Feeling a little silly, he dropped onto the nearest chair. She would laugh at him if she were here. What was she rambling on about? He added amusement to the list of emotions that now engulfed him. Merely reading her words unraveled the apathetic haze he’d been in for nearly a month now.
Your mother carried you before she married the Earl of Hawthorne. Your biological father is Lady Sheffield’s brother, Mr. Arthur Winters. There is a great deal of resemblance between the two of you. I observed it upon examining the portraits closely. But even more importantly, Lady Sheffield, who is indeed your aunt, has confirmed the fact.
What? Wait, what? He went back and read the words a second and then third time before continuing on to the next paragraph.
So you needn’t worry about having any children with the same afflictions as the late Lord Hawthorne, any more than any other man,presumably. Therefore, we can lie together freely, as man and wife. I do so look forward to this aspect of marriage!
Yours faithfully,
Natalie
Post Script: Please contact St. George’s on Hanover Square and schedule the wedding for the morning of the 23rdof October (of this year, of course) and arrange to have the banns read. Mama and I shall attend to the other details. You will, of course, speak with Papa about contracts when we are all in London for the Little Season.
He was being punished, for what, he knew not. He just knew he was being punished. And she would feel the sting of it as well. For they would say their vows before an empty church and then face a crowd of hecklers as they exited onto the street.
Throughout her life, she would suffer for her association with him. Didn’t she realize this information could only provoke more scandal?
What was he to do? When he’d made this promise, he’d not in a million years have believed she would lay claim to it. She abhorred the notion of a coerced betrothal! She’d admitted this to him more than once!
And yet, he had, in fact, made this promise. Was she really going to claim him for her husband this way? That did not sound at all like Natalie Spencer.
And then it dawned on him. Oh, Hell, she believed, still, that she could save him! He did not want her to save him! Hewishedto saveher!
And then, as the significance of her other news struck him, he bolted out of his chair.
William Castleton was not his father.
Finding himself at the liquor cabinet, Garrett poured himself a generous amount of scotch, sloshing some onto the floor in the process.
William Castleton is not my father.
What of the earldom? He would not accept the title underfalse pretense. But who else could claim it? He needed to notify the regent.
Did he even want it? Hell, he’d not wanted it to begin with, but now…after working with the tenants, making them promises…
In a fit of frustration, he swept the piles of paper covering his desk onto the floor.
Seizing the scotch again, he ignored his glass and drank directly from the bottle. As the alcohol warmed his insides, the thought reverberated once again in his head.
William Castleton is not my father.
This time the words were a balm to his soul.
But he could not rely upon an old woman’s memory. He would write a letter of his own. This one to the Earl of Ravensdale, and then later, he would write to his solicitors. If this new information voided his inheritance, then so be it. He was wealthy in his own right. But a part of him would be saddened. The estate was the only home he’d ever known. And he’d already launched extensive plans to rebuild it. The tenants were just now coming around to accept him. They were coming to trust his words and assurances. Where would they be without an earl to see to their prosperity?
And what of Natalie and this apparent betrothal she demanded? If he was not the earl, then what was he? Who was he?
Good God, what a Pandora’s box this was. Leave it to Natalie to throw it open with gleeful abandon.
Garrett threw his head back and closed his eyes. And then, unbidden, long-suppressed memories wedged their way into his racing thoughts. Memories of the childhood he’d suffered at the hands of the man he’d believed to be his father. As though they’d occurred only yesterday, the insults, the beatings, the long hours he’d been forced to spend memorizing scriptures, jolted him into the past. Garrett wonderedif the earl had suspected his son was fathered by another man.
He must have!
But who was this other man? He wished he’d listened more closely when Lady Sheffield had reminisced about him, the man she claimed to be his father. He wished he’d looked closer at the drawings.
But they were still in the trunk—here, at Maple Hall. He wanted to see them. Standing, he strode purposefully to the kitchen. Mrs. Hampden directed him to the attic, where the items now rested.
Taking the steps two at a time, his sense of urgency grew. He needed answers. Would examining the drawings give him any?
