“But if His Grace were not the son and heir to the old Duke, then why would he be so summoned?” Selina put in.
“A very good question. One which I cannot answer but may well act in your favor. You have the letter?”
Marcus raised his eyes to where Beveridge stood on the far side of the room. The butler came forward, stood between his master and Hamilton, and bent as Marcus whispered to him. Once he had received his orders, he whispered back.
“Your Grace will remember that the letter in question is addressed to Master Marcus Roy,” the butler replied in a hushed tone.
Marcus paused, having forgotten that basic fact. But there was no helping it. The lie could not be sustained. It would come out soon that he was not Arthur but Marcus. The proof that he needed to find was that Marcus Roy was part of the line of succession in Arthur’s absence. He looked into Beveridge’s eyes and nodded.
“Fetch it for me, old friend.”
He saw the tears in the old servant’s eyes, knew that he feared the worst.
The truth will finally be out and it might see me stripped of everything.
CHAPTER36
Selina watched Marcus endure the questioning that unpicked the story that he had built around himself. He endured it stoically, though Mr. Beveridge showed the trauma on his face that Selina believed that Marcus must be feeling. After being driven out of his home by a brutal father, to be offered reconciliation, only to arrive too late, and now for his birthright to be threatened. She wanted to strike Captain Hamilton on the nose just as she had done to her father. It seemed so unfair.
I do not believe there is a genuine claimant who feels his birthright has been taken away. This is someone acting for their own agenda. I can feel it. It may not be my father but there is someone behind all of this.
When Hamilton was satisfied with the information he had gathered, he took his leave, ever maddeningly polite and professional. Marcus slumped against a pillar of the Great Hall as the ancient doors swung shut on the Bow Street Runner.
“Your Grace?” Beveridge asked in a wavering voice.
“All will be well, Thomas,” Marcus said kindly, “the fight has not yet begun.”
Selina saw the strength and confidence pass from her husband to the butler who nodded, raising his chin, a new strength in his face. That was the behavior of a true Duke, a true leader of men. Marcus could give strength to those who relied upon him. He recognized their needs and his duty to them. But, he could not give himself strength by the same means. That was her responsibility, her duty.
I am the Duchess. Truly. It is my duty to give strength to my husband so that he may give it to his people. To our people. How my life has changed since that stormy night that I was brought to his door! How it has changed even from the first suggestion of marriage as nothing more than a transaction to protect me and to save Marcus’ honor.
“We will begin searching my father’s papers again. Anything, no matter how small that proves my identity and my lineage. I will write to Luke and Samuel in Penrith,” Marcus said.
“Of course, Your Grace. And I will begin with the earliest of my records.”
With Marcus’ consent, he hurried away. Selina put her arms around Marcus’ waist, holding him close and looking up into his pensive face.
“And what are your orders for me, husband?” she asked,
Marcus chuckled. “No task for a Duchess, I’m afraid,” he said, “the papers belonging to my father that I have not already examined are all stored in the attic. It is a dark, dusty job but I think we must attempt it before I am required to stand before the Regent. I never imagined that it would come to this. To think that once upon a time, my biggest worry was how to raise my reputation among the ton.”
“I have brought this upon you,” Selina said, burying her face in his chest.
“It was on its way long before Arthur brought you to Valebridge,” Marcus reassured her, “if you had not come here, then I would be facing this alone, which is not an attractive prospect. Will you help me search?”
“Of course,” Selina said.
Marcus led her through the ancient halls, rising on staircase after staircase. The higher they ascended, the smaller the halls became, as though the building was constricting around them. Selina noticed that the halls were becoming progressively dustier and with a greater air of disuse. The final floor was a succession of dark spaces beneath sloping roofs, requiring constant stooping beneath fissured, iron-hard beams. Mice scurried from the light of the lanterns that Marcus had picked up from a storeroom, using his coat sleeve to clean the glass. Dust formed a carpet on the bare wooden boards. They negotiated their way around wooden crates and rolled carpets. Stacked paintings and broken statues occupied one space with wooden steps leading up to another which was filled with old furniture. The air beneath the castle’s roof was warm. Selina had expected it to be drafty, damp, and cold. She supposed that the warm air from the lived-in rooms far below would rise and eventually make its way here to be trapped by the roof.
The accumulated bric-a-brac must also play a part in insulating this space. She thought that it would soon become uncomfortably warm if they worked for any length of time here. All sense of direction was gone by the time Marcus led them to a section in which the roof was higher than any other. A row of chests had been placed against one wall, each large enough for both Marcus and Selina to climb inside and lie, stretched out to their full height. Each was secured with a padlock that was gleaming and new, if dusty. Marcus reached into a pocket and produced a key.
“Every scrap of paper with my father’s handwriting on it that we haven’t yet looked through is contained here. Beveridge and I assembled this library ourselves in secret. No other, bar my father and possibly Arthur, have set eyes on these papers since my father died. They may be useless. But the answer may be hidden in them,” Marcus said.
“Pray that it is the latter,” Selina mused.
Marcus hesitated before unlocking the chest. He shook his head.
“Being up here brings back such memories. It happened when Beveridge and I brought these chests up here. Nothing specific, just a sense of having been here before, as a boy.”
