He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “She told me that Pembroke’sBook of Confidenceswas not entirely fabricated. I had thought it all a gammon but it seems not. He indeed kept a book with secrets about the most powerful families in the ton, secrets he used to elicit certain advantages. My mother is convinced that he will bequeath the book to his daughter in her inheritance, in order to keep it in the family.”
“So, Lady Charity will inherit it? Is that why you proposed to her? You are so desperate to get this book? I thought you were quite capable of getting what you want without resorting to blackmail or whatever it is you intend to do with this book,” Thomas said, his tone making it clear he was not the least bit impressed with what he’d heard thus far.
“I have no desire to blackmail anyone and I am hurt you would suspect me of wanting to do such a thing. No. The reason I had to make sure Lady Charity weds me and nobody else is because the book contains a secret about my family. Our family,” he said, and closed his eyes as his head pounded once more.
“It seems making me the heir despite the circumstances of my birth was not only my parents’ doing. Lord Pembroke was the one who arranged it all. He made me legitimate,” he said, and dropped his voice as he spoke.
Thomas shot to his feet, swiftly shutting the door to the parlor, then crossing the room to close the second door leading to the hall.
“Pembroke knows that you are not Uncle Alexander’s natural son?” he asked when he returned, his voice low so it was hardly more than a whisper.
Eammon nodded, wretched now about having to talk about this secret his parents had burdened him with years ago.
To the world, Eammon was the natural-born son, and thus heir, of the Duke of Leith. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth. This secret was known to only his aunts and uncles. Not even his sisters knew that Eammon was not their brother by blood. Of his generation, only Thomas knew the truth and even he had never been told the details—or asked for them. All Thomas knew was that Eammon was illegitimate, and therefore had no right to the title he now bore.
“What does all of this mean? How is Pembroke involved?” Thomas asked.
Eammon inhaled deeply. “You recall the story, do you not? Of my parentage? You know I am not…”
“Of course. I am well aware you are not Uncle Alexander’s true son. I know your parents are John and Maebh Keane. Is that not why I have been looking into their deaths for so long? To put your mind at ease that they truly died in an accident and not because there was something more sinister involved?” Thomas asked.
Eammon nodded. “Yes, I always feared that their close connection to Alexander might have had something to do with their deaths. But perhaps you were right and it was only an accident, I do not know. But in any case, they were my parents. I am their son, I share no blood with you or the rest of the family,” he said, and as he did so, he realized that for the first time since he was nine years old, he’d spoken those words out loud. He wasn’t a Hayward. Not by blood. And yet, he felt a part of the family. Had always felt a part of them, for he had no other family.
“I am certain it was an accident, Eammon. But that does not matter now. What matters is how is Lord Pembroke involved in all of this? In this secret? And how could his Book of Confidences bring you down?”
Eammon gulped and shook his head. “As you know, when John and Maebh died, Alexander took me in as his ward. I was raised as such by him and Lydia and they became my parents. While they treated me as a son, it was known I was a ward, nothing more. I was treated as such. Or mistreated as such, one could say. It was well known. But then, when I was nine, it all changed…”
“Because Aunt Lydia could not have more children and had not been able to produce an heir, I do know that part.”
Eammon nodded. He still remembered the anguish his parents suffered over the years. Their daughters, Hazel and Marjorie, were the only children his mother had been able to bring into the world alive. All other pregnancies had ended in the loss of the child, or in a stillborn child. After the last pregnancy had almost cost Lydia her life, it had been clear there would be no further children. And no heir.
“Indeed,” Eammon murmured. “I recall how much they fretted, not just over not having more children but over what would become of the estate. You know my father was the first Duke of Leith, so there was no other relative for the title to pass to. Most of all, they were upset that I could not inherit it because I was not their natural son.”
“Of course they would be upset. They both adored you. The entire family did and does. You are one of us, there is no difference,” Thomas said with such conviction, Eammon knew he meant it. Still, that didn’t matter.
“That is when they decided to change the narrative when it came to my origin. They started telling people that I was in fact Alexander’s son. That he was married while he lived in exile in Ireland and that I was the offspring of that marriage. His natural born son and heir.”
“And your supposed mother died in childbirth, if I remember correctly,” Thomas said.
“He said that on his decision to return to England, he left me with John and Maebh Keane to raise as their own because he did not think it right to bring an Irish Catholic boy to England with the political situation as it was. By the time John and Maebh died, he felt he could not tell the truth about being my father and so decided to pretend I was a ward.”
“My head already hurts,” Thomas pointed out and rubbed his temples for emphasis. It was a convoluted tale his parents had spun, it was true. And perhaps it was the fact it was so very tangled that it had been believed. Otherwise, why would an English lord make up such a tale? Telling everyone he had wed an Irish Catholic and then hidden it on returning to England had made sense. It would not have been the first time an Englishman kept a dalliance with an Irish lady secret.
Likewise, having a child with such a lady would have been a scandal. Thus, hiding Eammon would not have been out of the realm of believability. And bringing him back into the fold when there was no other heir to be had was also something others among the aristocracy could believe. There was nothing more important, after all, than securing one’s line.
“My parents told this story time and again, how my father always hated that he had to lie about my parentage, how he wanted me to have what I deserved as his natural-born son and that he was tired of lying. In due course, people began to believe him. The idea that an English nobleman would hide a marriage to an Irish woman and their offspring made sense at the time,” he shrugged. “Of course, there have always been rumors, but my parents had the so-called proof.”
“Right, your father had a marriage license and a birth certificate showing you were his son,” Thomas said. “I’ve seen them.”
“Forgeries. Both of them.” He leaned forward. “This is where we come to your question about Lord Pembroke. You see, I always thought the forgeries were my father’s doing. That he knew someone who did it for him. But it was Lord Pembroke who arranged it all for him.”
“Goodness gracious,” Thomas gasped. “Of course. It makes sense. Your father and Lord Pembroke were close friends.
Eammon inclined his head. “Yes. They were. But I did not know someone outside of the family was involved. Suddenly, my mother’s panic made perfect sense. She was scared that whomever Lady Charity weds would be getting their hands on the Book of Confidences.”
“It seems peculiar that Lord Pembroke would keep evidence of your father’s dealings in his book when they were friends. Do you think he kept it to blackmail him?” Thomas asked the question that had bothered Eammon as well.
“Mother is convinced it is not so. She says Pembroke always kept record of everything he was involved in. She does not believe he has written out in detail who asked for the forgeries, but there is enough to put it together. Also, if he is anything like me, he would have stuck with the same people to help him. It would be easy enough to track down.”
