.

The rest of the group rose from their seats, each one more shaken than the next. Later, back in the hotel, they discussed what they had learned.

“It seems that my father had an illegitimate child,” Rosamund murmured mournfully.

“Wed not know the full truth of it yet, Lady Rosamund,” the Duke said firmly. “You are jumping to conclusions.”

“Am I?” Rosamund asked, blinking back tears. “The woman has a girl older than I am. They were being supported by my father in secret! Then, Miss Vale complained about him always protecting her. Who could she be referring to? My mother!”

That evening, Rosamund was still grieving the new information. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the dying embers. Alice walked quietly and placed a cup of hot tea on the nightstand. Then, she sat beside her friend.

“Perhaps everything I remember about my parents is a lie, Alice,” Rosamund said softly, her voice cracking the way her heart was breaking. “All the happy moments I have of them may all be lies.”

“Rosamund, secret, even one as devastating as you may think your father has, does not erase every happy memory attached to your childhood,” Alice insisted. “Your father loved you. He loved your mother. He might have been a flawed man, but you must have felt his love.”

Rosamund looked at her friend, the tears in her eyes threatening to fall. “That is quite easy for you to say, Alice. The secrets do not belong to your family.”

Alice visibly winced at that, her eyes filling with empathy, and said, “You are right. It is easy for me to say since it is not my secret. I cannot fix it for you, but I will be here.”

As a true friend, she was not able to give Rosamund easy answers. She simply pressed her shoulder against Rosamund’s in a silent show of camaraderie and friendship. Somehow, it soothed Rosamund a little. Her heart was still broken, but at least she knew someone would be there for her.

Twenty-Five

“You are still awake, Your Grace,” Rosamund observed. She chided herself for saying something so obvious, but she was distraught and exhausted. Now, she wanted some time alone in the hotel’s private sitting room, and the Duke was already there - or still there.

A single brass lamp was enough to illuminate the room. The Duke sat there, looping at his collection of notes. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but at the sound of her voice, he immediately looked up at her.

“I am, and you, Lady Rosamund, have been crying,” he said simply.

“I could not sleep,” Rosamund admitted, pulling her robe more tightly around herself and folding her arms across her chest to ward the late night chill.

“Do you want company, Lady Rosamund?” the Duke asked. “Or would you prefer to be alone here? If so, I can leave you be.”

“I - I do not know,” Rosamund replied honestly, feeling confused.

“Then, I shall sit quietly here until you decide,” the Duke said gently. He did not move toward her, nor did he press her any further. Instead, he provided her with silent waiting, as his eyes returned to his notes.

Rosamund hesitated. Then, she stepped further into the room and sank into an armchair across from him. In that position, she remained silent, and so did she. It looked like he would really be taking cues from her. Strangely enough, the silence was not awkward, at least not for her. It just felt safe and companionable.

She cleared her throat, as she watched the glowing embers.

“The possibility of an illegitimate sister is not what thoroughly terrifies me. It is realizing my parents lived entire lives I never understood that does. They kept secrets from us, and perhaps from each other,” she confided.

The Duke lay a piece of paper on the table before and shifted in his chair. His expression was grave whe he said, “Children rarely know their parents completely, Lady Rosamund. They often see their father and mother as perfect specimens, infallibl and perfect, until they grow up and see that they are humans, too.”

“Does that excuse the deception?” Rosamund asked, tilting her head and meeting his gaze even through the dimming light.

“No,” the Duke replied. “It excuses nothing. People can fail those they love without every expression of love they ever gave being false. Do remember that.”

“Mm,” Rosamund mused, studying his face. He looked weary and sincere, as if time had battered this new expression there. “Is that something you have learned recently or an old philosophy?”

“Recently,” he murmured.