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Later, after he’d let her doze, he returned to their room carrying a familiar chest, his mother’s book box.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“It got left in the nursery and George took it upon himself to throw the books around the room and climb inside.”
George liked hide and seek. Unfortunately there was always the danger he might lock himself inside. She wrapped a robe around herself and sorted the books into neat piles inside the box. As she held the lid open, she noticed it had a tear in its fabric lining. She spotted a piece of paper sticking out.
“Strange, what’s this?” She teased out the folded sheet and discovered not one but two thick parchments, old and stained in places; they had suffered with the damp. How long had they been in there?
She handed them to a curious Matthew. Before Dara came into possession of the books, the chest had been his mother’s, and also Marie’s.
He scanned the first document. “It’s my mother’s marriage record... Except the date is wrong.”
She rose to stand next to him. “Wrong?”
“Aye. Ten years before I was born. Can’t be right. But it’s signed by witnesses and the pastor.”
He examined the second. “It’s a letter from her, my ma.” He read it and by the time he had finished, the colour had left his usual warm cheeks.
“What?” she said, alarmed.
He dropped onto the edge of the bed, his eyes wide and starry. He motioned for her to sit next to him and he started to read, struggling occasionally with his emotions.
My dearest Matthew,
I write this while you sleep, my boy, and hope that when you read it, you will be a man and worldly, and forgiving. I have a confession to make. You see with this letter is a legal document, a record of my marriage witnessed and signed. This marriage took place long before you were born. I owe you an explanation and a reason for why I kept it secret.
For years, from when I was a young girl, I was betrothed to Lord Coleman, at the insistence of my noble father. As a consequence, it was appropriate for me to visit Willowby Hall and become familiar with my future husband. These meetings were formal and chaperoned. However, when I reached maturity, I sought my own company during these visits and rode out beyond the gardens to avoid my obligations, for I did not feel any warmth toward Lord Coleman. It was then I met your father. I fell deeply and passionately in love, and in a state of rapture we married in secret. The time I had with him was short, but he promised he would not give up on me.
I returned home and it was made abundantly clear I must marry Lord Coleman. The duke coveted his land and wealth, hoping to augment his own assets. I came close to telling my mother the truth but could not burden her with my betrayal. So, I married Lord Coleman. An illegal and wholly unnatural marriage. I performed my duties and fell pregnant with Henry. After that, Lord Coleman suffered terribly with the gout and would not touch me for the agony of it. So, I renewed my love affair with my true husband. When Lord Coleman passed away, I finally revealed my love, but not my marriage. We pretended to marry, when in fact we merely renewed our wedding vows, and it was then that I was shown the door by Henry’s grandmother, my mother-in-law.
The duke did his best to cover up my choice of husband by negotiating land from Henry’s grandmother on behalf of Henry, who was unaware of the reason why. We came to an agreement, my father and I, and I retired to Denzel farm to live out a quiet life. My mother, I think suspected more had happened, but had the good grace to not reveal her suspicions.
So, you now understand the significance of this earlier marriage, you must be reeling from the implication. You, my dear man, are still my legitimate heir, but Henry is illegitimate and should not have inherited the Coleman title. However, knowing that you are not malicious of heart, I would not expect you to say or do anything. For though I was not present for most of Henry’s childhood, I love him and could not bear the thought of him losing the one thing he values above all else, his good name. Therefore, I beg of you say nothing. Henry must not be punished for my deceit.
It is guilt that drives me to write this confession. For I fear I have not long to live and it gnaws at me that I have treated Henry so badly. Your father remains steadfast in his loyalty to me and decision to keep this secret. I leave him to decide where to hide this letter in the hope that one day you might unearth it.
With affection and love,
Your mother.
He laid the two sheets to one side. “He must never know. He doesn’t deserve to know this.” He spoke aghast and quietly.
Matthew was right. Henry might have been distant toward Dara when they first married, but since then, he had mellowed and relaxed into a comfortable partnership with her based on a friendly platonic relationship. No longer burdened by his secret, at least with his brother and wife, he remained a well-respected nobleman. “Who would be heir to the title if not Henry?”
“Some distant cousin. Somebody who wouldn’t understand why Henry’s wife lives with his brother while he ventures to another sunny country to lay in the arms of his forbidden lover.”
Dara picked up the letter. “And if Henry isn’t the heir, then neither can be George. You cherish our son, but I know you are settled on his inheritance being Willowby, not Denzel Manor.”
Who would inherit Matthew’s fine property and farm? The question remained unresolved.
Matthew stood, his face determined. He took her hands. “I’m decided. I shall make this child, the one to come, my heir. Then both will have the benefit of good fortune. What says you, lass?”
“I says aye,” she said, grinning.
He smiled and his stiff body was clearly soothed by the joint decision.
“And this?” She gestured to the letter and marriage document.
