Stephen did not sleep at all.

He sat fully clothed in front of the fire and stared, unseeing, into the flames. He was officially engaged to Miss Westgate now. At the Pembroke’s, when the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the parlor, he had made the announcement.

It was done.

There was no going back, no un-ringing that damned bell. He would be married to Miss Westgate within the month and his life, such as it was, would be set back to rights.

No, that was a lie. Nothing could be set back to rights. Suspicion now clouded his name, his legacy. Even if Judge Addams managed to successfully obstruct the case against Stephen’s father, one question would still haunt him—was the marriage certificate real, or had the Duke manufactured it? And what role had Emily played in the plot against him?

His chest tightened at the thought of her taking part in the treachery against him. He had thought she was so unlike the ladies of his acquaintance. He had been wrong. Again. He had been wrong about Lady Evelyn, and he had been wrong about Emily.

There was a knock at his door.

It must have been early the next morning. He didn’t know, didn’t care what time it was, but the fire had dwindled to nearly nothing and thin slivers of sunlight had crept in through a crack in the curtains.

“Come in,” he called out tonelessly.

The door opened and then closed. He didn’t turn around to see who it was. They would make themselves known eventually, or not. He cared little.

“Stephen, have you not slept?” It was his mother’s voice, lit with concern. She must have seen his untouched bed.

“I have not,” he answered.

She came around to sit in the chair next to him. She wore a fur-lined wrap, her chestnut hair pulled up into a knot. She looked much better than she had been, more rested.

“You are engaged.”

“I am,” he answered with no amount of joy.

“My maid told me only this morning. Why did you not inform me yourself?”

He shrugged. “You knew I intended to offer for her.”

She nodded toward the hearth. “Your fire is burning low.”

Stephen sighed. He could tolerate a low-burning fire, but he would not have his mother catching a chill. He rose and placed another log on the fire, crouching to stoke the flames with the iron poker.

“Stephen, do you believe me ignorant of our circumstances?”

Still crouched, he twisted to look up at her. “I don’t follow.”

She inhaled slowly. “I know what they say about your father. I know what rumors have been bandied about.”

He stood and stared down at his mother. “You know about the rumors of bigamy?”

“Yes.” She looked calm, unconcerned. “My maid has been keeping me informed.”

Yes, of course, he thought bitterly. The all-seeing, all-hearing servants.

He returned to his chair and looked his mother straight in the eye. His gut clenched impossibly tight. “Is it true, am I a bastard?”

She fell silent, her gaze fixed on the flames. Yes, you are. She didn’t need to say it, the answer was painfully clear.

Hot, potent anger slammed into him. “And you did not think to tell me?” he said, furious.

“To what purpose? You could do nothing to alter your circumstances. None of us could.”

How could his parents have kept something to vital from him? The betrayal cut him deeper than any injury the Duke could have inflicted.

“I am a bastard,” he bit out.

“You are an earl’s son and that cannot be taken from you.”

He stood and paced. “Why have you said nothing in all this time? All my life, you have allowed me to believe—” Christ. He raked his hand through his hair.

“I could see no benefit in telling you. What could be done? Nothing.” Her eyes watered, but she kept her countenance. “I only wished to protect you.”

“Protect me?” His humorless laugh filled the room. “I have been the subject of gossip and speculation for months. My livelihood is threatened, even as we speak. The House of Lords intends to bring charges against my father.”

His mother was calm, far too calm. “It is precisely why I suggested Miss Westgate as a match. I knew her connection to Judge Addams would offer the protection you required.”

He blinked at his mother. He had thought courting Miss Westgate had been his idea, but when he cast his mind back, he remembered his mother had been first to mention her name. How very cunning.

He titled his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was all too much. “The woman father married, who is she?”

“Some low-born woman, I don’t know. He was young and he fancied himself in love. When his father discovered the union, he quickly shipped her to Ireland with a small fortune and a warning never to speak of the union.”

“You knew this, but you married him anyway.”

She shook her head. “Your father confessed it to me only after you were born. By then, it was much too late. The woman, whoever she was, had no children, so it became easier to pretend the issue did not exist. I never imagined you or anyone else would ever discover the truth.”

Stephen pushed out a heavy breath. These past months, he had been trying to protect her from this, and all the while, she had been an abettor to his father’s duplicity.

“As it happens, I also know about the maid who is with child,” she said.

Dear God. Would there be no end to this morning’s revelations?

“Do you think I have no idea what happens beneath my own roof?” she continued.

“Very well, what is it you wish to know? Yes, there is a maid, and yes she is with child.” He stood and poured himself a brandy, then pounded it back before fixing himself another. “What does she have to do with anything?”

“I saw you looking at her the night your father escaped his chamber. You love her.”

He turned and looked at his mother. He wanted to deny it, but the words caught in his throat. “It doesn’t signify. She tried to blackmail me.”

His mother sighed. “Doubtless, you had put her in an impossible situation.”

Christ, his own mother. “You condone her methods, then?”

“Not by any means. I am merely suggesting that you attempt to view things from her perspective.”

He scoffed at that. She wanted to empty his purse. That was her perspective.

And, yet, even as he thought the words, he knew they weren’t true. She had only ever asked him for a loan. It wasn’t until she had overheard his conversation with Grant that she had turned on him.

“It is all for nothing. She has already refused to remain in London as my mistress.”

“Then make her your wife.”

He stared at his mother for a long moment. “What? You would have me forfeit my title?”

“No,” she said, standing. “But I would not have you living in regret as your father has been. He married me while he was still in love with another woman and we both suffered for it. I often wonder how much happier he might have been had he ignored his father and remained married to his first wife.” She took a breath. “Besides, your fiancé is in love with someone else.”

That took him aback. “Miss Westgate? With whom?”

“Her companion, Miss Pearce. And I do believe Miss Pearce is also madly in love with her.”

He shook his head. “You have been too long deprived of sleep, Mother. You know not of what you speak.”

“I know exactly of what I speak—I have been living with this fear, this uncertainty that your father will always love another woman and I do not wish that for you. You are my only son, my only child, and my wish is for you to be happy.”

Stephen swallowed at the emotion in her voice. It was true; his parents had not always been so civil. It was only in recent years that they had become closer. Did he truly want that life with Miss Westgate?

He cleared his throat, clearing away the lump that had formed there. “I cannot forfeit my birthright.”

“Then it sounds to me like you have already made your choice,” she replied.

Yes, he had. He accepted what he must do.

So why, then, did his heart feel so hallow?