“Fair enough. It is none of my business, in any case.”
“Because of what we once meant to each other, I will tell you about two of the men in my life. The two men who changed my life.”
“Really, my girl, you need not tell me anything.”
She dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. “No, I want to. But I will only tell you of two men and no more. The first was James Benedict, who was touring the West Country coast when he found his way to Porthruan in ’89, shortly after you went missing. He was a member of the Royal Academy and had come to paint the sea and the cliffs and the Cornish sunlight. He always said we had our own special kind of light in Cornwall.”
“Pixie light.”
“That’s what I told him. He always painted outside, even when he painted people. Whether portraits or allegorical paintings, he most liked to paint faces, and he took a liking to mine.”
“How could he not?”
Willie smiled at his flattery, then continued. “He paid me to pose for him, and he did a series of classical allegories where I was depicted as each of the nine Muses as well as various goddesses. It was easy work and I liked having my own money, which I tucked away without telling Mama. But most of all, James was kind to me at the lowest point of my young life. I was heartbroken and adrift, having lost all purpose when I lost you.”
She paused and took a slow, deep breath before she went on. A frown puckered her brow. “Mama found out about the posing, of course, and raised the roof. She railed and railed against my sinful ways. Papa seemed more sympathetic at first, but he was never a match for Mama’s temper, or her Methodist morality, so he did not fight her when she cast me out.”
“She really threw you out of the house?”
“Yes. A girl who posed for pictures, even with all her clothes on, had no place in the pious Jepp household. I went crying to James, and he said he’d take care of me. I was to return to London with him where he would make a proper artist’s model of me. I jumped at the chance to escape Porthruan Cove, which had too many memories of you. So I went to London, and my life changed forever. Even my name changed. I became Wilhelmina Grant. James’s paintings of me drew a lot of praise for his talent, as well as a great deal of attention to me. Suddenly I was an object of interest for many gentlemen, several of them members of the nobility.”
Sam knew those paintings well. One in particular, he knew very well indeed. “I saw some of Benedict’s paintings when I first came to London to find you, back in ’94. They were beautiful. You were as luminous as moonlight on a dark sea.”
Willie nodded. “They brought him a great deal of notice. After the allegories of the Muses were exhibited, commissions began to pour in. And I drew more interest as the model, and not just from other artists. I did not enjoy all that attention, I assure you. I thought it would anger James, and I was fiercely loyal to him. But one day he came to me and said that a certain gentleman was prepared to become my protector, that he would set me up in style, that I would have everything I ever wanted. When I demurred, he said I had to go, that he could no longer keep me. I soon discovered that James had passed me on to this new gentleman in order to secure several very important commissions. It was only then that I realized I had never meant anything to James, except as a face he liked to paint. It was my first lesson in the life of the demimonde. I left James without a backward glance, and began my notorious career.”
At last he knew how it had begun. It was sad, but not sordid. “I’m sorry, Willie.”
“Don’t be. I may not have led what most people would call a respectable life, but I prided myself on being selective. And expensive. I became rich, and was courted by some of the highest gentlemen in the land. I established a salon where I entertained artists and poets and politicians, and invitations were prized. It was an exciting life. I have no regrets.”
“And who was the second man who changed your life?”
“Hertford, of course. He pursued me for quite a long time before I gave in to him. He wanted exclusivity, and I was not willing to grant it at first. But he was so ardent, and so charming, that I soon capitulated. We spent a few happy years together, during which I was publicly acknowledged as his mistress. He loved me, the duke did. He truly loved me.” She spoke as though she still could not believe it, as though she was not worthy of a good man’s love. “But when his wife died and he asked me to marry him, I thought he’d gone mad. But he was quite serious. He was determined to legitimize our love affair. How could I refuse such a magnanimous, extraordinary offer? So I bid farewell to the demimonde and became a duchess.”
“Did you love him?”
“The dear man laid the whole world at my feet. He cared more for me than for what people would think of him. Of course I loved him.”
“Were there…difficulties? Socially, I mean.”
“Was I accepted in society? Not entirely. I never will be. But I had rank and fortune that could not be denied, and many doors were opened to me, sometimes reluctantly, sometimes with kindness. I have made wonderful friends who accept me, unsavory past and all, and that has given me the greatest happiness.”
It was an extraordinary story. Sam was glad she had told him, at last. He understood her now, he thought, and admired her more than ever.
“How has life been for you since the duke passed away? What have you been doing? Not sitting home in your widow’s weeds, I have no doubt.”
“No, I have been out of full mourning for over three years. I still enjoy being out with people, and keep a very full social calendar. But I do some charity work as well. I’m a trustee of the Benevolent Widows’ Fund, which has been a gratifying experience for me, in so many ways. I found some of my dearest friends in working with the Fund, high-ranking, respectable ladies who never once showed scorn for my low birth and notorious career. I was just visiting one of them, Lady Thayne, in Northamptonshire. She recently presented her marquess with a healthy baby boy, and I have just come from the christening. Can you imagine: I was the godmother!”
“Godmother to a future marquess? Good God, Willie, you really have changed your life around. And charity work? How noble of you, my girl. And what else?”
She arched an elegant eyebrow. “Who else, do you mean? Still judging me, Sam?”
“No, no, I was just wondering if…” He hunched a shoulder and shook his head, never finishing his thought aloud. The thought she had read so clearly.
“You want to know if there is another man in my life.”
He flashed a sheepish grin. “You can’t blame a fellow for being curious. You’re still a damned fine-looking woman, Duchess. There must be gallants of all ages cluttering your doorstep.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Just like that time you came to call and elbowed your way to the front of the line?”
“No, I didn’t mean that. I know you are not in that life anymore. But that doesn’t mean all the men of London have been struck blind. You will always draw the appreciative glance, Willie. And more, I should think.”
She smiled again and said, “Such blatant flattery, Sam. No, don’t apologize. I like it. I will confess that it pleases me all the more because it comes from you. And no, I have not led the life of a nun, as you well know. But I am older now and find that I quite enjoy my own company. I no longer feel the constant need for a man at my side. Or in my bed. There have been one or two since Hertford’s death. The last one was so besotted that I fully expected an offer from him-an offer of marriage-but it wasn’t long before a younger, prettier woman caught his eye, and he fell out of love as quickly as he’d fallen in.”