Page 57 of How to Capture a Duke

“I would not abandon my child, either,” he said.

She looked at him in surprise. “Do you believe I would?”

“You say that now, but what if they stammered? Even more than I do? Much more.”

She raised her chin a notch. “I would love them still. Your mother should have understood.”

A muscle began to flick by his eye. “The duchess was a cold-hearted woman.”

“She didn’t love you?”

“My mother expressed disapproval more than affection. She hired tutors to cure my affliction, and I can explicitly recall the faces and mannerisms of each and every one of them. Some enjoyed yelling; others were soft-spoken. The quieter ones were the m…m-eanest. They received great satisfaction in extracting physical p…p-ain when their standards were not met.”

She stifled her gasp. “Was your mother aware?”

“Of course. She wanted a perfect son, an heir to the dukedom. After years of failure, she’d assumed I was unintelligent and an embarrassment to the family and the dukedom.”

She stiffened in horror. “I’m sorry for your suffering.”

His jaw set in a grim line. “Don’t be. It made me the man I am.”

No, it had made him alone. Isolated. In pain. In her opinion, it probably exacerbated his difficulty in communicating. She began to reach out to touch him then stopped herself. She sensed he didn’t want pity, that pity would make it worse. Instead, she let her anger surface. “She was wrong. Terribly wrong. If she were alive, I’d tell her so.”

“My childhood wasn’t unbearable. I had my father’s mother. Antonia and my mother never agreed and often argued.”

She’d have to thank the dowager. Olivia knew, without a doubt, that the Duke of Keswick would be even more withdrawn if not for his grandmother’s love. She had a better understanding of his past, but why did he feel so strongly that it would affect his future?

“What makes you believe your child will have the same condition?” she asked.

“What makes me believe he or she won’t?”

It was an impossible argument. “You must know I would never abandon our child or treat them like your mother treated you.” She held her breath. Did he think, truly believe, that she was like his mother?

“It does not matter. I have an heir.”

Lord Jeffries.

Somehow, it seemed wrong. Not because Lord Jeffries would not make a proper duke, but because Tristan would make a wonderful father. He may have given up hope, but now that she knew about his past, she had not.

…

“I understand my grandson is taking you to the theater this evening,” Antonia said.

Olivia was pleasantly surprised when the dowager walked into the breakfast room. Olivia had been enjoying a plate of eggs and bacon—alone. For a brief moment as she’d approached the dining room doors, she’d thought…hoped…Tristan would be seated at the table.

“Please join me and I will tell you about our evening plans,” Olivia said.

Antonia settled in a chair across from Olivia, and a footman came forward to serve tea.

Olivia picked up her teacup and let the warmth seep into her hands. “We are to attend the Covent Garden Theatre tonight. Julius Caesar is playing.”

Antonia added two lumps of sugar to her tea. “I’m pleasantly surprised. He rarely attends social functions.”

“That’s why I chose the play. He does not have to speak much with others like at a ball.”

Antonia’s eyes sparkled. “I knew you were right for him.”

Olivia’s conversation with Tristan had been enlightening, but she wanted to know more. She set down her teacup. “I must ask you about his mother, the duchess.”