Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(42)

She gave Griffin a misty-eyed smile. “Papa did his best to spend time with us, and he was the kindest of men, if rather restless. Of course, there were always a lot of comings and goings and a great deal of work to be done. As I got older, I helped keep his accounts and notes in order, and he would often dictate his reports to me. Aunt Elizabeth wanted to send me away to school, but Papa wouldn’t allow it. He said he couldn’t do without my help.”

There. Griffin heard it again, the wistful longing in her voice as if she regretted the missed opportunities to have a more conventional life. She probably failed to realize how much more interesting—and less restricted—her life had been compared to the average girl of her social standing.

“I suppose that’s why Dominic places such faith in your discretion,” he said, nodding at the baby.

“Oh, yes,” she said, finally throwing off her little melancholy. “I’ve known Uncle Dominic for as long as I can remember. Whenever Papa was away, he always made sure that Matthew and I—and Aunt Elizabeth, of course—had everything we needed.”

“And did your brother stay at home, as well?”

“No. Papa said Matthew needed to go to school and learn a profession since we couldn’t depend on Grandfather Curtis to support us. Matthew went to Eton and Oxford, and then studied the law. He recently moved back to Norwich with his wife and little boy to set up a practice there.”

Griffin absently shoved his plate aside. He’d barely made a dent in the enormous amount of food she’d piled on the plate, but he’d had more than enough. “But surely your father was compensated for his work. Did you not receive at least a portion of his pension on his death? I can’t believe that Dominic would be so careless as to leave that to bureaucratic whim.”

She grimaced and shifted the baby on her lap, as if he was growing too heavy for her. He lifted an eyebrow, silently asking if she wanted him to take the boy, but she shook her head.

“You’re quite right,” she replied. “Uncle Dominic made sure that almost the full pension came to us.”

“Then why are you now buried away with a dotty old woman?” he demanded. “Why aren’t you living in London with your aunt, enjoying yourself as other young ladies do?”

Listening to her admittedly brief account of her life had convinced Griffin that Justine had seen more than her share of sorrows. Surely she deserved more from Dominic than to spend her days as little better than a servant.

“Lady Belgrave is not a dotty old woman,” she retorted, “and I’m not the least bit unhappy. I did have almost two full Seasons, you know. I’m not entirely a country bumpkin.”

“I imagine that you were gay to the point of dissipation,” he replied sarcastically. “But then why the devil aren’t you properly married instead of mouldering away in the country?”

Given her beauty and breeding and fine character, he couldn’t understand why she hadn’t been snapped up immediately. Christ knew that if he’d been allowed to walk in the hallowed halls of the ton, he would have ridden roughshod over everyone to get close to a girl like Justine.

She narrowed her eyes at him, as if debating whether to deliver a lecture on the evils of swearing. Apparently, she thought better of it. “I wish you would rid yourself of the notion, Mr. Steele—”

He held up a hand. “Griffin.”

“—Griffin, that I am mouldering away in the country. And the reason I’m not married is that no one has asked me.”

He frowned. “And why not?”