Mr. Bolton shook his head, then came around his desk and gestured to the door. “If you will excuse me, I will go and make certain of that. I will need to fetch the key for the cabinet here. Might you wait for a few moments?”
David laced his fingers behind his head and let his head go back, staring up at the ceiling and letting out the breath that was presently twisting around inside him. How could this be? He had believed his uncle without question, had trusted that this talk of the codicil had been authentic. Could it be that Lord Broadford had been correct? Was there an absence of something real?
“Thank you for your patience, Lord Hampshire.” Mr. Bolton hurried back into the room, his fingers clasping a key. Without another word, he strode to the tall cabinet on the far wall of his office and fitted the key into the lock. David rose to his feet, his entire body stiff, and he held his breath, lungs burning. Every second was painful, stretching out in front of him as Mr. Bolton opened the cabinet and then began to search for the particular document. Each bundle of papers was within its own container, tied with ribbon, making David wonder how long it would take the fellow to find the required piece.
It did not take as long as David had expected. With a nod to himself, Mr. Bolton ran his fingers along one shelf and then, reaching up, took out a contained collection of papers.
“If a codicil was written, it would be here,” he stated, taking the sheaf of documents back to his desk and laying it out carefully. “As I have said, I do not recall anything being written, but mayhap my memory fails me.”
David moved towards the desk, coming around it to stand directly beside Mr. Bolton. It was not what was expected, but he did not care, unable to simply stand and wait. His palms were damp, and he could feel sweat beading at his temples. A strange,crawling sensation began to work its way up his spine as he let out a jagged breath, seeing Mr. Bolton’s slight shake of his head. Mr. Bolton picked up one piece of paper and then another, sliding one sheet aside and moving to the next with careful precision. The minutes dragged, and with another shake of his head, Mr. Bolton lifted his head and looked directly at David.
“It is not there.” He spread out his hands. “I have never heard of the codicil in question, Lord Hampshire. Your uncle did not supply me with one.”
The words were like sharp blows to David’s chest, making him reel back. He stared at Mr. Bolton, who was beginning now to set the papers back on top of the others, making certain that this codicil was not among them – but David needed no further proof.
“No codicil,” he whispered, the words tasting like freedom on his lips.
The noose that had been around his neck ever since his uncle had demanded this marriage from him slowly began to loosen, allowing him to breathe deeply for what felt like the first time in a long year. A dizzying sense of relief swept over him, warm but unwelcome at the very same time. Yes, he might be free of this requirement, free to pursue Nora just as he had always wanted, but at the very same time, there was the sharp, twisting pain of betrayal.
Setting one hand to his forehead, David looked down at the floor at his feet and brought the memory back to mind. His uncle had been determined that the wedding would take place, had emphasized the codicil and the way it was now secured to his will. There were to be consequences for Frederica if they did not marry, he had been told. At the time, he had thought his uncle cruel and callous, but now… now what was he to think? That he had been lied to, manipulated, and coerced by a man whom he had thought cared for him? Lord Cheltenham had meant for himto think it all to be true and to accept it without question? Why had he manipulated him so? Why do such a thing?
“I do hope I have not concerned you, Lord Hampshire. Might I ask what you were expecting?”
“I was expecting there to be a codicil,” David gritted out, heat creeping up his neck as a sense of anger and injustice settled in him. “One that I have believed to be true for over a year now, one which has altered the steps of my life and would have directed my future also.”
Mr. Bolton frowned. “I apologize for that, my lord. The Viscount may have had the intention of having a codicil written and placed beside the will, but mayhap his ill health prevented it.”
“That can be the only explanation,” David returned, his thoughts tangling and twisting together. “I – I shall take my leave now. Thank you for all of your assistance in both the matter of the codicil and of Mr. Rathbone.” Turning his steps towards the door, he looked back at Mr. Bolton, who was standing by the desk, the papers now in his hands, ready to be put away. “If you hear from Mr. Rathbone, I would appreciate it if you might have word sent to me at once. It is of the greatest importance that I speak with him.”
The man bowed. “But of course. Thank you, Lord Hampshire.”
Striding out of the office, David made his way directly back towards the carriage, his head feeling heavy and weighted with the sheer number of thoughts that sat within his mind. Yes, he was free now to step away from Frederica and towards Nora, but that did not mean that he was instantly free of trouble. Instead, it felt as if he were walking directly into an even greater mire than he had presently been in. Every word he had ever shared with his uncle on the matter of his marriage was now clawing at his legs, pulling him down.
Does Frederica know of this?
He paused, one hand on the carriage door as he stared down unseeingly, his stomach lurching.
Does she know that her father lied about the codicil? That he wants her to marry me for his own purposes?
He did not know where to go or what to do. To make his way directly to speak with Frederica would do no good, he reasoned, for his anger at present would only upset them both. To go to Nora would be a joy, yes, but they might be seen by another who would wonder and whisper about his connection to her when he was already engaged.
“Then I go to Lord Broadford and see if he can make sense of this all,” he muttered, climbing up into the carriage and sitting down heavily. “For I most certainly can not.”
Lord Broadford’sstudy was a room that suited serious conversation — its walls were lined with books that had been read rather than collected, and the fire was built up against the chill of the afternoon despite the lateness of the season. He looked up as David was shown in, took one look at his face, and rose without a word to pour brandy.
“Sit down before you fall down,” he said.
David sat. He took the glass and set it on the table beside him without drinking. He had not, he realised, eaten since the morning, but the thought of food was impossible.
“Tell me,” Lord Broadford said, settling into the chair opposite.
“There is no codicil.”
The words came out flat, stripped of preamble. David had not rehearsed them. He had walked into the room intending to beginsomewhere reasonable and had found, the moment he sat down, that he could not bear to lead up to it.
Broadford was very still for a moment.
“You went to Bolton.”
