Sacrifice (Fashionably Impure Book 3) by Natasha Blackthorne

more than one
lady.” Ruel’s voice sounded calm but with a hard edge.
    “Do you know what they are saying about
her in Mayfair? At Cambridge? Do you know the word that is—”
    “Silence!” Ruel’s voice boomed as he
stood. His daughters gaped at him, round-eyed gazes darting towards their
mother now, as though they wondered if they ought to seek her softer refuge.
“She is your father’s choice. Make peace with it.”
    “I shall never make peace with this- this night bird foisted upon me and my brother to take our mother’s place.”
His lip curled. “Never!”
    “Leave the hall and do not return until
you can act in a civil manner towards your father’s wife. For shame, your
father has worked so hard for you and this is how you repay him.”
    “I shall leave— with pleasure, my lord.
But I won’t simply leave this hall. I shall go and spend the remainder
Christmastide with my uncle.”
    “Yes, a fine solution. I shall see that a
carriage is readied for you, you ungrateful boy.”
    Brentwood flushed at Ruel’s sneering use
of the word boy.
    He turned to Miranda, his lip still
curled upwards. He effected a stiff, exaggerated bow. “ Lady Danvers.”
    His eyes burned into hers, the hate there
searing into her soul, shocking her into speechlessness.
    Then he spun on his heel and stormed from
the chamber.
    Miranda shook all over the exchange.
    “I-I knew she was not our Mama!”
Davey defended hotly, pulling everyone’s attention back to him. His cheeks red
with the embarrassment of one who has been previously known to hallucinate, his
eyes shone with welling tears.
    Miranda ached to comfort him but when she
tried he stiffened and pulled away. He wouldn’t look at her now.
    She felt a hesitance to do anything to
make situation worse.
    Mercy, had she ever felt so much at a
loss?
    Had she ever felt so accused ?
    She had failed Davey.
    She had failed Adrian.
    Failed.
    But she had tried so hard.
    So damned hard.
    “Of course you didn’t really think she
was your Mama.” Lady Ruel’s soft voice broke into Miranda’s rising angst.
    “It’s just that-that…” Davey’s lip
trembled and he had gone pale. He hiccupped, a sound suspiciously close to a
sob. “It’s just…”
    “It’s just that you would like her to be
your Mama now?”
    Davey gaped at her then he nodded,
slowly, his expression pinched, painful.
    He gulped back another sob. Miranda felt
as though her heart were being torn out.
    What should she say?
    What should she do?
    She wasn’t a mother. She’d just been
pretending all this time. Pretending because that was all she knew to do in her
life.
    As a child, pretending not to care that
Winterton didn’t love her.
    Pretending not to need Mama’s guidance
and motherly strength.
    Pretending to be a courtesan.
    Pretending to be cold, haughty,
sophisticated, and sensually skilled.
    Pretending, pretending, pretending!
    Lady Ruel held her arms open and Davey
ran to her, tears flowing down his cheeks.
    Miranda sensed it was due more to
confusion than grief. But there was some grief there, too. She could always
feel his emotions welling up, as though there were some invisible cord linking
her to Davey. His pain was always hers.
    Lady Ruel caressed the boy’s curling
hair. “It’s all right, Davey. There’s nothing wrong or shameful about how you
feel.”
    “I love my own Mama.”
    “I know you do, my darling. You always
will.”
    He nodded vigorously. “I have missed her
so dreadfully.”
    “And you have grieved for her and shown
her all the respect that is humanly possible,” Lady Ruel said, her voice softer
than ever.
    “I have been so alone…” He sniffled and
choked back a sob. “Until Miranda came.”
    “You love Miranda,” Lady Ruel said.
    “Yes, I do love her.” His voice rose on
the last three words. “But I loved Mama and she left. Now Papa is also gone.”
His voice trembled. “I don’t want Miranda to leave, too.”
    Lady Ruel looked up and met Miranda’s
eyes,