The street looked the same. The houses. The people. Just coming this far made her feel like she was slipping back into her old self. To the defiant little girl who loved her mother dearly but publicly denied any relation to the whore on the corner. To the despairing young woman who fled in search of a father who had never existed. To escape a life that had only brought shame.

Apprehension made the air feel like molasses. She took Anthony’s hand and led him up the walk to the front door. She wasn’t certain if she gripped his fingers for strength—or to keep him from running away when he realized what he had done. This was her reality. She couldn’t rewrite the past. Have different parents. Redo her childhood. For better or for worse, this was where she had come from. Who part of her would always be.

The door swung open before her knuckles had even touched the knocker.

Her mother stood before her wearing an expression of shock and pleasure.

Charlotte gazed back at her mother’s familiar countenance. With so few years between them, was it any wonder they were mirror images? One had to look closely to find the differences in her mother’s face. Tiny lines crinkled at the edges of identical blue eyes. A few strands of gray blended with identical golden curls. They shared the same height, the same curves, the same smile.

Except neither of them was smiling now. Her mother’s surprised eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” she gasped. “I thought you were never coming back.”

“That’s because you knew it was a fool’s mission. I thought I knew better,” Charlotte admitted with self-deprecation. “May I come in?”

Her mother pulled her forward and into her arms. “You can. Of course you can. You can stay as long as you like. This will always be your home.”

Mixed emotions assailed Charlotte as she returned her mother’s embrace. She didn’t want this to be her home. She abhorred every memory she held of this place.

And yet it contained her mother. Someone who Charlotte had never stopped loving.

She leaned back to pull Anthony across the threshold. “This is Mr. Anthony Fairfax.”

Her mother shot her a startled look out of the corner of her eye.

“No,” Charlotte choked out. “He’s not here for that. Anthony is my husband. Darling, this is my mother. Miss Judith Devon.”

He sketched a grandiose bow. “The pleasure is indeed mine.”

Her mother stared in disbelief, then dipped an equally elegant curtsey.

“The pleasure…” Scarlet flooded her cheeks as she turned toward Charlotte. “A husband. Does he—Did you—”

“Yes. He knows.” Charlotte led them into the front salon, which was just as elegant as last she’d seen it, if a little worn at the edges. “That is partly why I’m here.”

Her mother frowned. “What do you mean?”

Charlotte pulled a ruby ear bob from her reticule. “Who gave these to you?”

Her mother’s eyes lowered. “That was so long ago. It doesn’t matter anymore. It never mattered.”

“It mattered to me,” Charlotte said softly. “It mattered to a little girl who longed for a father.”

Her mother’s shoulders crumpled. “I never meant for you to be born ruined. I wanted to be a good mother to my baby, but my only choices were to keep you or leave you on the steps of a church.”

Charlotte’s throat tightened. As a small child, she had often fantasized about running away to an orphanage so that some other family could adopt her. A family respectable enough that, someday, Charlotte could marry well and come back to rescue her mother So that they could both have a happy ending.

Her mother met her gaze. “You may think I made the wrong decision, and that’s your right. But being sold to a workhouse isn’t better. I grew up in one. Many children don’t live long enough to leave. Some, like me, leave the only way they can.” Her eyes were haunted. “I didn’t want that for my daughter. I didn’t want you dead, and I didn’t want you wishing you were while you were on your back in some alley. So I did the best I could for you.”

“I don’t blame you for being a courtesan,” Charlotte admitted hesitantly. “I always knew you were trying to give me the best life you could. But the harder you worked to raise money, the more infamous and disrespectable we became.”

Her mother’s sad smile didn’t meet her eyes. “I thought the life of a kept woman would turn out differently. I was quite sought after, once. For one magical year, I wasn’t a mere strumpet, but a fashionable courtesan. I thought I had it all. Operas, fireworks, magic. I was toasted at every turn. It still seems like a dream.”

“What happened?” Anthony asked, his voice gentle.

“I got pregnant,” she replied bluntly. “No one wants a mistress who cannot control her own body.” Her shoulders straightened. “And then I committed the second worst sin. I kept my baby.” She cast Charlotte a rueful look. “Once I was no longer a desirable catch, I had to be much less choosy about who I accepted as clients.”

Charlotte swallowed. Of course, the “protectors” had become far less protective. A woman in her mother’s shoes was not elegant, but desperate. Guilt snaked through her.

Her mother’s gaze unfocused. “I didn’t want a four-year-old knowing words like ‘courtesan’ or ‘protector,’ so I spoke in code as best I could. Instead of sexual favors, I offered bedtime stories. Instead of paying clients, a dìonadair would visit.”

“Dìonadair,” Charlotte whispered. “I thought it was his name.”

Her mother laughed without humor. “It was everyone’s name. I picked each man’s best characteristics, and those were the stories I told you. One day, Dìonadair would be a gallant rake, who always invited the wallflowers to dance. Another day, Dìonadair would be a great scholar, with the finest scientific mind in all of England.”

“I meant…I meant my father,” Charlotte explained through her scratchy throat. “I thought the Duke of Courteland’s name was Dìonadair.”

“The Duke of—How do you know that?” Her mother shot up straight, eyes wild. “Who told you his name?”

“Not him.” Charlotte’s voice grew thick. “He’s dead.”

