Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(41)

Though Griffin owned a manor house in Somerset—he’d won it in a card game a few years ago—he rarely took the time to visit. He’d kept it in good condition primarily because he intended to sell it before he left England. For too many years he’d been buried away in the dreariest Yorkshire village that one could imagine, and had endured enough of that existence to last him a lifetime. “And aren’t you a companion to a fusty old dowager? God, woman, no one could accuse you of living a life of drama and excitement.”


“No, and for that I am profoundly grateful,” she said tartly. “I’ve had quite enough drama in my life, thank you very much.”

Griffin layered some ham between two thick slices of bread. “Ah, yes, I forgot. I expect that Ned Brightmore’s life would provide enough drama for anyone.”

He took a bite, savoring the dense texture of the bread and the saltiness of the ham while watching Justine’s face. A melancholy expression came over her pretty features.

“Well, it was to be expected, given what he did,” she said with a weary sigh that made him want to pull her into his lap. “But he wasn’t the only reason that our life was rather unsettled.”

Griffin raised his eyebrows. “Unsettled? And here I thought you’d led a life of order and routine. What other secrets are you hiding from me? Were you a member of a traveling circus in your dissipated youth?”

As he’d hoped, that teased a smile from her lips.

“Nothing nearly so exciting,” she said. “My brother, Matthew, and I spent most of the year in London. Since Papa was away a great deal of the time, Aunt Elizabeth cared for us.”

“What happened to your mother?” he asked.

“She died when I was three years old, less than a year after my brother was born.”

Griffin felt the rustling of an old sorrow in his chest. For a moment, it even made it hard to speak. “That must have been difficult.”

She thought about it for a few moments. “Not in the way you’d expect, since I barely remember her. But I don’t think my father ever recovered from the blow. If she had lived I suspect he would not have chosen the life he did.” She fell silent, as if pondering what that other life might have been like.

“What happened after your mother died?” he prompted.

“Aunt Elizabeth, my mother’s older sister, came to live with us. She had been widowed at an early age and had no children, so she took over the raising of us.” Justine gave a wry smile. “Aunt Elizabeth was an unconventional woman, to say the least.”

Griffin leaned back in his chair, drank some tea, and prepared to settle in. “In what way?”

“My mother’s family was from Norwich, wealthy cloth merchants.” She wrinkled her nose in a comical look. “They were quite radical in their politics, as many of the merchant class are in that city. Naturally, that horrified my father’s family. And they were Unitarians, if you can imagine such a thing.”

“I’m reeling at the very idea,” he said drily.

“I assure you, my father’s family was completely horrified. Grandpapa was High Church and very proper.”

“That was the late Viscount Curtis, I take it. You must resemble him,” Griffin said, unable to resist the little jab.

Unexpectedly, she flashed a brief grin. “I do, I’m happy to say.”

“Then why didn’t you move in with him after your mother’s death?”

“Oh, Papa didn’t want that. He and my grandfather had quarreled dreadfully over his marriage to Mamma, and then again when he decided to join the Intelligence Service. Papa used to let us spend part of the summer at Mildenhall, at Grandfather’s estate, but he wanted us in London when he was home.”