“Against her will. That appears to be a recurrent theme in your family,” she remarked.
The sting of her words pierced him deeply. Yet he could not contest their truth.
“In time, my parents grew to love one another and found true happiness. They raised me as their own. Soon after, Marjorie and Hazel joined our family, yet my mother was unable to bear further children. Should no son and heir come about, the duke’s title would be lost on my father’s passing, reverting back to the crown to be bestowed on another. This notion distressed them both. They saw me as their true son and felt it only right that I inherit.”
“What if they had conceived a natural-born son?” she inquired, her gaze cast down to his shoes. He had often contemplated this very question, wishing he could pose it to his parents. A part of him recognized that if a true son had been born, the lie surrounding his Irish mother would never have emerged.
“I cannot say,” he responded quietly, “and I prefer not to dwell on it. What is done is done. They resolved to claim me as the heir, fabricating an Irish mother, assisted by your father, who was a good friend to mine. This was not an act of blackmail, but rather an act of friendship. Very few are privy to this information.”
“And who amongst them?” she pressed, brimming with curiosity.
“Only my parents’ generation—Alexander’s three sisters and their husbands, as well as Lydia’s older sister. They remember my arrival as a five-year-old. Of course, many others do, but the tale of the shameful first Irish Catholic wife became widely believed. In those days, the disdain for the Irish and Catholics ran deep. It was entirely plausible for Alexander to wish to conceal the truth of such a scandalous marriage. My mother’s younger sisters have no inkling, nor do any of my cousins, save Thomas. And none shall ever learn.”
She finally placed the wrapped book beside her. “Why did you not disclose the truth to me?”
“Because I feared you would believe I married you solely for the sake of the book.”
“Is that not so?” she retorted, her piercing gaze leaving no doubt about her sentiments.
“At first, yes. When my mother informed me that you were to wed Lord Markham, I understood that the book would inevitably fall into his hands, and I would be undone. She also cautioned me that I must protect you, for my father had promised.”
“Your father promised you would wed me?” she asked, her sharpness transformed into indignation.
“No, your father requested mine to look after you, should he find himself lacking,” he clarified. “Bear in mind, your father was considerably older than mine. In any case, I care for you, Charity. I do.”
The tension in the room thickened as they both grappled with the weight of truths long shrouded in secrecy.
* * *
Charity looked at him, anger still coursing through her veins. Her entire body felt as though it had remained in a state of perpetual shock since she had discovered the documents. The entire ride from Pembroke back to Hartford, she had pored over the book, read its contents again and again, yet she found herself returning—compulsively—to the part about Eammon’s family. He had lied to her. He had withheld the truth. He had kept from her the reason he had truly married her.
And now he claimed to care for her?
“I do not believe you. I do not believe that you care for me. I think you wanted me because you wanted the book—to protect yourself, for power. All you men who already possess more influence than anyone could fathom always you hunger for more.”
“That is not true,” he said, though his tongue faltered, and his voice seemed to admit there may be some truth in her words.
“Do you truly believe I married you to acquire the book? To seize more power?” he asked. “I am already a duke. One of the highest-ranking men in society. I have no need of a book to elevate me further. What heights remain?”
“I do not know,” she replied coolly. “Perhaps you had hoped it might catapult you into some loftier position at court.”
He scoffed, leaning back. “Do you think I could not gain a position at court should I desire one? I could be Lower Chancellor if I pleased. I have been offered a place on the Privy Council and declined. I have no desire to live among the intrigues of court. I am content where I stand. I would never use the contents of that book against anyone. The fact that you think so poorly of me only tells me you do not know me at all.”
“Perhaps I would not think so poorly of you had you not hidden this from me. Had you not lied. Had you not drawn me close one moment, only to push me away the next,” she snapped. “If you had ever truly let me see who you are...”
The truth was, though she returned again and again to this dark suspicion—that he had married her for the book and the power it promised—her heart did not truly believe it. She knew he did not need it. He had influence enough without it. Still, for many, it never was enough.
He sighed. “Charity, I did not desire the book for anything beyond what secrets it may contain about me. I do not even wish to read it. You may burn it, if you like, so long as you destroy anything that pertains to me along with it.”
“So it was just your secret you wanted to protect, then,” she said, shaking her head. “You married me for that. At least we have one truth between us.”
He sat down now, clasping his hands before him.
“It is not true that I married youonlyto protect my secret. There were other reasons. I truly did wish to keep you safe...”
“So that the inheritance was safe,” she interrupted.
He rubbed his brow. “At first, yes. But it was also a matter of honor. You see, what I said is true. Long ago, your father asked mine to ensure your well-being. If he were to pass first, he wanted my father to look after you.”
