Charity said nothing. But she knew this to be true. Her father’s letters had suggested as much. He hadn’t stated it outright, but she had understood.
“At my father’s funeral,” he continued, “your father came to me and said something I did not then understand. He said he expected me to honor my father’s promise. I was not in the mind to truly understand what he meant, but I do now.”
“And how do you know what promise my father extracted from yours?” she asked.
“I overheard him,” Eammon said, surprising her. “I was but a boy of nine. I overheard their conversation about my becoming Duke of Leith one day and how your father had helped make it happen. I heard your father ask mine to protect you and any other siblings you might have—though I do not think your sister Eleanor had been born yet. In any case, my father promised. And I know that is the very vow your father spoke of. He wanted me to keep you safe, and I intend to do so. Everything I have done has been in pursuit of that.”
She stood then, crossing her arms as she walked to the window. Outside, darkness was setting in. She could see no further than the end of the drive.
“You protected me by kissing me at a ball and then telling me it meant nothing, when we both knew it did? You protected me by making me care for you and then pushing me away?”
He said nothing for a long moment. His jaw moved, back and forth, as though grinding through thought.
“It is true. The kiss meant more. It meant everything. It was the moment I realized you had become more important to me than I ever believed possible.”
She blinked. She had expected him to deny any feelings for her. She had not expected such an admission.
“The truth is, when I married you, I thought we could have an arrangement—perhaps become friends. Whatever suited us best. But as we grew closer, I cannot deny your importance in my life grew exponentially. My desire to protect you now extends far beyond that wretched book.”
His gaze settled on her. For a moment, neither spoke.
“The reason I behaved so abominably of late—pushing you away, commanding you about—was because I feared what I had done. I had kept something vital from you. I ought to have told you. About the book. The promise. My true origins. But I couldn’t.”
“Why not?” she asked softly. “Do you not trust me? I know we have not known each other long, but you must know my character. I am your wife. Any scandal that touches you shall fall on me as well.”
“No,” he said. “You could have used it to leave me. You could have sought an annulment. I did not want to lose you. The longer I knew you, the more I feared losing you. And the greater that fear grew, the less able I became to speak the truth. The day you came to me and said you’d uncovered the truth about my Irish mother, I felt almost relieved. I believed you had discovered everything. But you had only unearthed the falsehood—the fiction of a Catholic mother meant to distract. A mother who does not exist.”
“You could have corrected me then,” she said. “We did not know each other well yet.”
“I know. At first, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know you. And I knew how greatly you resented this marriage. I did not trust you then. But when I began to trust you—when I began to feel...”
He paused. She wondered if he meant to say he loved her.
She wasn’t certain what she hoped he meant.
“Once you were important to me, I couldn’t tell you. I feared it would cost me everything. The night of the ball at my aunt and uncle’s estate, I saw how they welcomed you, embraced you as one of their own. I could picture you in my life. As my wife, as mother of my children. But I knew the secret would lie between us always. And I could not bring myself to speak.”
“So, because you feared losing me, you pushed me away? Made me feel I was nothing?”
“I know,” he said. “I was wrong. I should have listened to Thomas. He told me from the beginning to tell you everything. So did my mother. But I am, at times, a proud fool. I thought I knew best. Most of the time, I do. But not this time.”
“Clearly,” she said, returning to her seat.
“For what it is worth, I was going to tell you. I went to Hartford seeking you because I knew it was time. I needed to ask about the book, too. I could not find it among your father’s things. And I feared that while it remained hidden, Markham would not rest. He will pursue it—and you.”
“You think he would harm me?”
“He is desperate. I may have led him to believe I already had the book in my possession.”
“You did?” she asked.
He nodded. “A few days past, he found me at the club. We had words. He accused me of what you accuse me of—that I married you for the book. He implied he might find you and tell you, or worse. He made it plain he would not stop.”
“He is in it,” she said. “As is his father. There are many damning entries about their family.”
“I had assumed as much. I hoped that if he believed I already had it, he might give up. But I cannot be certain. In any case, I needed to find you. To ask your help in finding the book. To finally tell you the truth. And to give up this fight. I thought to burn it. Destroy all of it. Mine, and everyone else's.”
She nodded. “I think that would be best.”
