Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(135)

But, Christ, that would mean digging up the ugliness he’d worked so hard to bury. And who knew what she would think of him when she knew the full truth?

Justine didn’t say a word. Her very silence was a challenge, a challenge to let her in instead of shutting her out and hiding from his past like a frightened boy. He’d be damned before he’d let her think that.

He turned to face her. “What do you want to know?”

Looking a little shaky, she sank back into her chair. “Well, who was your mother, and what happened to her?”

His mother. The heart of the matter.

“Very well.” Averting his gaze, Griffin braced a hand on the window frame. “Her name was Chloe Steele. Her father was a scholar and a language tutor to the royal household at Kew. They lived in a small house near the Green, not far from the princes’ residence.”

“Ah. So, that was where your mother met Dominic.”

“Correct.” Griffin didn’t know much about Dominic’s early years, other than that he’d been raised in the royal household as a companion to the younger brood of King George’s children. It had always struck him as an odd arrangement, one which Dominic loathed discussing.


Much as Griffin loathed discussing his personal history.

“And it was at Kew that your mother met Prince Ernest, I presume.”

“Yes. My grandfather was his German tutor.” Just thinking about his father and what he’d done made his skin crawl, so he hurried along. “You don’t need to hear the details, only that my mother was very young and that the prince seduced her. When her pregnancy was discovered, she was sent to Yorkshire to live with her uncle—the man who subsequently raised me.”

“Your great-uncle Bartholomew?”

He nodded. “From what I’ve been told, he was as hard on her as he was on me. It must have killed the old prig to take her in, but there was nowhere else for her to go.”

“How old was she?”

“Fourteen when she was seduced, fifteen when she had me.”

She blinked. “So young? And how old was Prince Ernest?”

“Fifteen, but that doesn’t excuse what he did,” he said, giving her a hard stare.

She shook her head. “Of course not, but it might partly account for such a terrible lapse in judgment. And your poor mother . . . she must have felt so dreadfully alone and frightened.” Her eyes grew soft with sympathy.

“She was alone,” he said slowly. “From what Dominic told me, she was devastated to have to leave my grandfather, who then died a few months later.”

He’d never thought about it before, but his mother had been forced away from those she loved at the very same age he’d been left alone in the world. It might have served as a bond between them if she hadn’t subsequently abandoned him.

“What happened after your mother gave birth? Why wasn’t she allowed to raise you?”

Griffin rested his shoulders against the window frame. “Uncle Bartholomew believed my blood was already tainted by the sins of my parents. Chloe’s wicked influence would surely compound the sin.”

Justine snorted. “What utter rot. Truly, Griffin, I wonder if your uncle was not in his right mind. For an educated man to believe such a thing of innocent children is positively irrational.”

As much as he hated discussing his past, Griffin had to smile. His wife had the kindest heart of anyone he’d ever met. “Not everyone shares your generous view of nature, my love.”

“Well, they should,” she grumbled. “If Chloe was not allowed to raise you, then what happened to her?”