The marquess attempted a wheezing, unintelligible protest, which William didn’t bother to decipher. Lethbridge may very well have designs on Madelina, as Cecelia suspected, but Lethbridge was going to jail. William would find enough evidence against him. Madelina would become William’s ward, and he would protect her. Nor would his goal of bettering the poorest parts of London suffer. Lanora would have all the funds they required to aid the poor. It was clear to him now that she would be an ally in the task.
William stared with loathing at the form lying in the bed. There was only one thing he required from the marquess. Not his fortune. Not his approval. Only an answer. He pulled the letters from his coat.
“What is the meaning of this?”
The marquess coughed. Blood flecked his lips. “They’re letters, boy.”
“One of them is from Lord Solworth to his daughter, the other from Mr. Darington to me. Why are they in the same hand?”
The marquess’s cackling laugh ended in another fit of coughing. He fell back, eyes closed.
William watched him breathe, jaw clenched. He folded the letters and put them away. Reaching out, he shook the old man by his boney shoulders. “I asked you a question.”
Dark eyes flickered open. Old yellowed teeth, blood tinged, grinned at him. “Shaking a dying man? That’s my boy.”
William resisted the urge to shake him harder. He pulled his hands away and dusted them on his pants, as if he’d touched something foul. “Answer me.”
“They are the same. There is no Darington. Solworth invented him.”
William took a half step back, stunned. Darington had exploits. Adventures. He was reported about in the paper and co-wrote learned articles with Lord Solworth. William and Darington had corresponded since William was fourteen. “How? Why?”
“His wife died. He wished to escape. Love makes a man weak.”
That part of the story William knew. “What has that to do with you, or me?”
The marquess drew in several wheezing breaths. “Solworth had no money. His father wouldn’t fund Egypt. He’d only begot the girl, after all. I needed an excuse for your absence, your ill manners.”
William stared at the gasping form on the bed. “You funded Solworth, not Darington. You paid for his first expedition in exchange for him inventing an alibi for my years with Mother.”
The marquess cackled again, gleeful. “You look up to him, and it’s a lie. Twelve years of lies. I prayed I would live to see the look on your face when you found out.”
The old man’s laughter turned into another coughing fit. He gasped for air. Blood red spittle ran down his chin. His face began to turn purple. His eyes flew wide. William stayed where he was, making no effort to help, though he didn’t know how one would. The marquess stilled. Silence fell. The body on the bed moved no more, would never stir again.
William closed his eyes for a long moment, then drew in a slow breath and strode from the room. He didn’t bother to close the door. He went downstairs, out of that place, and into his carriage. His coachman came to the window.
“Where to, my lord?”
“Back to Solworth House. No need to hurry.”
His words sounded far away. He must have looked a sight, for his coachman eyed him a long moment before he nodded and disappeared. The carriage dipped, then started forward.
William took out the letters, dimly seen in the interior of the carriage. A lie. Twelve years of lies.
No. He shook his head. He couldn’t believe that. The name, yes. The existence of his confidant, yes. Lies. The words, never. William was not so poor a judge of other men as that. Darington’s…that was, Solworth’s words were real. One need simply change out the name and the remainder was real.
And Lady Lanora was Darington’s daughter. Lanora was the free, kind, caring creature he’d grown up reading about. That’s why the letters never named her, why all attempts at finding Mr. Darington’s daughter had failed. It was Lanora. It had always been her.
Lightness filled him. He wasn’t giving up the dream of Darington’s daughter by falling in love with Lanora. He was realizing it. Was it any wonder he was more drawn to her every day? He’d already loved her for years.
The carriage came to a stop. William stuffed the letters back in his coat. He jumped down from the carriage, forgetting his stitches in his joy to see Lanora, to tell her all.
Before he could take the steps, the door flew open. Grace ran out. He grabbed her by the shoulders as she all but fell down the steps, steadying her.
“My lord, thank Heaven you’ve come,” Grace cried. “She’s gone off to that evil attorney. She said she must know the truth. I couldn’t stop her.”
