There would be a brief scandal, of course—Lisette had been born during Maystone’s marriage, after all—but she was not the first illegitimate child to have later been given legitimacy when claimed by her father. Maystone was certainly more than powerful enough to weather such a storm.
And Lisette?
Lisette had already ably demonstrated her own fortitude.
She would possibly object initially, but with time she would no doubt become the polished, the Honourable Miss Lisette Maystone.
And while she might politely acknowledge Christian Seaton, the Duke of Sutherland, at a ball or some other society entertainment, they would meet as polite strangers, would no longer be the Lisette and Christian they had been for these past days.
Arguing. Teasing. Laughing. Making love together.
That realisation was enough to bring back the heavy ache in his chest.
‘I do not see any complication; Lisette is my daughter, and I will immediately acknowledge her as such,’ Maystone announced predictably. ‘Unless, of course, you are still intent on shooting me?’ He glanced ruefully at Helene Rousseau.
‘Do not mock me, monsieur!’ Helene glared at him.
‘I am not mocking you.’ He sighed wearily. ‘I am only sorry that my actions twenty years ago have caused such a deep and abiding resentment inside you. You were responsible for the kidnapping of my grandson two months ago, were you not?’
Her face flushed. ‘For Napoleon’s cause—’
‘Not for Napoleon’s cause, Helene, but your own,’ Maystone corrected softly. ‘You no doubt thought to pay me back in some measure for what you considered my cavalier treatment of you all those years ago. You should not
have used an innocent child as a weapon, Helene,’ he rebuked her. ‘I am perfectly willing to pay for my crimes, but Michael and his parents did not deserve to suffer in that way.’
‘And what of my innocent child?’ Helene challenged.
‘If you had told me all those years ago, come to me after Lisette was born even, then Lisette need not have suffered either!’
‘You would not have acknowledged her as your daughter while your wife still lived,’ the Frenchwoman said scornfully.
‘I would have ensured that she wanted for nothing—’
‘You would not have acknowledged her!’
‘I will acknowledge her now. And gladly,’ Maystone assured her fervently. ‘If you should choose not to shoot me, Lisette will stay here in England with me, as my recognised daughter.’
‘And if I do not agree?’
‘I will of course listen to your arguments regarding the pros and cons of the situation—’
‘And then do just as you wish, as you always have!’
‘Am I to have no say in this matter?’ Lisette now rose impatiently to her feet, having heard enough from both these people who claimed to be her parents. ‘I am not a sweetmeat for the two of you to fight over. I am a person. With—with feelings of my own.’ Tears stung her eyes. ‘Three months ago I lived on a farm and believed the Duprées were my parents. I then learned that I was the illegitimate daughter of tavern owner Helene Rousseau. Now I am expected to accept that I am also the daughter of an English lord.’ She threw her hands up in disgust. ‘What if I should decide I do not wish to live with either of you? If—if I wish to establish my own household? Separate from either of you?’
Lord Maystone—her father—looked disconcerted. ‘It really is not the done thing for a single young lady to establish her own household—’
‘For an English young lady, perhaps,’ Lisette accepted stubbornly. ‘But I am not English.’
‘You could be, and in just a little time.’ Lord Maystone nodded. ‘I will hire a tutor to teach you to speak the language, and my daughter-in-law will, I am sure, give her advice on the correct gowns. In no time at all you will be an English young lady, and it will very soon be forgotten that you were ever French—’
‘Not by me!’ Lisette insisted exasperatedly. ‘I am French. I am proud to be French. And I will not deny my birthplace to suit English société.’
‘But my dear—’
‘Do not “my dear” me!’ Lisette all but stamped her foot in her increasing frustration with this situation. ‘A very short time ago I believed you would put me in chains and lock me away, simply because I am Helene Rousseau’s daughter—’
‘Are you responsible for telling her such a thing, Christian?’ Maystone frowned at him.