Page 105 of The Boxing Baroness

“You never show it. I’ve often considered your unflappability inhuman.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t speak.

Marianne was suddenly wide-awake, wanting to know more. “You inherited the title,” she said, tentatively. “Your older brother—did he—”

“He died on the same day as my father. The duke—who always spent the majority of his time in London with his other family—had neglected to see that his tenants or legitimate children were vaccinated for the smallpox. He must have believed himself immune, because he was never vaccinated, either. One of the crofter’s children became sick and my aunt called on them. She brought the illness back to the house. Only Robert, my youngest sister, Ben, and—just by coincidence—my father were there. Francine, Mariah, and I were all away at school.

“The day after Father and Robert died, Sarah, my youngest sister, died. My aunt recovered but bears scars. Miraculously, Ben was spared.”

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

Marianne had always felt more than a little self-pity that she had no siblings. But the thought of what he’d gone through—the pain and loss—made her almost glad that she’d only had her mother and uncle.

She paused at the thought; perhaps she might have siblings—half-siblings like the duke. Would they want to see her?

“Have you ever met your father’s other children?”

His knowing look said he understood what she was asking. “My half-brothers all attended Eton, three at the same time I did. All my half-siblings have had Seasons and most have married—and done well for themselves.”

“There is no stigma attached to their birth?” she asked, not hiding her disbelief.

“The natural child of a duke is welcomed by all except the highest sticklers. And even those would not have wanted to offend my father.” He hesitated and then added, “Or me.”

“You don’t mind?”

“I have always behaved amiably toward them. After all, it is hardly their fault, is it? They did not swear an oath to my mother.”

“That is an . . . enlightened viewpoint. And, I suspect, not a common one.”

“No,” he agreed, sympathy in his eyes. “I’m afraid it is not.”

* * *

They found what seemed to be the perfect camping spot a few miles from the town of Boulzicourt. It was a large farm that had gone to weeds even though it had rich soil and abutted a sizeable stream.

The woman who owned the land was a widow with three small children. Her husband had been a soldier who’d made it all the way through the war but then died in a freak accident while plowing one of their fields.

Sin paid her well, and she was too concerned with her own affairs to wonder why they were camped behind her big, empty barns.

The first two days they slept most of the time, and Sin gave the woman money to cook and deliver their meals, giving her enough money to buy food for herself and her children, as well.

By the third day, everyone was rested enough to begin wondering what the next step would be.

“We’ll wait here for Elliot,” Sin said as they sat around the small fire eating the simple but delicious dinner of crusty bread, fresh butter, savory stew, and a tart made from dried apples.

“Shouldn’t he be here by now?” Cecile asked, carrying the pot from person to person and offering more stew.

Sin was worried, but the last thing he wanted to do was scare the others. “I’m not concerned yet,” he lied. “We’ve got ample time before we need to get to Metz.”

Although he’d not told Cecile what they were doing in Metz, he assumed Marianne had. Or perhaps even Guy, who’d taken to loitering around the Frenchwoman’s caravan even when his services were not needed as footman. It was obvious to all that his friend had fallen hard for the beautiful markswoman. Whether the two had consummated their passion, Sin couldn’t say.

As for his own situation, he’d given up hoping that Marianne would come to him. He told himself that was just as well, but the thought lacked conviction and he wanted her more with every day that passed.

He was truly a fool.

“Cecile and I are going to the stream to wash some clothes.”