Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Tavish lift an eyebrow. “More? To the situation with Gray?”
Isla nodded. “Given everything . . . and what is yet to come with our divorce . . . you should know all.”
“All?”
She didn’t speak for a moment, rallying her courage.
“Remember how Gray withdrew from me after my father died? Began treating me like my father had?”
“Aye. Ye were right upset. The pressing duties of the dukedom made him distant, ye thought.”
“The dukedom had nothing to do with it, unfortunately.” She swallowed before continuing, “On his deathbed, my father informed Gray that I was not his daughter.”
Tavish hissed in a breath. “Pardon?!”
“Just that. My mother had refused to share my father’s bed after Matthias’s birth. She had borne him two sons, she said, both with deformities of the limbs. She refused to birth another. Eventually, she sought physical comfort elsewhere.”
“With whom?”
“I don’t know who my natural father might be. Gray may know, but he has never said. Obviously, he found the truth about our mother difficult to bear. I think he views her infidelity as the most craven betrayal, both of her marital vows and the dukedom. The horror that she would so cavalierly heap scandal on our heads. Gray’s reasons scarcely matter, I suppose. The moment he learned the truth of our mother and my birth, I became an unwelcome millstone around his neck. A physical manifestation of scandal and betrayal. That night, when Gray found you and me together . . . he marched me home and, with cutting words, informed me of my illegitimate status.”
Tavish’s chin lifted on a sharp jerk.
“You thought you were marrying a duke’s daughter, but in fact, you tied yourself to a cuckoo in the nest,” she continued, unable to stem her bitterness.
“Ye ken well that your parentage, noble or otherwise, was never of concern to me.”
She rallied, flattening her palms against her skirts. “Perhaps not. ButIcare. My father didn’t denounce me as illegitimate at birth, mostly to protect the family reputation, Gray said. But—” Here, she paused, shoring up her defenses. “—but my fatherdidleave a letter in Gray’s keeping. A declaration in his own hand that I am not his daughter. He gave it to Gray in case my brother ever wished to divest himself of any obligation toward me.”
“Oh, Isla,” Tavish breathed. “Gray told ye that he would publish the letter unless you gave me up?”
“Yes.”
“How could ye not have told me this?”
“I tried, Tavish! During that last conversation, but . . .” She fluttered a hand.
“I was too stubborn to listen.”
Isla nodded, blinking rapidly.
“I’m so sorry, Isla. I should have realized. I should have—”
“Enough. We could both drown in the regret of our decisions then. But, in hindsight, we both know our marriage was a catastrophic mistake.”
He let out a gust of air. His shoulder brushed against hers and unleashed a small riot in her midsection.
She shouldn’t be standing beside him in this narrow space.
“Are you truly going to marry Fletch?”
Right.
There was that, too.
“Of course. If he’ll have me. He will make a good husband.” The words came out almost as a reflex.
She had scarcely given Colonel Archer a second thought since leaving his side.
