Too late.
“The park is not what it used to be,” said the girl, with knowledge and scorn beyond her years. “They allow anyone simply to wander here. With no regard to pedigree.”
Caroline froze, reins of her beloved horse forgotten in her hand as she pretended not to hear. As she tried not to hear.
“Or parentage,” another girl said with cruel glee.
And there it was, hovering in the air. The unspoken word.
Bastard.
Georgiana wanted to slap their faces.
The gaggle tittered, gloved hands flying to lips, ostensibly hiding smiles even as teeth flashed. Caroline turned toward her, green eyes liquid.
Don’t cry, Georgiana willed. Don’t let them see that they’ve struck true.
She wasn’t sure if the words were for herself or her daughter.
Caroline did not cry, though her cheeks blazed with color. Embarrassed of her birth. Of her mother. Of a dozen things she could not change.
She returned to Georgiana’s side then, moving idly, stroking the neck of her mount, fairly wandering—bless her—as though to prove that she would not be chased away.
When she returned, Georgiana had been so proud, she’d had difficulty speaking past the knot in her throat. She hadn’t had to speak. Caroline had spoken first, loud enough to be heard. “Or politesse.”
Georgiana had laughed her shock, even as Caroline had mounted her horse and looked down at her. “I shall race you to the Grosvenor Gate.”
They’d raced. And Caroline had won. Twice in one morning.
But how often would she lose?
The question returned her to the present. To the ballroom, to the dance, in the arms of the Duke of Lamont, surrounded by the aristocracy. “She has no future,” Georgiana said quietly. “I destroyed it.”
Temple sighed.
She continued. “I thought I could buy her entrance to wherever she liked. I told myself that Chase could open any door into which she desired entry.”
Her words were quiet, and the dance kept anyone from hearing the conversation. “Not without people asking questions about why the owner of a gaming hell is so concerned about the bastard daughter of a lady.”
Her teeth clenched tight. She’d made so many promises in her life—promises to teach Society a well-deserved lesson. Promises never to bow to them.
Promises never to let them touch her daughter.
But some vows, no matter how firm, could not be kept.
“I wield such power, and still, not enough to save a little girl.” She paused. “If I don’t do this, what will happen to her?”
“I’ll keep her safe,” the duke vowed. “As will you. And the others.” An earl. A marquess. Her business partners, each wealthy and titled and powerful. “Your brother.”
And yet . . .
“And when we’re gone? What then? When we are gone, she’ll have a legacy, filled with sin and vice. She’ll have a life of darkness.”
Caroline deserved better. Caroline deserved everything.
“She deserves light,” she said, to herself as much as to Temple.
And Georgiana would give it to her.
Caroline would want a life of her own. Children. More.
To ensure she could have those things, Georgiana had only one choice. She must marry. The thought brought her back to the moment, her gaze falling to the man across the room, whom she had chosen as her future husband. “The viscount’s title will help.”
“And the title is all you require?”
“It is,” she replied. “A title worthy of her. Something that will win her the life she wants. She might never be respected, but a title secures her future.”
“There are other ways,” he said.
“What other ways?” she asked. “Consider my sister-in-law. Consider your wife. They are barely accepted here, untitled, scandalous.” His eyes narrowed at the words, but she pressed on. “The title saves them. Hell, you supposedly murdered a woman and weren’t fully cast out because you were a duke first, a possible killer second—you could have married if you’d chosen to. The title is what reigns. And it always will.
“There will always be women after titles and men after dowries. God knows Caroline’s dowry will be as big as it needs to be, but it won’t be enough. She’ll always be my daughter. She’ll always carry my mark. As it stands, even if she found love—even if she wanted it—no decent man could marry her. But if I marry Langley? Then she has the possibility of a future devoid of my sin.”
He was quiet for a long minute, and she was grateful for it. When he finally spoke, it was to ask, “Then why not involve Chase? You need the name, Langley needs a wife, and we are the only people in London who know why. It is a mutually beneficial arrangement.”