“Yes, he showed me this.” He clicked the lid with his thumbnail, and she gasped in shock as it flicked open.
“How could I not have found that in all these years?” she asked, peering at it, fascinated.
He shrugged. “It’s well made, and the seam is difficult to see. More to the point, there is something inside it. I haven’t looked—it is your ring, and you should be the one to see what it is.” He held the ring out on his palm.
She took it gingerly and, using her nail, extracted the tiny, folded slip of paper from the cavity. She unfolded it with visibly shaking fingers and Emrys had to restrain himself from seizing it from her and unfolding it himself, so anxious was he to see what was written on it.
She finally had it open and smoothed out. Written in a spidery hand were the words:
St. Michael’s, Monkton Combe, 7th January1790
Annis stared at the piece of paper her heart racing.
“This is Mama’s writing.” She traced it with her fingertip.What did Mama say about the ring when she gave it to me? “This is for you; he would have wanted you to have it.” Did shemean for me to find the piece of paper? Almost certainly, but she died before she could tell me it was there...
“What does it mean?” asked Emrys. “Do you have any idea?”
“I might,” she said cautiously. She licked her suddenly dry lips.Could it?“My birthday is on the 12th of August 1790,” she said, looking up at him to see if he made the same connection she did.
“Could this be the date and location of your parents’ marriage?”
“I don’t know. It might be.” She swallowed, tears stinging her eyes. She raised a hand to her mouth to try to suppress them.
He slid an arm round her waist and kissed her hair. “Don’t cry. This is good news, isn’t it?”
“I’ve been so accustomed to thinking I was—”
“Illegitimate.” His voice was calm, no judgement in it.
She nodded. “You knew? And you married me anyway?”
“Given the deliberate holes in the story you told me of your past, I guessed that may have been the case, but you didn’t confirm it, and I didn’t ask.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to know,” he said with a rueful expression. “But now it seems we may have been wrong.”
“I don’t know. I hardly dare to hope. But if it’s true, why didn’t Mama tell me?”
“You mean your aunt?”
“You guessed that, too?”
“It was sort of obvious,” he said with a wry smile.
“I lied to you,” she said hollowly.
“Not exactly. You thought she was your aunt for a long time, after all.”
“Yes, until she was dying and she told me the truth. Or part of it, but not the whole. I can’t fathom why not. Why would she let me think I was bastard-born?”
“We may never know the answer to that.” He rubbed her arm comfortingly, and she leaned against him, suddenly feeling worn out. It was such a relief to tell him the whole truth as she knew it.
“But we should be able to discover the identity of your sire with this.” He said holding up the precious slip of paper. “Go and pack, and we will leave at once. Unless you would rather wait until morning?”
“No. No let us go at once. But what of the children?”
“We will leave them with Mrs. Green, I think. Time is of the essence now that we have this much information. Are you equal to riding? It will be quicker than traveling by coach.”