“Oh, love.” Her mother fell to her knees before Charlotte and took her hands. “You were so angry with me for not giving you a father. You thought I didn’t know who it was. But I always knew. It was better that you never meet. He wouldn’t have been what you wanted.”

Charlotte’s mouth flattened. She and her father should have been given the choice to decide that for themselves. But they’d never had a chance.

Her mother gazed up at her, eyes pleading. “I grew up without love. Without a mother or a father. When I left the orphanage, no one cared. No one missed me. I didn’t want that for you.” She gripped Charlotte’s hands. “I didn’t want to give you a father who didn’t care. I wanted to give you a mother who did. I never wanted you to doubt for a single moment that the one parent you do have loves you with all her soul.”

Charlotte’s anger began to dissipate. She supposed sometimes there were no good choices.

Her mother sighed. “I would do anything for you, love. I have done. More than I care for you to know. When you left, I felt like the sun had been ripped from the sky. I didn’t just miss you; I mourned. I knew you were never coming back. Who would want a whore for a mother?” Her mouth twisted in self-deprecation. “All I wanted to be was a good parent. All I ever was, was a disappointment. To us both.” Her eyes shimmered. “No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I loved you, I had failed you from the moment of your birth.”

Charlotte’s throat grew thick. Her mother’s only wish had been for her daughter to love her. To accept her. Her stomach twisted. The very things she herself had longed to receive, she had withheld from her own mother. Shame filled her.

She slid off the couch and into her mother’s arms.

“I do love you,” she confessed as she buried her face in her mother’s hair and held on for dear life. “You’re why I came home.”

Chapter 19

It was four o’clock in the afternoon by the time Anthony realized he had spent all day with a courtesan, doing things no man of his acquaintance had ever done before: discussing the impact of her profession on her life and her child, and complimenting her on what a splendid individual her daughter had grown up to be.

Charlotte glanced his way as he returned his pocket watch to his waistcoat. “Is it time?”

He hated to break up their reunion. “If you’d still like to make the other appointment.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “We desperately need the money. I cannot let my name become synonymous with someone who doesn’t keep her word. Although I suppose that’s an improvement over—” She winced and color bloomed in her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t mean…”

Miss Devon shook her head, her tone rueful. “We have both said plenty we didn’t mean. I do understand.”

“There’s a lady who wishes me to intervene in some row between her servants. It sounds preposterous, but she’s willing to pay me for my insight into the minds of the lower classes.” Charlotte pushed to her feet. “Who knew a humble upbringing would one day be considered ‘expert knowledge?’”

Miss Devon rose to walk them to the door. “Will you come back someday? When you’re not as busy?”

“I shall,” Charlotte promised, her smile shy. “Very soon.”

Anthony kissed his mother-in-law’s hand, then led his wife to the street. Hailing a hack took much longer than he had anticipated.

After glimpsing him check his pocket watch for what must have been the tenth time, Charlotte lifted a wry shoulder. “Fares are less plentiful, and less desirable, this far from Mayfair.”

He blinked, startled to realize how dramatically one’s address changed one’s perception of how the world worked. He gazed at the endless rows of houses just like Charlotte’s. How many of their inhabitants were used to waiting for hackney cabs that never came? The lower classes had far fewer opportunities in countless ways…regardless of the size of their pocketbooks.

Once they were finally inside a hack, he put his arm around his wife and held her close.

She snuggled into his side. “When I return from Lady Roundtree’s, I’ll give you my jewelry. You will be able to bargain a better price with a pawnbroker than I would.”

He shook his head. “I can’t. Your rubies remind you of your father.”

“Not anymore.” Her mouth tightened. “Now they symbolize my mother, and her innumerable sacrifices for me.”

He frowned. “Then why would you want to give them away?”

“Because she’s not the only one who can make a sacrifice for someone she cares about.” Charlotte’s eyes didn’t leave his. “Promise me you’ll sell them.”

Warmth filled his heart as he gazed down at her upturned face. Handing over her most valuable possession wasn’t just a sacrifice. It was trust. She was placing her faith in him not to take the money and gamble it away. She believed he was worth the risk.

He set his jaw with determination. Charlotte was also worth sacrifice. If there was any way to stay out of prison without selling her sole heirloom, he was determined to find it.

Yet she was right. Times were desperate. A pawnbroker’s money wouldn’t solve the matter entirely, but it would help make the balance owed less terrifying.

“I promise we’ll sell your jewels only as a last resort.” He would strip nothing from her if it could be helped. “They mean too much to you for me to pawn them without knowing if I’ll be able to earn them back someday.”

Her solemn blue eyes stared up at him for a long moment before she sighed and returned her head to its resting place against his shoulder.

He pressed a kiss to her hair, in awe that, of all the women who he might have found himself involuntarily engaged to, this was the one he’d been fortunate enough to capture.

What she perceived as her greatest flaw—being born the child of a courtesan—didn’t bear the least reflection on her own character. He didn’t care a fig about her past, or the reputation of her family members. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel that she needed to be someone she was not. Her mother was a delight, and loved Charlotte exactly as she was. So did Anthony.

He froze. Good Lord. He loved her.

A rueful laugh rumbled within him at the thought of an inveterate rogue falling in love with his own wife. Served him right. Now he just had to deserve the trust she’d placed in him. He leaned his cheek against the top of her head.

When the hack turned onto his parents’ road, Lady Roundtree’s extravagant coach-and-four was already waiting for Charlotte at the corner. Anthony instructed the jarvey to pull alongside.