“I do not believe she is even aware the book exists. She understands I married her to protect her, but she does not comprehend that my primary motivation was to shield my own interests.”
“You have never told her?” his mother said, her voice rising slightly. “But why not?”
Eammon was taken aback by her incredulity. “Mother, how could I? How could I confess that I married her to conceal my shameful secret?”
“It is not a shameful secret,” his mother replied, her voice firm. “It is a necessary one. In any case, you have been married for weeks now. You ought to have told her. The poor girl must be so confused.”
“Confused? Yes, I now understand what you mean.”
“What do you mean by that?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Your Aunt Hannah visited a few days ago and mentioned that when she attended Louisa's ball, she spoke with your wife. Hannah told me that Charity believed she knew my secret, but it turned out that she only knew the version we shared with everyone. Hannah could not discern whether Charity was merely trying to protect my family.”
“I understand,” his mother said, looking thoughtful. “You must speak to her. You must confess your truth and ask for her help. Perhaps she?—”
“Mother,” Eammon said, exasperated, “why must my parents burden me with such a secret? If I talk to her now, she will despise me. And besides, I cannot speak with her, for she is not here.”
“She has left you?” his mother gasped.
“She has not left me, exactly,” he stammered. “She has left for some peace and quiet, but it’s because of my behavior.”
“You have been unkind to her,” his mother said, narrowing her eyes.
“Yes, I have,” Eammon admitted. “You see, we were beginning to bond. I took her and her horse, Ambrose, with me and Hector to the village, and she gave the children rides. We truly connected. Then it came to light that Lord Markham is still trying to prove our marriage a sham. I cursed her with every dreadful story I could think of. So, we resolved to attend Aunt Louise's ball together to prove our union is genuine.”
“Of course, that was the only logical course,” his mother said.
“But as we made our way to the ball, my doubts grew ever larger. I knew I had to tell her the truth, but I feared she would leave me, that she would hate me, that everything we had built would crumble. Because I do?—”
“You care for her,” his mother said softly. “You care for her immensely.”
“I do,” he confessed. “But I was so uncertain of what to do. When I introduced her to my aunts and uncles, they were all so kind. They welcomed her into the family, and I could not shake the feeling that everything was built on lies. I could not let that happen. So I tried to maintain my distance from her.”
“To protect her?” his mother asked sharply, crossing her arms in her lap. “Or protect yourself and your heart?”
“I suppose both,” Eammon admitted. “I care for her so deeply that the thought of losing her pains me. Though I have only known her for weeks, I feel such an attachment—so at ease when with her. But the lies troubled me.”
He buried his head in his hands, tugging at his hair in frustration. “At the ball, I attempted to steer clear of her, even though she was right; we were there to show everyone how happy we were. But I could not keep my distance. When I returned, I found her conversing with Lord Barron, Markham's cousin. I was consumed with jealousy. Seeing her with him ignited a protective urge in me. So I interrupted, drew her into my arms, and danced with her myself. I felt compelled to kiss her. It was everything I had dreamed of.”
“As a first kiss ought to be,” his mother asked, a twinkle in her eye.
Eammon raised his eyebrows. “Mother, I am nearly thirty years old. I have kissed other ladies before.”
She swallowed hard and looked out the window, as if she wished to avoid the topic.
“I meant for her,” she said gently. “If that is how you felt, she likely felt it too.”
“You ought to find her and speak with her. But tell me, why did you say she left? You still have not explained.”
“I attempted to keep my distance after the kiss, fearing that my feelings for her would interfere with what I must do. I must find the book. I’ve—” He hesitated, not wanting to admit he intended to destroy the book, uncertain how his mother might react. “She mentioned that she had divested some items from her father's estate to her mother's home. I grew angry because I doubted whether the book was among them. Our quarrel ensued. She left for her cousin's estate early the following morning. I wrote to her cousins in London to confirm, and they told me she had departed for Hartford.”
“Goodness gracious! You must go to her. You must talk to her. Is that why you’ve come to me? For advice?”
“No, mother. I came to see if you have ever actually seen the book. Does it truly exist? I am starting to doubt whether it is real or if Lord Pembroke’s only secret was the one he kept for my father.”
His mother shook her head. “No, my dear. The book exists. I have never seen it myself, but your father has. Years ago, after Lord Pembroke helped him secure your rightful seat as duke, Pembroke requested help from your father regarding a troublesome lord. Your father managed to obtain information that silenced the man. While there, your father glimpsed Pembroke placing evidence into a large leather binder. Pembroke allowed him to see inside, as they were close friends. But he forbade your father from ever speaking of it. Naturally, he told me; we shared everything.”
Eammon's lips formed a grim line. “So there is a book—or something associated with it. I simply do not know where it is. It was not amongst the items from his study nor in the library books. The only things I know Charity took were small volumes too minor to conceal anything within them.”
