Chapter Nineteen
Graham
Graham helped Dianato the settee in the drawing room, arranging cushions behind her back despite her protests that she was perfectly capable of sitting on her own. The bruise on her shoulder might be fading, but the memory of finding her unconscious in the park still haunted him.
“Graham, truly, I’m well,” Diana said, though her smile indicated she didn’t actually mind being fussed over.
“Humor me,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple before straightening. “Mother, would you like more tea?”
Augusta looked up from her embroidery. “Yes, dear. But let me tend to that so you can continue to hover over your wife.”
Diana released a stream of giggles. “He’s a mess.”
“Can you blame me?” Graham settled on the settee beside Diana as his mother prepared them each a cup of tea.
“I find it rather endearing,” Diana said, accepting the cup Augusta offered. “Though I draw the line at being carried everywhere like an invalid.”
Before he could respond, Mitchell appeared in the doorway. “Lady Harrowby has arrived for tea, my lady.”
Diana straightened in her seat. “Oh wonderful! I invited her yesterday. Well, she practically invited herself, but we have hardly been making social appearances since we married. It will be good for thegossips to know all is well in our marriage.” She glanced at Augusta. “You’ll adore her. She’s rather formidable and has the entire ton by the ear.”
Graham noticed his mother had gone very still, and her embroidery fell across her lap. The color had drained from her face entirely. “Mother? Are you well?”
Augusta set down her needlework, her fingers trembling visibly. “I… forgive me. I’m quite well.”
Lady Harrowby swept into the room in her characteristic fashion, adorned in deep purple with her signature elaborate turban. “My dear Diana, how wonderful to see you up and about. I’ve been worried sick since I heard—”
She stopped mid-sentence, her sharp gaze landing on Augusta. Augusta’s teacup rattled against its saucer as she set it down with unsteady hands.
For a long moment, neither woman spoke. Then Augusta’s voice came out as barely a whisper. “Hello, Mama.”
Graham’s own cup clattered to the floor, spilling all over the carpets. “Mama?” He looked between the two women, his mind struggling to make sense of what he’d heard. “Lady Harrowby is your mother?”
Diana gasped softly beside him, her hand finding his.
Lady Harrowby stood frozen in the doorway, her usual commanding presence wavering. Tears gathered in her eyes, though she fought to maintain her composure. “Augusta.” Her voice broke slightly on the name. “My daughter. You look… you look well.”
“I am well.” Augusta rose slowly, as if any sudden movement might shatter the moment. “I have been well for many years.”
Graham found his voice, though it came out harder than he intended. “Someone needs to explain what’s happening. Now.” His commanding tone cut through the emotion in the room. “Lady Harrowby, you’re telling me you’re my grandmother?”
“Yes.” Lady Harrowby’s gaze never left her daughter, though her hands shook as she removed her gloves. “Though I only learned of your existence after you inherited. I didn’t know where my daughter was, but a man I knew who oversees the transfer of titles saw my daughter’s name for your parentage. Even your mother’s friends here in town would never tell me a thing about what had become of her. Almost thirty years, Augusta, without so much as a word.”
Augusta’s chin lifted, and Graham glanced between the pair, uncertain to make of what he was hearing.
“I had to leave.”
“Because of love? All that you said in your letter was that you were going to marry another. That you chose him over the Duke of Yorkshire.” Lady Harrowby moved closer, raising her voice, though remaining even. “But I never understood why. There were whispers of you being alone with some man, but your father and I could have managed the scandal.”
Graham sat down heavily, his mind reeling. His mother had been intended for a duke? She had run away from her family and ended up with his father. None of this made any sense. “The Duke of Yorkshire, Mama?”
Augusta let out a bitter laugh, though tears had begun to flow. “Is that what you thought all these years? That I chose Graham’s father out of some romantic notion?” She pressed a hand to her chest, as if she were gathering courage. “Oh, Mama. You never knew the truth.”
Diana squeezed Graham’s hand, grounding him as everything he’d believed about his family began to shift.
“Then tell me,” Lady Harrowby demanded, though her careful composure was beginning to crack. “Tell me why you threw away your future, and why you ran from your family. Why did you let me wonder what had happened to you all of these years?”
Augusta’s hands twisted in her lap. She stared at them for a long moment before speaking. “The Duke of Yorkshire…” She paused as tears welled in her eyes. “That night at the Pembridge ball, he cornered me in the library. He’d been drinking heavily. He said things… did things…”