Peter nodded, sensing there was more, dreading the telling of it with every fiber in his being.
“Years later…” Here she faltered, looked to her father. But that man had his eyes closed, weary sadness mingling with the subdued pain creasing his gaunt features. She took a deep breath, plowed on. “Years later, your father came to us, begging for help for his family. Despite my grandfather’s misgivings and distrust, my father encouraged him to open his heart, to not put the sins of the father on the son. And so he offered him a generous sum, a place to lay his head that night, and the promise of more help to come. It seems your father was not happy with what was given, however. Like his father before him, he, too, took what he could and disappeared before dawn.”
“When?” Peter demanded. “When did he do this?”
“Nearly twenty years ago.” She smiled sadly. “I know, because I was there and witnessed the entire thing. It destroyed my grandfather, bringing back all the old hurt. He fell ill after that, and never recovered.”
Twenty years ago.Afterhis father had abandoned them. The bastard had used them for personal gain, with no intention of helping them.
If he could strangle the man with his bare hands this second, he would, and gladly.
But the story wasn’t done. For didn’t he already know that his father returned to blackmail the duke?
Seeing the tight lines of pain marring Clara’s gentle face, however, he had no wish to learn what followed.
“You needn’t tell me the rest,” he said, his voice gruff in the heavy silence that permeated the room.
She gave him a small smile. “No, I need to say this. If we are to move past this, I need you to understand.”
There was a fire in her eyes, a determination he recognized all too well. With reluctance, he nodded.
She drew a deep breath. “When I was a young girl, I allowed my head to be turned by a young man who promised to marry me.” She chuckled darkly. “No, it was more than my head, for the rest of me turned right along with it. You are a man of the world; I think you understand what I’m implying.”
Grasping the seat beneath him, Peter gritted his teeth and nodded.
“Unfortunately, his promises were as insubstantial as mist. He abandoned me.” She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, her knuckles showing white. “I became quite ill as a result of it and was near death’s door when your father reappeared, in need of more funds. I don’t know how he learned of my…situation. Perhaps he coerced my maid, for she left soon after, never to return. All I know is he used his knowledge of my transgression to bribe money from my father.”
“Dear God,” Peter breathed.
She nodded. “His Grace thought you were in league with your father, and wouldn’t help you as he would have had not my idiocy put us in such a situation. When he learned from Lady Tesh the truth of the matter, he tried to track you down. But by then it was too late. You were gone.” She looked at him full in the face then. “Peter, it has sat heavy on his soul all these years. No act could be more regretted.”
It was an echo of what Lady Tesh had said to him when he’d first come to the Isle. He shook his head. “Why did no one tell me?”
“No one, not even Lady Tesh, knew of your father’s blackmail or my shame.”
Fury filled Peter, for what this woman had endured. “It’s not your shame,” he growled, “but the shame and dishonor of the man who used you, and my own father for using that shame against you.”
A ghost of a smile flitted over her face. “You’re kind.” She drew in a deep breath. “And so now you know. Though,” she continued, giving her father a mock stern glance, “you should have been told long ago.”
The duke gave her a smile full of love. As father and daughter murmured quietly with one another, Peter was aware of a gradual falling away of the old hurt. Though he had determined to shrug off the last of the shackles of his past days ago, it was only now that he was set free. He took a breath, for once his chest unburdened by the bands of hate and revenge that had so long held him prisoner. And suddenly the future looked bright, and full of a hope he’d dared not ever dream of before.
Over the next hour, he talked in quiet tones with Clara and the duke. The man had seemed to rally some, and listened with bright eyes as Peter talked of the future, his smiles showing more than words ever could of his gratitude that Danesford and all that he loved would be cared for. When it was time for his laudanum, and he fell into a peaceful slumber, Clara guided Peter from the room.
“Thank you,” she said as they walked side by side down the hall.
“I should be thanking you. You’ve entrusted me with a painful truth to bring better understanding of a horrible situation.” He looked down at her. “I had already offered him forgiveness. You didn’t need to, you know.”
“It was the least I could do.” She looked at him then. “I’m sorry, more than you know.”
She still held the burden of her mistake, and would not soon let it go. “It’s in the past,” he said now, his voice gentle, hoping it would give her some peace.
She nodded, seemingly no more convinced. As they reached the top of the grand staircase, however, she paused, her face brightening. “But I’ve forgotten. I have promised to show you something.” With that, she turned about and headed down the west wing. Puzzled, he followed.
They stepped into a long, open room. Portraits graced the walls at intervals, each one grander than the last. “This is the portrait gallery,” she explained as they walked its length. “These, Peter, are your ancestors.”
He gazed at the paintings as they passed them. Centuries of Ashfords stared back at him, and he found himself looking for something identifiable in their faces. It was then he saw it, the cool blue eyes of one, the stubborn chin of another, the pale hair of a third. He saw bits and pieces of himself in all of them. As before, when he’d first learned of Synne and her history, he felt the golden thread connecting him to these people, all dead and gone now. And he the last male of the line. Would he and Lenora keep it going? Would their portraits, and the portraits of their children, and their children’s children, grace these very walls as well?
His musings were short lived, however, as Clara stopped before a small glass cabinet. Small daggers encrusted with jewels, elaborate gilt crosses, small miniatures, all crowded the interior. But one item stood out from the others, though it was the plainest by far. The dull gold ring, roughly hewn, shouldn’t have drawn his attention. Yet he could not keep his eyes from it.
