"Oh." Miss Auclair jerked in surprise at the question, her eyes widening and stilling for a moment. "Well..." she began, biting her lip. "His title is Hartfield, but he said to call him either Your Grace or Frederick when we were alone together." She smiled shyly, her cheeks pinking.

Maria started. Oh dear Lord. A duke. They were about to have the bastard child of a duke on their hands. She cleared her throat and tried not to sound preturbed. "Does he ehm... Does he know of the child?"

"No," Miss Auclair sighed and leaned back on her palms, lulling her head to the side and making herself comfortable on the low bed. "It is unfortunate; he broke off our arrangement suddenly, before I was sure and, well, I have no way to tell him." She gestured toward her face, her eyes flicking restlessly.

"You could dictate a letter and I could write and post it for you."

Miss Auclair shook her head. "No! That is out of the question. His wife watches him like a hound; she would find a letter. I am sure of it. That would be a disaster."

Oh good God. Now a duchess to boot. Yes, Maria could imagine. Disaster indeed.

Maria took a deep breath. She needed to approach this situation from a different angle. She cleared her throat and plowed ahead, despite the impertinence of what she intended to ask. "How did you and Mr.—nope, duke, remember— Lord Hartfield meet?"

To Maria's surprise, Miss Auclair smiled. "It was a beautiful summer evening; I can still remember. I could feel the splendor of the night on my skin. It shimmered in the air like the thousands of flames that bathed the hall in light and heat. I am a singer, Mrs. Ross, and I was very good that night. He came to me after the concert and offered me his protection. I was so happy—yes, really I was. So many things were new to me and I wanted to try it all. I had never been to England before and he told me I would be his little pearl, his one-of-a-kind treasure that he would only show to his closest friends and they would all love me. It was vain, I know, but I was younger then and my vanity was all I had, so I went with him."

It was a romantic picture Violette painted from her memory, and Maria could almost see the scene play out in her mind. Silence lingered in the room like a hand on Maria's shoulder as she studied the woman before her. "How long were you his mistress?" she asked softly.

"Three years."

"Do you love him?" softer still.

She shook her head. "No. Never love. But I did like him. It hurt when he told me I must leave." Miss Auclair's soft, almost melancholy expression hardened into one of acute displeasure. "It was that duchess of his. I met her once, at the very beginning before she came sniffing around his townhouses. Any sensible lady knows men of the aristocracy keep mistresses. I don't understand why she had to go about stirring up trouble; he often left her alone. Compared to a lot of marriages I have seen, she was quite free to do as she pleased."

"Hmm," Maria replied non-committedly. She wondered if it was revulsion or envy that drove Miss Auclair's distaste for the duchess.

"Perhaps she did not want a loveless marriage in which her husband's attention was lavished on another woman. I do not think that is so uncommon." Maria knew she shouldn't be so contrarian with Violette. The woman was put-out and vulnerable and needed someone who would listen to her side of the story without judgment, but Maria found she couldn't help but be a bit defensive of the neglected duchess.

Miss Auclair barked a short, sarcastic laugh. "There are rumors she has a lover of her own: one of her footmen. Can you imagine?"

"Only rumors," Maria clipped out, again defensive.

Miss Auclair rolled her head to her other shoulder. "You must think me a terrible person. Do not get me wrong, I would have needed to leave him in the condition I am in anyway. It is no good when a mistress starts having babies."

Maria nodded. That she understood. "Do you wish for him to know about the child?"

"Yes!" she answered quickly. "He should at least know. It would be good if its father could care for it. I have heard the bastards of lords have more privileges than those of not. That is my hope."

"You do not wish to care for the child yourself?" Maria asked, somewhat surprised.

The young woman gaped for a moment, then closed her mouth in a resolute expression. "I cannot care for a child," was all that she said.

"I understand." Maria nodded, uselessly. And she did. She knew not every woman was cut out for being a mother, or desired to be one in the first place. As a midwife she had seen women burst with joy at the prospect of another baby and those who did everything in their power to keep that very thing from happening. Childbearing wasn't easy and Maria held a deep respect for anyone who went through the ordeal of childbirth, even if they did not keep the baby afterwards. She wasn't sure how a blind, unmarried woman like Violette was to care for and raise a child in the first place; she'd need the kind of help and support that would require a good income for years to come.

That thought rattled something in Maria's mind. "Has the duke provided you with a subsequent stipend or allowance since your dismissal? If I am correct, that is fairly typical practice among men and their mistresses."

"No," she answered tarty, again grimacing. "For you see, he only married his wife for her money and she has much control over the funds. I believe she is withholding." Her mouth twisted at the word.

Maria put a hand to her forehead and rubbed at her temples. What was this little drama that she'd somehow stumbled upon? A duke, his ex-mistress, a neglected and vengeful duchess and a bastard child all mixed together. Maria wasn't sure if handing the child over to this duke was a good idea; he seemed like quite the cad and his wife could be a potential danger to the child's welfare. And yet, it was ultimately not her decision to make. Maria watched Violette from across the room and felt empathy gnaw deep in her heart. She'd been in a similar situation once long ago. She remembered what it felt like; the worry, the uncertainty of it all, as well as the immeasurable relief she'd felt once help finally came.

Yes, she would help this woman as much as she could. For now, what she needed was a plan. She would find some way to contact the duke and take the mission from there; whatever may come.

