Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(136)

“She was shipped off to a boarding school outside Leeds. It was a very strict, regimented establishment where she could repent her sins while being trained as a servant.”

Justine slapped her palms flat on the table. “She was to be sent into servitude, a gently born and raised girl like your mother? I can hardly believe your great-uncle could be so cruel.”

“Believe it. The old bastard wanted nothing to do with her. He agreed to pay for her education and to see her settled, but he was determined she be kept far away from me.”

She covered her eyes. “That’s just awful.” After a moment, she dropped her hand and Griffin could see her eyes sparking with fury—fury on his behalf, and on his mother’s.

“And what did your uncle tell you had happened to her?” she asked in a grim voice. “Did you ever try to seek her out?”

He grimaced. “When I was old enough to start asking questions about her, my uncle claimed she had died before her eighteenth birthday.” He forced himself to ignore her choked little gasp. “Later, when I got older, he explained my bastard origins and made it clear that it was best for all concerned that my mother had died so young. That way,” he said, unable to keep bitterness from his voice, “she was kept from the temptation of further sin.”

Justine’s fury bled away, her sapphire gaze now soft and misty. “I’m so sorry, Griffin. That was an awful thing for you to have to hear.”

A long-buried shame—shame of his mother and of himself—had Griffin clenching his fist. “I don’t want your pity, Justine, and I don’t need it. It was a long time ago and it hardly matters anymore.”

She blinked in surprise, but then her mouth firmed into a stubborn and quite adorable line. Rising, she marched over to him.

“You, my dear sir, are confusing pity with sympathy. You’re the least pitiable man I know, and I’m sure any number of people would tell you so.”

He couldn’t help scowling at her. “Don’t try to manage me, Justine. It won’t work.”

She grabbed the sleeve of his coat and gave him a little shake. It was such a wifely thing to do that Griffin had to swallow a startled laugh.

“Do you pity me because of my childhood?” she asked. “Without a mother and with a father who was often absent, risking his life without regard for how it would affect his children?”

“Of course not.”

“Do you pity me because my father died in such violent circumstances?”

He was tempted to tell her that their situations were nothing alike, but he forced himself to consider her words more seriously. In certain ways they were alike, having both been raised in a hard and unforgiving school. And it didn’t take him long to realize he’d made assumptions that didn’t fit her character. Justine never indulged in mawkish sentimentality, so there was little reason to imagine she’d start doing it now, especially when it came to him.

“Very well, you’ve made your point. I apologize for being such a thick-head,” he replied, using sarcasm to cover the relief that Justine didn’t pity him after learning the tawdry details of his life.

The beginnings of a smile lurked in her eyes. “I should hope so. You are wealthy, powerful, and respected—even feared. I see nothing to pity in that. Still,” she said, her hand slipping down his sleeve to curl softly around his fingers, “I’m so sorry your mother died. I know the painful absence that leaves in one’s life.”

“Ah, well, as to that . . .” He trailed off, trying to think of some way to soften the blow. More for his own sake, he was ashamed to admit. He had no doubt Justine would be furious with him for withholding what she would surely consider a vital piece of information.