Page 50 of Mail-Order Lady

Nathan reached into a coat pocket and pulled out a folded letter. “The seal is unbroken, so I’ve no idea what he said.” He took a step forward and held it out.

James descended two porch steps—far enough to take the paper—then came back to his place between Enoch and Thomas. He glanced at Enoch, maybe for permission to open it, or maybe to see what should be done next.

It didn’t feel right to rush through a decision about this man. But also, to tell him to come back in two hours—after they’d had a chance to study the missive and talk through the matter… Nathan would probably just linger in the woods while the time passed, and it would be better to have him here where they could keep an eye on him.

Having him here where they could see him while they discussed the details felt like the safest tactic.

“Read it,” Enoch growled.

James opened the paper and studied for a breath. “It looks like Father’s hand. His seal too.”

He spoke low, but Nathan might still be able to hear. And if he truly didn’t know the contents of the note—if the note actually was from their father—it might be better for Nathan not to hear it.

Robert motioned with his rifle toward the man. “Move back out in the yard. We’ll let you know when we’re ready to talk again.”

Nathan dipped his chin, but that hint of humor slipped into his eyes again. He stepped backward about fifteen paces, never turning away from them. “This far enough?” They’d been good sized strides, so he likely couldn’t hear if they kept their voices low.

Robert nodded.

James kept his voice low as he began reading the letter. “My dear sons. I write this letter with a full awareness of the weight it carries, and with no expectation that you will receive its contents without pain. That pain is mine to own. I ask only that you read to the end before you judge.”

Nathan had shifted a quarter turn away from them, giving them a semblance of privacy.

James continued reading. “Before I met your mother—before the years that gave me you five—I was married. Her name was Elspeth, and she was from a good family. The daughter of a viscount who owns land farther south. She was a good woman. A quiet woman with a kind and steady heart, and we were blessed with a son in our second year together. Nathan Richard Balfour.

“When Nathan was five, we intended to take a short holiday to the south of France. I was delayed at the final minute by an estate matter, so I sent Elspeth and our son ahead with staff. I would join them in less than a fortnight. I thought this plan best, to lessen their disappointment at my delay and allow them to enjoy the full holiday. Nathan was beside himself with excitement for the excursion. We all were.

“Three days later, a messenger came to my study. I remember that moment as though it were yesterday. He brought a letter from the owner of the fleet, the man I’d booked passage with. The note stated the ship had been boarded by pirates off the Brittany coast. All passengers and crew dead. No survivors.”

James paused. Part of Robert wanted to tell him to keep reading, faster. But the other part wanted to step away, so he didn’t have to hear the rest.

“I grieved my loss, and eventually remarried, as I knew it was my duty to produce an heir to survive me. I loved your mother, as you know. She knew of my former wife and son. We spoke of it once, early on, and we agreed together that the grief was buried, and that it would serve no purpose to carry it into the life we were building. Especially after William’s birth, and our new family grew so quickly.

“I should have told you. I see that plainly. I convinced myself that to speak of my loss would only bring pain where there was none, and that the estate was settled and your futures secured.”

“But now I am overjoyed to be able to introduce you to him. To your brother, Lord Nathan Balfour. I know you will receive him with the grace that has always distinguished you, each in your own way. I have no fear on that account.

“What I ask, beyond the receiving of him, is something more. Show him what it is to be a Balfour. Not just the title, but the character, the integrity, the loyalty, the willingness to work and sacrifice for something larger than oneself. I am proud of each of you.

“As I pen this letter, I am also sending you a telegram so you will have advanced notice of Nathan’s arrival. I know you will have many questions from that short message, and probably even more after reading these words. Parliament sits until August, and I will come to you when it rises. There is much we will say to one another in person that cannot be said in a letter.

“Until then, I remain, as ever, your loving father. Richard Balfour, Duke of Clarence.”

James lowered the letter as complete silence took over the porch.

Robert still had his hand on Enoch’s chest, so he lowered his arm.

Enoch hadn’t moved. Just stood the same way he had since Nathan handed James the letter. Braced. Every muscle in his body coiled. Now his jaw worked. His nostrils pulled a slow breath in and let it out.

Thomas hadn’t said a word. Not a single sound. That alone was enough to show the gravity of the situation.

At last, Enoch let out a breath thick enough to shed part of the tension wrapping his body. “I don’t know what to think.”

He took one hand off his rifle to reach for the letter, which James handed over. Enoch held it up, and finally Robert could see the writing.

That certainly looked like Father’s hand. The way every few letters didn’t connect. The way he started out in a careful script, but by the third sentence, the letters had become lower, more like a bumpy line, which made it harder to decipher the words. Even the seal matched Father’s style. The way he pressed the wax—heavier on the left than the right.

Yet, the letter referenced a telegram that Father would have sent months ago. Robert scanned through his mind for all the wires they’d received from England. Nothing mentioned a visitor. Sometimes telegrams went amiss, especially over such a distance.