Spencer stared at his friend. “I don’t understand what any of this has to do with me.”
“They had acopyof the banns,” Henry explained patiently. “Not the real thing. Because the real banns were filed here in London ten years ago. They sent me their copy when I raised the specter of legal action—”
“You didwhat?”
“Look, Spencer! Look at the damned banns!”
Dear God, Henrymustbe agitated. Spencer looked.
And then he blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again.
I certify that the banns of marriage between Spencer George Halifax of[illegible smudge]Mayfair and Winifred Wallace of 79 Hackney Road were duly published in the Church of Saint Mary le Bow for the first time on January 12th of 1811, for the second time on January 19th of…
He looked back up at Henry. “What on Earth…”
Henry scrubbed his hand through his hair, disordering it further. “I told you. Itoldyou the woman had some ulterior motive. That isyou,Spencer. She’s used your name. She’s used your address!”
Spencer George Halifax. “I’m certain there are plenty of men with George as their second name,” he protested. “For God’s sake, it’s the king’s name.”
“Are there any other Spencer George Halifaxes living at Number Twelve Mayfair?”
Spencer stared down at the handwritten page. “Are you certain that says twelve? I rather think it might read twenty. Or eight, if I tilt the page a bit…”
“It is undeniable,” Henry said flatly, “that for whatever reason, this woman has chosen to pass herself off as your wife.”
“I was eighteen in 1811, for Christ’s sake. I wasn’t getting married—I was getting drunk withyouat Cambridge.”
His parents had not yet died. He had not yet become the earl. He had still been just plain Spencer, wild and careless and young.
“I went to Bow Church,” Henry said, “but their records for that year were lost in a fire.”
“Good God.” If this Mrs. Halifax was some kind of confidence woman—not that he believed that she was—she was proving to be shockingly good at covering her tracks.
“I suggest you go down to Llanreithan and determine from where they’ve procured this copy of the banns. If this Mrs. Halifax claims to have the original, perhaps you can examine it more closely.”
“To what end?” Spencer asked. “I’m not going to bring the woman up on charges, for God’s sake. She has done nothing to harm me or mine.”
“You don’t understand.” Henry ran a hand through his hair again and looked down at the desk. “If the original records cannot be obtained to prove thatthisSpencer George Halifax was notyouSpencer George Halifax, then this semi-legible fair copy might be all that we have to go on.”
“Meaning…?”
“Meaning that if this Mrs. Halifax claims she is married to you—with these banns as evidence—you might not be able to contradict her.”
“I—what?”
“Spencer.” Henry’s dark eyes fixed on him with an expression he could not quite interpret. “In the eyes of the courts, you might actually be married to this woman.”
That information had been highly motivating. Spencer had packed, given the very thinnest of excuses to his sisters, Margo and Matilda, and set off for Wales the very next day.
Llanreithan was about as far from London as it was possible to be and still be on dry land—a full week’s travel by coach. He was not fond of long carriage journeys. Despite nearly a decade of forcing himself into the proper mold of the Earl of Warren, he still preferred to be out-of-doors as much as possible, his face to the sky and his feet in the dirt.
Henry had taken a first at Cambridge. Spencer had mostly clung to Henry’s coattails, and tried to do what he’d thought his father would have wanted him to do.
That memory was enough to force him into the carriage where he belonged, though he would rather have been on horseback, riding alongside. He would have preferred the frigid drizzle of autumn rain and the exhaustion of a long day’s ride, rather than the stiff-limbed discomfort of a day in repose. But he was the earl now, so he did what he was supposed to do.
By the time he’d arrived in Llanreithan, a minuscule village consisting of a single main thoroughfare, he’d mostly convinced himself that the entire thing was some kind of bizarre misunderstanding.
Spencer George Halifax. There had to be plenty of those.
