Page 30 of The Not So Perfect Duke

Althea passed her card to the nun. “I am Althea Galway from the Galway Investigative Agency, and this is the Duke of Chellenham.”

“Good heavens. It is not often we have a duke on the premises.” Sister Rose took the card and sat at the desk, facing them.

“You spoke to a young woman a couple of years past, Olivia Durham, concerning the circumstances of her birth here at the priory,” Damon said.

“Yes. I remember. Good heavens, Chellenham. I remember the name.”

“It is the name Olivia’s mother gave you. Can you give us any more information?” Damon asked.

“Well, the birth incident took place well over thirty years ago. We do not often see a birth here, but the young woman was in clear distress, and we could not turn her away. I don’t know her name, as she never answered our questions. Was she from this area, and that is how she knew about us? I cannot say, Your Grace.”

Sister Rose sighed. “It was a difficult birth, and it soon became obvious that she would not survive it. We sent for the village doctor, but he arrived too late, though he said there was nothing he could have done. All the young woman said was to contact the Duke of Chellenham, that he was the father and would look after the baby.”

“And you contacted my father.”

“Yes, Your Grace. His man of business arrived the next day with the name of a vicar and his wife looking to adopt a baby. He wanted to take the baby then and there, but we insisted the vicar come to the convent.”

“Can you remember what this man of business looked like?” Althea asked.

“Yes, I do, for he looked rough, despite his new suit. A little taller than average height, built like a dock worker, his speech was strange, as if he were trying to mimic a posh accent. I wouldn’t hand the newborn over to him, for something about him disturbed me. The man said he represented a charity home for foundlings sponsored by the duke.”

Althea and Damon exchanged astonished looks.

“Chellenhome,” Althea whispered.

Chapter 10

Damon’s blood ran cold. Could that be what Chellenhome is, a charity home for foundlings? It made perfect sense. He told Althea the details in the carriage and mentioned the nearby farm and mill. Supplying food to the occupants? Is that where his father tucked away his illegitimate children? And why he kept the place and its doings from his solicitor and steward?

The rough-looking man was none other than Silas Browning. Silas worked for his father for decades; he must now be in his middle fifties. Silas was and still is a bully. As a young boy, Damon stayed clear of him. If there was any dirty work, Browning was the man for the job.

“Sister Rose, you told Olivia that you knew of my father. Can you tell me how?” Damon asked.

“I heard his name mentioned twice before the birth, Your Grace. Some young women from this area who had gone to London to work in manor houses were seduced, dismissed, and sent home in shame. I believe he was a marquess then. It is a story as old as time: a young man in a position of power with title and money taking advantage. It is reprehensible.”

Damon’s cheeks grew hot as that stinging rebuke could also apply to him. Although he never dallied with the help or anyone within his sphere—and he always took precautions. Regardless of making excuses, Damon experienced shame, nonetheless, for his past disgraceful behavior and all the prominent men who had done the same and no doubt will do so in the future. It turned his bile.

“You are acquainted with Miss Durham?” the nun asked. “And accept her as your half-sister?”

Damon nodded, still unable to speak.

“I wish you peace on your journey. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Corinthians 13:7.” The sister looked at Althea, and she gave her a sad smile. “Be courageous, be strong.”

The interview was over. Damon stood and offered his hand to Althea, and they thanked Sister Rose and departed, swiftly heading toward the carriage.

“My God. Chellenhome,” Damon murmured. “We must go there at once.”

“Where is it again?”

“The East End. Handy for his doings,” Damon grumbled. “Outside of the town of Barking, specifically. The place is located off the main path. I will give the directions to my coachman. Luckily, I have the handwritten instructions on me. Better if we arrive unannounced. A meal at an inn will have to wait.”

Once inside the carriage, they were off, and Damon’s mind spun in all directions. To know his father’s reputation began at a young age and reached the far-flung countryside—and to nuns in a secluded priory—gave Damon pause.

When had he ever considered his own actions?

Granted, he took precautions to avoid unwanted children and diseases, but there was no guarantee. Damon always told himself he was seeking his pleasures with strangers. What was the harm?

“You are deep in thought,” Althea observed.