David’s mother, Richard reminded himself. She could say anything she liked. “I share your concern, Mrs. Fleming, believe me. I have offered him a better position in the hope—”
She gave a hiss of anger that made Richard jump. “You don’t understand at all, do you? Of course you don’t, and that is why you are going to hurt him, and, your lordship, you may not do that. I know my husband’s living is dependent on your family, but if you cause my son more pain, I will make you pay in skin.”
Richard could not doubt it, looking at her expression. “Wait, madam. Stop. I am not your enemy, and I have no desire to hurt David. I mean him nothing but good, I give you my word.” He held her angry gaze until she gave a brief nod. “Now tell me what I don’t understand. What is it that I have wrong?”
“Your offer, my lord. He told me about it; it is why I came to speak to you.”
“I offered him a post as my secretary—”
“So that he might no longer be your servant.”
“It is a compromise, I know, but he is a very talented man and would fill the position admirably, and it would mean he would not be in the position you describe. I don’t know what more I can do, Mrs. Fleming.” Many rich men set up their mistresses in luxury with fine clothes and servants of their own. Richard could not believe that David wanted that, but he had no idea what else there was to offer.
She was looking at him, a steady gaze. “No, I see you don’t. And I believe that you mean well, but…” She trailed off, teeth catching her lip. “After breakfast, you will please ask David to tell you more of my history, and maybe then you will understand. I hope you do, because my son deserves better. In the meantime, the table is set, if your lordship will join us.”
They ate together. David was silent, rather pale. Mrs. Fleming seemed as calm as if they had never had that extraordinary discussion. Richard was very used to making conversation over unspoken depths. He spoke to Mr. Fleming, assured him he would attend the midday service, and turned to David as the meal ended. “Will you take a walk?”
David nodded. They set off down the same route as before, along the high street and left at the bridge over the Thames, all in silence until Richard began.
“Your mother spoke to me, with a great deal of openness.”
“She…I beg your pardon?”
Richard gave David a brief summary of the conversation, watching the scarlet flare in his cheeks. “She asked me to ask you about her history. I have no idea why and no desire to pry into private matters, but it seemed to me that she would not have said that without reason. I see a great deal of you in your mother.”
“Thank you,” David said. “And yes, she has a reason. My lord, have you ever wondered about my surname?”
“What? No. It is unusual, I suppose.”
“That is putting it generously. You never asked yourself why my name means whore?”
Richard would have said lady of pleasure if he had said anything. “That is hard speaking.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Richard glanced at him. David was walking with his chin up, lips set. “David?”
“My mother’s employment as a governess came to a predictable end. Her employer did not choose to give her a reference; she had no family on whom to rely. You know how this works, my lord. She was in Belle Millay’s service by the age of twenty.”
“Millay’s, as in the assignation house.”
“That did not then exist. This was her first bawdy house, on Seymour Street. All the brats were given surnames that Belle found amusing, hence Cyprian, you see. I grew up in the brothel where my mother wenched. She thinks my father was a soldier of the Black Watch, because of the hair, but who can say?”
“Does—” Richard stopped himself.
“Does Mr. Fleming know? Of course. My mother is not fool enough to hide such a secret, and my stepfather is not the kind of Christian who throws stones at sinners or demands endless penitence. He loves her for who she is.”
“That is very admirable. Ah, her illness…?”
“Poxed, obviously. She had the first stage some years after my birth; the second is long past and no longer a risk. The third stage…may come, may not.”
The disease might come back at any time, might attack Mrs. Fleming’s eyes or mind, leave her drooling and incontinent. Or it might never come. There would be nothing to do but wait in its shadow and wonder if every little clumsiness, every forgetfulness or flash of temper, was a sign. Richard wished he could take David in his arms, offer some sort of comfort, but the odd, set expression David wore was as off-putting as the public place.