“Oh, little star,” her mother murmured, caressing her cheek. “Why did you think I should have called you by that name since you were just a babe, toddling about? Because you were and are this great light . . . and deserving to be held high above and appreciated, and in a household as wild and unruly and big as ours, I knew we could not give you the attention you deserved, and so we sent you away.” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “It was the hardest decision I’d ever made, and now I have you home, and I don’t even have you for your London Seas—”

Myrtle tossed her arms around her mother before she could complete the rest of that word. “I didn’t know,” she whispered against her mother’s shoulder.

Her mind spun. And all these years, she’d believed it had been what her family had seen as her failings that had gotten her sent off, never imagining, never believing, that it had been an act of . . . love.

“I did the best I could to see you happy, and clearly, that you are not confident in my love, I have failed miserably in that regard,” her mother said, drawing back slightly and rubbing Myrtle’s shoulders. “But as parents, we do the best we can, and sometimes when we have big families, well . . . You will see when you have a half dozen babes of your own. Now, come . . . We have your duke waiting for you.”

Her duke.

Val.

He was so much more than his title. He was all her heart and the other half of her soul.

“I know that smile,” her mother murmured. Another one of those wistful smiles danced on the edges of her lips. “Even as I will lament never having had the time spent with you for a London Season, I will be content in knowing you found the only thing I’d hoped for you—love.” She looped her arm through Myrtle’s. “Now, come along.”

“I love you, Mama,” Myrtle said when they reached the front door.

Tears welled in the countess’s eyes. “And I love you, little star.” With that, she pressed the handle and led them from the rooms. As they walked, her mother sighed. “There’s still Cassia for another Season, and there will be Fleur, and though it will not be the same as having the time with you . . .”

Myrtle smiled. “Thank you, Mama.”

When they arrived at the end of the hall leading to the conservatory, her mother brought them to a stop. “Are you ready?”

As a young girl and then even as a young lady at Mrs. Belden’s contemplating her future, she’d expected she’d feel some sadness . . . at leaving her family. Only to have failed to realize then that there’d be no sense of leaving; rather, it felt like she was . . . coming home.