Page 51 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

“No, of course not.” She looked at him, a tiny frown forming between her eyes, then said, “Nathan, I—this morning—”

The clerk dropped a record book down on the counter in front of them, making them jump and sending up a puff of dust from its worn cover.

Verity whirled and reached eagerly for the book, pulling it closer. Nathan leaned in, excitement welling up in him. Now they would actually have proof that Malcolm Douglas was lying.

Verity flipped through the pages until she found the right date, then ran her finger down the lines. She stopped abruptly, breathing in a little gasp.

“What?” Alarmed, Nathan looked over her shoulder at the words above her fingertip: July 29, 1787—George Dunbridge m. Margaret Douglas.

“My God. He was telling the truth.” Nathan stared at the page, stunned. Turning, he walked out the door, moving automatically though he noticed little of the world around him. He felt as if he were in a fog, like nothing was real. Behind him, Verity hastily closed the record book, handed it back to the clerk, and followed Nathan.

Outside, he stopped and turned to Verity. “My entire life has been a lie.”

Verity said only, “Come, let’s get you home.” Linking her arm through Nathan’s, she steered him to her carriage.

Verity was uncharacteristically silent as they rode home. Nathan just stared out the window, flooded with thoughts and emotions and not really seeing anything they drove past. It wasn’t until they reached her house and Verity reached over him to open the door that he realized that Verity had been holding his hand between both of hers throughout the drive. His hand felt very empty when she let go.

Nathan walked with her into the house, and Verity went to the liquor cabinet in the parlor, saying, “If you aren’t in need of a glass of whiskey, I certainly am.”

“I need it. Believe me.” Nathan took the glass from her and downed it quickly.

“Another?” Verity asked, taking the glass and starting back to the decanter.

“No. I’m in enough of a fog as it is.” But his brain was working again now—even if he still felt strangely disconnected—and he was gazing into a heart-wrenching future. “It was all a lie—my whole life. Everything I’ve thought, everything I believed—none of it was true. I’m not my father’s only son and heir. Hell, I’m not even legitimate. The manor, the land—Good Lord, my very name—are not mine.”

“I’m sorry, Nathan. I should have been less optimistic, but I was certain Douglas was lying.”

Nathan nodded. “I knew in my head that this might be what we found out, that it was possible he was telling the truth. But deep down, I didn’t really believe it. I couldn’t believe that of my father. I was certain he was too good a man, too honest, to—how could he have done it?” Nathan’s stomach churned.

Verity came to him, wrapping her arms around him and leaning her head against his chest. Nathan clutched her to him, as if anchoring himself to the only thing in his world that seemed real at the moment. When he finally released her, he gave her a small crooked smile. “Perhaps I will have another whiskey after all.”

Verity poured him another drink, and they sat down. Nathan said, “I don’t understand how he could have married my mother, knowing he was already married. Making her his mistress, not his wife. Knowing any child she bore him would be a bastard. He and Mother always seemed so devoted to each other. How could he have lied to her that way?”

“People in love will do extraordinary things. Things opposite to their nature. Perhaps he wanted so much to marry your mother that he was willing to commit bigamy, but he felt he couldn’t tell her because she would have rejected him. Maybe he thought that no one would ever find out. That he could get away with it, and your mother would never know.”

“He certainly did a good job of that. At least for thirty-three years.” Nathan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know how I can tell her. I don’t know what to do about the estate. Or Malcolm.” He let out a short, bitter laugh. “Hell, I don’t know what I’m going to do about anything. Where we’re going to live. How we’re going to live.”

“You don’t have to do anything right now. Give yourself a little time.”

“You’re being very kind.”

“As opposed to my usual cruelty?” Verity teased lightly.

“No, of course not. I didn’t mean that—I just...” He sighed. “I know you must think I’m utterly feeble—nattering on about this when you had to overcome more horrible things in your life. You gave up your sister, your home, sacrificed your entire life, and I am whining about finding out my father was a bigamist.”

“It isn’t a contest, Nathan.” She leaned toward him. “And if you think I wasn’t complaining the entire time about my troubles, you are sadly mistaken. No one is calm and composed about having their world turned upside down. No one expects you to be a saint.”

“I’m far from that. I’m just a man.” Nathan stared into the amber liquid in his glass. “What’s appalling is I am realizing that I am a useless man. I’ve lived off an inheritance all my life. I’ve earned nothing and have no skills that are of any value to anyone. I have to pay for myself and my mother now, and I haven’t the slightest notion how.”

“You do have skills.”

“What? My talents lie in dancing well, carrying on a polite conversation, being charming to the old ladies, and agreeable enough to take the wallflowers out onto the dance floor. I’m a valued guest. That’s all.”

“That’s not nearly all you are, Nathan. You are also loyal and honorable and kind—and I can assure you that those are qualities not possessed by many people. You know how to make people feel at ease. You’re smart. You speak well. You’re confident.”

“I’m not entirely sure I have any reason to be the last.”

“Stop that.” Verity left her chair and to his surprise, she knelt in front of him, her hands on his knees, and gazed earnestly up into his eyes. “Do not pretend you have no value just because you aren’t named Dunbridge any longer. You’re still you, and you are all those things I just listed. You think that honor and trust are not valuable? How many people want an untrustworthy banker? Or bookkeeper? Or lawyer?”