Page 3 of A Duchess Untouched

“Come closer,” he ordered, keeping his voice both commanding and soft. He did not want to frighten the woman and her son.

The woman approached tentatively, her eyes darting toward Harrison, who avoided her gaze completely. When she was about three paces away from him, Matthew asked, “Is your name Mary?”

“Yes, sir. Er… Yes, Your Grace,” she replied.

Interesting. Was she even certain about her own name?

“And your boy?”

The boy quickly hid behind her skirts.

“His name is Elijah,” she replied, her chest heaving.

The Duke leaned forward, trying to see if any of Robert’s features were on the boy. The name certainly would not have been his brother’s idea.

“I will not hurt you, Elijah,” he reassured. “I am merely about to ask your mother a few more questions, and that will be all. As for you, Mary, tell me about your boy’s father. Who was he? What did he call himself when he first came to you?”

The woman’s lashes fluttered, and her lower lip trembled. Again, she tried to catch Harrison’s eye, but the steward was an expert at self-preservation. The woman swallowed hard before turning her gaze back to Matthew.

“He… uh, was a grand gentleman like you, Your Grace. It was apparent that he was noble. He had dark hair like yours and was very generous,” Mary replied, her voice becoming steadier with each word. “He promised that he would return for us.”

That could be any gentleman of the ton in possession of great wealth and a weakness for certain kinds of women.

“His name,” Matthew insisted, his patience thinning. “It was a simple question. What name did he give you, if there was any at all?”

The last few words insinuated a more transactional relationship, but Mary did not seem to take offense. Perhaps she was too preoccupied with trying to find a name to give him.

“His name was…” Her voice trailed off. Then, she squeezed her eyes shut as if she could conjure the name behind her eyelids. “It was… William. That’s it. William.”

There was a long pause among them. The patter of rain returned to the forefront, reminding Matthew of how bleak the whole situation was. His shoulders sagged, feeling the weight of yet another crushing disappointment.

Nobody could say he did not try hard enough. He had spent years looking for that woman and her son. If Mary had said Robert or Arthur, his hope would still have somehow floated, for his dear brother sometimes used his middle name when introducing himself to common folk. He sighed.

“Thank you for your time. You may go,” he said flatly, dismissing the mother and child with a wave of his hand. “Harrison, see them out.”

The woman gasped, covering her mouth. Still, she managed a hasty curtsy before grabbing her son’s hand and whirling toward the door. Maximus did not like the sudden movement. His ears flattened against his skull as he scrambled to his feet, as if ready to chase. A growl rumbled in his throat. Then he barked in displeasure at the turn of events.

“Maximus, sit,” Matthew ordered.

The dog continued barking and headed for the door, his sharp eyes focused on the woman’s apron. It was then that Matthew realized what Maximus was trying to tell him.

“Stop, Mary,” he said, his voice barely rising but authoritative.

The woman froze and turned around to meet his eyes. Her face was not merely pale now, but a terrible shade of gray. The little boy whimpered, clutching tightly at his mother’s skirts.

“Give me back what you have taken from me.”

Upon confirmation that Matthew suspected her, the woman began to shake violently. Matthew had never seen anyone shake in her boots as this woman did.

With trembling fingers, she reached into the pockets of her apron and held up a dark green pouch bearing the Sheffield crest. The woman had been quick. The pouch had been perched on a sideboard not long ago. The pouch of coins was Matthew’s current allowance for his hunt for the real Mary. While the Sheffield wealth was vast, he did not believe in wasting coin. He had already gone through that stage in his life.

“Please, Your Grace,” the woman who called herself Mary cried, hurling the pouch back to where she had taken it. She fell to her knees, clasping her hands together as if in prayer. Her son imitated her, dropping to the ground beside his mother. “I… I did not mean any harm! I am desperate, Your Grace. We have nothing, and I have to feed my boy today. Look at him. Look how pale and thin he is. We have not had proper food in days, and the landlord will be throwing us out tomorrow! And it has been raining. We… We need the shelter.”

Matthew’s eyes were set on the boy. He did look thin, malnourished, and afraid. What if Robert’s real son was out there somewhere, starving? Suddenly, he felt that all the time he had spent away from the luxury of his home made sense. He had to atone for his sins.

“Please forgive me, Your Grace! I heard the curate talking to the innkeeper about a duke seeking a woman named Mary who has a little boy,” she confessed. “My son is about the same age, so I thought I should come here, knowing you would be willing to pay just about anything to find what you are looking for. But… Your Grace, we are only here because we do not want to starve anymore.”

“Your Grace,” Harrison finally interjected, stepping forward, his face red with righteous anger. “This is an outrage! She just attempted to leave with a peer of the realm’s coin. It is nothing to take lightly. How shall we punish her? If I call the constable, she could be sent to the gaol for stealing from a duke. And her boy? He should be sent to the poorhouse.”