“Sometimes lies are a kindness. Sometimes they are a necessity. In this case, they were both.”
“And Shelton? He sent me away knowing—”
“Shelton knew nothing. He cared for you like a son, which is why he was always seeking answers he should have left alone. He discovered old letters between your aunt and Edward Gresham, indicating that the man was your father. Perhaps he would have found out more if Mrs. Willoughby had not ordered him … killed.”
Fury sprang to William’s throat. Breathing hurt. Everything hurt. “You would have allowed me killed too. You knew she wanted me dead and you did nothing—”
“I had no choice.” Both hands framed her cheeks. She stared at some unknown object across the nursery, rocking back and forth in her chair as if she were lulling a child. “The day I was sent to fetch you … I swore upon your life and the holy Bible that I would never tell. Such a vow cannot be broken. Before Christ, I could not break it.”
“William Kensley died at birth.”
“God rest his soul.”
“Who am I?”
A small shrug, a tilt of her head. “I do not know.”
The words burrowed into him. As if he’d been gutted of his insides. As if everything he’d believed of himself no longer existed and he was but a hollow creature. A shell with no name, no heritage, no past, no future, no father who hated him and no mother he could stare at in a painting.
“You were but four days old when I arrived at the Greyfriar Street Workhouse in the village. I came at night so no one would see me. They brought you out wrapped naked in a shawl with bugs crawling in the threads and biting your poor skin.” Tears welled. “There were bruises too. So young and helpless, and already they were being unkind to you.”
“My parents.” The words raked past a dry throat. “What of them?”
“The matron knew very little. Only that a woman was found sleeping outside of the workhouse gates, fevered and with child, two months before you were born. No one seemed to remember her name. She died within hours of your birth.”
Mrs. Shaw flashed through his mind. Forsaken and abandoned, desperate, lying prostrate and starving with children she had not the means to provide for. He’d pitied her. He’d pitied the children.
He’d never dreamed they were a picture of himself.
Of his own mother.
“You had a chance all the other poor wretches in that place never had.” Miss Ettie rocked harder and faster, twisting the handkerchief in her lap. “We brought you home and fed you. But four days into life, and you were already fevered and malnourished. I stayed by your side and nursed you back to health myself. I made you well again. I loved you.” The rocking ceased. Miss Ettie glanced up at him with her chin quivering. “God forgive me if that was wrong, if keeping this secret has been wrong, but no matter what evil Mrs. Willoughby used you for, I could not unsee the way I found you in that workhouse.”
William stepped next to her. As she’d wanted, he crouched by the rocker and pulled her hand into both of his. His chest ached. “You did right.”
“I know you suffered here,” she cried. “I know Mrs. Willoughby was cruel to you and Horace was abusing. But surely those are small afflictions compared to what you might have endured—”
“Yes, yes.” He nodded, rubbed her hand to soothe her. “Yes, you did right. Do not cry.”
“I cannot help it.” She pulled his head against her. Her tears wet his hair. “My dear William … I am so sorry.”
He pulled away from her and stood. Loss settled through him. “I shall have my word with Horace, then depart in the morning.”
“Would to heaven you were the child of Constance Kensley. Would to heaven you could stay here and Rosenleigh could be yours. I only want to keep you.”
He kissed her cheek and fought the tears trying to surface. “You shall always have my heart.” He left the nursery and shut the door quietly behind him, then pushed his fingers through his hair.
He grappled for a plan, for a sense of direction, for anything that would stop the world from spinning around him.
But all he could grasp was the grief ripping through him.
Aunt had been right.
He was nothing after all.
CHAPTER 10
Whatever is the matter, Miss Gresham?”
