Her tone told him that she already knew the truth, but he still did not know how much she had uncovered.
“How did you come by this drawing, Arabella? How do you know about Helen?”
Arabella wet her lips, a sign of her nervousness, and he saw her hand clench the fabric of her gown.
“Last night, after you left the ball, I followed you. I followed you to Islington, and this morning, Emma and I called on your cousin.”
“How dare you!” Harry shouted, his voice tinged with panic. “I did not give you permission to follow me! I did not give you leave to invade my privacy! Arabella, how could you do this?”
His anger was a mask for the fear that churned within him. But Arabella’s defiance was more than he had anticipated.
“I had to!” she shot back, her voice strong and unyielding. “I knew you were keeping secrets from me! I knew you had lied! I asked you about your aunt Annabelle, and you told me she and her child had perished—only for me to discover that your cousin is very much alive, hidden away in some wretched house in a poor neighborhood, kept like a prisoner. How could you lie to me like this?”
Her words were like a slap to the face. Of course, he had lied. He had lied for so long that he scarcely knew where the truth began.
“Do not shout at me, Harry. I will not tolerate it,” she continued, her voice rising with each word. “My father has subjected me to such treatment for years, and you assured me that as the Duchess of Sheffield, I would no longer have to endure such behavior. I willnot—not from my father, not from my brother, and certainly not from my husband.”
She stomped her foot, her resolve unwavering.
“I beg your pardon, truly I do,” Harry said, his tone softening. “I should not have shouted. It is my temper—I struggle to keep it in check. But please, Arabella, you must believe me. Everything I have done, I have done for your safety and Helen’s.”
“My safety and Helen’s? I do not understand,” she implored, her voice trembling with emotion. “From whom are we in danger? Why do you keep these secrets? Harry, I am your wife. I deserve the truth. Please, trust me.”
She closed the distance between them, taking his hand in hers, her touch warm and reassuring. “You can trust me, Harry. You do not need to keep these secrets from me.”
He looked into her eyes and knew that she was right. He had to lift the veil of secrecy, though he feared what the revelation might bring. Could he truly bear to expose the darkness that had shadowed his life? Yet, he knew they could not continue as they had been. If they were to have any hope of a future together, the truth had to be laid bare.
“Arabella,” he began, his voice heavy with resignation. “I do not think you want to hear the truth. You may believe you do, but once you hear it, everything will change. You may look at me differently. You may no longer wish to be my wife.”
Her grip on his hand tightened. “I do not think that will happen, Harry. I have heard how you visit Helen whenever you can, how you have protected her despite your uncle’s wishes. Helen admires you, and so does Mrs. Hollingsworth. I cannot imagine what secret could be so terrible as to overshadow that. My affection for you, Harry, is clouded only by the secrets between us. Lift this veil of uncertainty, I beg you.”
Harry’s shoulders slumped, and he let out a long, weary sigh. She was right—there could be no more secrets. Their marriage could not survive under the weight of deception. Whatever the consequences, he had to tell her the truth.
CHAPTER 32
Arabella followed him into the study, feeling the weight of his unease. He seemed genuinely scared to speak to her, and the discovery of his cousin only seemed to deepen the mystery. She dreaded what she would find out as he closed the door behind them.
He turned and sat on the armchair by the fireplace, indicating the chair beside him. Arabella lowered herself into the seat, her hands gripping the armrests. The anticipation weighed heavily on her.
“Very well,” he started. “Do you want to know the truth? I will tell it to you, and whatever happens, happens. Yes, it is true, Helen is my cousin. She is the daughter of my uncle Richard and my aunt Annabelle. She is a child, and the drawing you saw—although I did not make it—depicts her and my aunt.”
“Why did you tell me that you made it?” Arabella asked, though she could already guess the answer.
“Because I needed to hide it from you,” he said. “From the world. You see, my uncle is embarrassed of her. Having a disabled child was one of his worst nightmares. On top of that, she is a girl.” He shrugged. “I suppose it is best if I tell you everything from the beginning.”
Arabella listened intently, though she feared the complexity of the situation might be overwhelming.
“After my parents drowned in Ireland, I was left in the care of my aunt and uncle. Uncle Richard was never what you would call a warm or loving man, but he had always wanted prestige. He wanted to be admired, valued, to be a guardian of the Dukedom of Sheffield and its heir—and that is what he got. He was already knighted by then and had risen in esteem, but never more so than when he was in charge of the Sheffield holdings.”
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and Arabella could sense how difficult this was for him to recount.
“At first, when my aunt was still alive, life was not so bad. I missed my parents terribly, but she was kind and sweet and loving. She had wished for a child for a very long time, and having me brought her much joy. I had been living with them for four years when she finally conceived and Helen was born.
“I adored her. Everybody did. Even my uncle. She was a perfect, little angel. Even when she was still a toddler, my uncle made plans for whom she should marry and what sort of alliances could be made with her as his bargaining chip.”
“That is terrible,” Arabella gasped. “He sounds just like my father.”
“He is like your father in many ways, I am afraid. That is one of the reasons why I wanted to marry you—to get you away from that. I know what life is like with a man like your father. His temperament is so similar to my uncle’s, only I was fortunate that my uncle was not a drunkard on top of everything else.”
