Page 82 of A Deal for the Duke’s Virgin

“I wanted to bring your son back,” she blurted out. “That was why I couldn’t tell anyone. I didn’t dare tell you. I knew you’d forbid me, and I didn’t want to give you false hope in any case.”

Christian felt as though his chest were being crushed.

“My son is dead, Laura. You know that. He and his mother have been dead for a long time.”

She closed her eyes. “I had reason to believe that they weren’t, but now I’m not sure. I investigated but discovered nothing. I don’t know either way. I failed you, Christian.”

Blood roared in his ears. “They’re dead, Laura.”

“I think Father lied,” she admitted.

A long silence stretched out between them, the air crisp and taut.

“What?” Christian choked out.

She dug into her pocket and took out an old, yellowed letter. “I found this in Father’s old room, hidden away. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that Sophie’s handwriting?”

Christian stared down at the letter until his vision blurred. It was Sophie’s handwriting, a painstaking scrawl of looping, rounded letters.

The letter was short, informing somebody that they had arrived safely and that all was well. There was an address at the bottom, an unfamiliar place that he had never heard of.

They.

“I could not find the place mentioned in the address. I found old maps and paintings in the Castwell Art Gallery; that was how I knew what sort of place I was looking for and roughly where it was. I kept my investigation secret.”

“So you did.”

“Look at the date,” Laura whispered.

Through blurred eyes, Christian glanced at the date carefully inscribed at the top of the letter. Sure enough, it was dated a week after the old Duke had told him that they were dead.

“I don’t understand,” he rasped.

“I think that Father wanted them cut off from you. He knew that you’d never forget them, but if he convinced you that they were dead, that would be that. You’d make no effort to be a part of your son’s life. You’d never want to see Sophie again. As for Sophie, I don’t understand why she agreed. But then, she was always a very practical woman.”

The silence hung in the air once more, heavy and taut.

“But you didn’t find them?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I thought that I could bring them back before the anniversary of their death. I thought it would be nice. It took a while and a good deal of searching before I found a lead. And when I got there, I found out that Sophie was dead.”

He flinched. “For real, this time?”

Laura nodded. “A fever, I was told. Several years ago. Her son disappeared at the same time, and nobody was sure whether he’d fallen to the same fever or some other fate. So, you see, I failed. I learned nothing, except that Father lied and they lived much longer than he said.”

Christian leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and dropped his face into his hands. “My son lived for years after I thought he was dead,” he whispered, choking up.

“I was only trying to help,” Laura stammered, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. “At least, you know that he had a few happy years. They didn’t die in such an awful accident. They were happy for a while. And when you have more children⁠—”

“I won’t.”

“But… but you’re marrying Thalia.”

He straightened up, dropping his hands to his lap. “It’s not that kind of marriage, Laura. I’m not that kind of man.”

She frowned. “You ought to give yourself a chance at a new life.”

“And you ought to mind your own business. I wish you’d never unearthed all of this, Laura.”