“Only once.”

On the heels of that came another horrifying possibility. “When?” he croaked.

His mother gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Ten days ago or so.”

Some of the tension slipped from him, and he gave thanks for that not-so-small reassurance.

“She didn’t wish to intrude, as she said you appeared to be very happy together.”

“How generous of her,” he muttered.

His mother dropped an elbow upon the breakfast table. “She said you were both completely oblivious to her and the whole world. She said a Roma carnival could have passed through, with vendors hawking their fares, and she didn’t think either of you would have noticed and—”

“Was there anything she did not say?” he asked brusquely.

Bloody troublesome younger sisters. He gave thanks that she’d not come to visit on that last day, when he’d had Lettie in his arms, stretched out on the blanket, with his hand between her legs, and—

His face hot, Anthony directed his gaze to his cup, attending the contents.

“She also remarked the other day that you’ve ceased visiting Hyde Park.”

“I’ve matters to see to for an upcoming vote in Parliament.” Which wasn’t untrue.

His mother snorted. “Anthony Charles William Bradford Grafton, I am your mother. Do you truly think I would believe for one moment that the sudden end to your morning rides has to do with parliamentary business?”

It was too much to hope she’d accept that blatant lie for the falsehood it was.

“Anthony,” his mother murmured, covering his spare hand with one of hers. “I know what transpired between you and Rhys all those years ago.”

Such was the bane of being a child to loving, caring parents. A child divulged all those secrets one didn’t with any other souls, and those same loving, caring parents then forever knew the hardest, worst moments of one’s life.

“Do you know what else I know, Anthony?”

It was futile to think he’d any hope of ending this exchange. He shook his head.

“I also know she is not responsible for what happened between you and him, and she’s certainly not of the same ilk as her mother.”

He bristled. “I know that.”

“Do you?” His mother gave him a long look. “Do you?”

“Of course I do,” he grumbled. “Lettie is good and kind and doesn’t give a fig for—” At his mother’s knowing smile, he stopped.

“If you feel that way about the lady, then why should you hold her to blame for her family’s sins?” she said in the same gentle way she’d done when imparting some lesson to him and his siblings.

“They aren’t her family’s sins. I was the one who wronged Rhys.”