With renewed resolve, Maria stood and helped Miss Auclair to lie down and tucked the counterpain around her shoulder. Miss Auclain gripped Maria's hand and nodded before she let go, her nearly white eyes gleaming with unshed tears. "I will go speak to Mrs. Goodfellow about getting a fire started in here. We must keep you warm; it is especially important for when the baby comes. Then we will see to your duke. I already have some ideas, but I'll need some time to ask a friend for help. And I'll need to make a new dress," Maria added almost absentmindedly, her thoughts already ordering themselves into a plan. She straightened and looked around at the chaos. "Perhaps we can find something of use in here."

***

The light from a thousand candles poured from the ballroom into the dim hallway as Evan Jacob Morrison, the Marquess Granfell, was announced at the doors leading inside. Trailing alongside him was his best friend and long-time collaborator, Garrett Newchurch. Garrett was looking well put together tonight in his perfectly tailored conductors suite, crisp cravat and brightly polished shoes. His rusty brown hair was normally a tangled nest even birds would find too abhorrent to occupy, but tonight it had been trimmed and somewhat combed back. Evan thought he looked quite fresh.

Faces turned in their direction and conversations hushed, then began anew as Evan and Garrett strode past the other guests. Evan recognized several of the faces, even greeted some, but if he'd been pressed to address any of them by name... Well, what a sorry sight he'd make then. He pulled at the cuffs of his suit; a quick, flicking gesture. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

It had been a fine program, Evan thought as he walked. The concert had gone according to plan with little fault or hiccup. He should be satisfied. He was satisfied. He'd been lost in his performance, with nothing in the whole world but himself, the keys and Garrett's direction; however, ever since the last note had faded away into a roar of applause, he hadn't been able to keep still for the anticipation of the one thing he truly wanted tonight.

He tried not to look for her.

He told himself he would not look for her.

Not yet, anyway.

When she'd written to him with her plan, he'd been surprised and at first hesitant, but she'd asked him for his assistance, and he'd be damned before he disappointed her.

She was somewhere in the back of the room, he knew, keeping to the perimeter. She would be cloaked in so much silk and rouge that perhaps even he wouldn't be able to recognise her. His brow furrowed at the idea, then suddenly the thought was so absurd he burst out a short bark of a laugh.

Unlike the mirriad of nameless faces he was among tonight, Evan knew he would recognize Maria no matter what. He'd known her, tired and dusty in her little, dimly-lit kitchen, after nearly a decade of time and distance between their last meeting, after all. It was unlikely that any amount of paint or silk could hide from him the knowledge his hands and lips had of her body.

Garrett's own frown turned on Evan as the man studied him quizzically. He opened his mouth, probably to remark on Evan's obvious slip into insanity, when Garrett's gaze caught something in the distance. "Your sisters, Granfell," he announced with a snappish inclination of his chin.

Evan turned to find Laura and Winifred approaching along with Laura's friend Miss Harcourt by their side. Behind them, Mrs. Harcourt and their Great Aunt Adelaine followed, their heads bent together like gossiping debutantes at their first soirée. Winifred's companion, Miss Jennings, was the last of their party. Her face was hidden behind the concert pamphlet, nose deep in the cream colored pages. Evan smiled. At least someone was curious enough to actually read the thing. Most lay strewn, abandoned and forgotten between chairs on the concert hall floor.

As she passed, Winifred gave him her signature sly smile behind her ruby red fan. "It was a lovely concert," she said. "I almost don't regret coming tonight." She stopped and pulled on her skirt, dislodging it from under the boot of an unaware gentleman behind them.

Laura smiled radiantly as she approached, Miss Harcourt in tow. "Yes, that was a fine performance, brother dearest, Mr. Newchurch." Laura greeted Evan with a kiss on the cheek and nodded to the other man. Miss Harcourt bobbed a delicate curtsy. He and Garrett bowed back.

"Q-Quite splendid," Eileen chimed in, her voice shaky and small. "Though, it was rather sorrowful, I thought," she added. Her brows creased as she looked down in contemplation.

"It was, wasn't it?" Garrett said sardonically, "A true masterpiece of melancholy."

Evan cleared his throat, ignoring his friend's teasing comment. "Thank you sisters, Miss Harcourt. Your praise is most appreciated." Laura smiled again, like what he'd said amused her. She turned and whispered something in Miss Harcourt's ear, who promptly flushed a soft pink.

"Will your future compositions always be so, Lord Granfell?" inquired Mrs. Harcourt. "It isn't good to get stuck in your ways at such a young age. And it is most unpleasant to sit through a concert so set on persuading the audience to be melancholy, no matter how beautiful the music!"

He raised his brow at the comment, it being as he was only a decade younger than the woman. "I assure you my good lady, my next compositions will be so vibrant and uplifting they will remind you of your youthful days picking wild flowers and frolicking about in fields."

The two younger girls giggled, but the older matrons seemed pleased enough with the promise. They turned the conversation toward hothouse flowers and which vendors had the best wares at the moment.

Evan hadn't intended to stop listening to the conversation, but he somehow found himself looking around again. She would be keeping her distance from his party, of course. It would be difficult to explain her presence if Laura were to recognize her. He only needed a glimpse of her, so he would know...

He scanned the crowd surrounding the refreshments table, then the large open doorways that lead to the theater, across to the back wall. There, sitting just as he'd thought in a chair against the wall, bathed in the sensual light of two candelabras, dressed in a deep indigo gown of feather-light, sheer silk, her neck and hair adorned with creamy white pearls, was his wallflower.