“I have not wooed Miss Moreau,” Navan insisted. “I have brought her food. We have had several conversations. The woman is excessively frightened that Honfleur will not return for her.”
“Is everything well?” her voice called from somewhere below.
“We are simply putting things away,” Navan responded.
“Leave them!” she ordered. “It shall provide me with a task for tomorrow!”
By silent consent, he and Marksman placed a few of the items away and then made their way downstairs.
“Come sit, my lord, and permit me to tend to your cut. I have had…” she began and stopped. “I fear… Lord Beaufort, might you assist? I do not do well with… blood.”
“Do not worry, my dear. Marksman and I are accustomed to tending each other’s nicks and cuts,” Navan said, while being amazed at how she did not question anything he said. Her complete trust in him was both an honor and as frightening as the concept of Hell itself. “Iexplained how I came to call upon Miss Moreau,” he said to his brother, “but I am curious, Marksman, what brought you to this house this particular evening?”
“You promised to tell me why you came if I could…” she began.
“If you could outfence him?” Navan laughed freely. “Such is easy, my dear, for Marksman is well named. He is truly spectacular with a gun but is only passable with a blade.” Navan tied off the bandage about Marksman’s wrist.
“I should leave,” Marksman said as he rose.
“Please stay,” Miss Moreau pleaded. “I have enjoyed our talks previously, and Beaufort will not mind. Will you? Did you bring enough cakes for Lord Marksman, my lord?”
“Cakes?” Marksman began an accusation, but shrugged instead. “Swear on your parents’ graves, Beaufort, that you will repeat none of this to the others.”
“Assuredly,” Navan swore. Marksman was family after all.
Marksman appeared as if he were frightened by what he had come to do, and Navan knew sympathy. At length, Marksman began. “Now that the moment has arrived, I find myself searching for the words to ease the impact my story will have on your person.” Navan looked to Miss Moreau, but she appeared as bewildered by Marksman’s intentions as was Navan. “Very well. When I was a very young child, my father executed the unthinkable. He sold my mother to another man. In a public market.”
Miss Moreau frowned. “An earl would never sell his wife.” She looked to Navan. “Am I speaking the truth, sir?”
“You are, but Marksman’s father was not always an earl,” Navan explained. He leaned across the table to Marksman. It was all so clear, and Navan had never seen it until this moment. Their stories overlapped. “Are you confident regarding doing this, Marksman?” he asked, still coming to his own terms with the situation.
“I am,” Marksman said solemnly. “Duncan has declared it so.”
Navan reached a hand to Miss Moreau, which she appeared to accept with gladness. With wonderment, he told her, “I should leave, my dear. What Marksman has to say is very important, and you should have time to understand. You know how to signal for me, if you wish for my return.” He squeezed Marksman’s shoulder in solidarity. “I can warrant that Lord Marksman would protect every hair on your head.” He rose to execute his leave, but he paused to tell Marksman, “All your brothers will be quite envious, Alexander. Cherish this moment.”
Audrey was sorryto view Lord Beaufort’s exit. She felt more secure when he was about. “Should I continue?” Lord Marksman asked.
She nodded her agreement but was not confident her decision was the best option. Audrey again knew fright, not for her person, but the solemnity of Beaufort’s exit brought a tightening to her chest.
Lord Marksman cleared his throat. “What Beaufort shared regarding my father is true. If an English earl wishes a divorce, he could bring a very public case before Parliament or he could reside in Scotland for six months and ask for it there.
“Yet, my father, as I explained in general terms previously, was the fourth son of an earl—the fourth son of a man who had turned him out with only a small inheritance, thrusting my father into a world he had never known, abandoning him to a world for which he possessed no skills to survive or to provide for his family. What coins he earned often went to drink rather than to feed and house his wife and children.”
“Then how did you inherit?” she asked, only half believing his tale.
“In our previous conversations, I have hinted at the matter. Fortonight, however, just know my becoming Marksman was a very complicated twist of fate of which I will happily make an explanation, but I do not wish, at this time, to waver from the tale of my mother’s fate.
“Accompanying my mother on that fateful day was my younger sister. Her tears tore my heart to shreds, and I made a promise to someday discover the whereabouts of both my mother and my sister and bring them home.”
“I am grieved for your loss, my lord, but what has all this to do with me?” Audrey demanded.
“My father wasRobert Dutton, and my mother’s name wasMadelyn.” He emphasized each name.
What followed was a brief pause, in which her mind raced to understand what he wished to convey; yet, all she could consider was how her mother had also been calledMadelyn.
“My sister was calledAnnalise.” He hesitated before continuing, “I have come to learn her name has been changed toAudrey.”
She was on her feet immediately and stormed towards the door to catch the latch and to demand his removal. “It cannot be. You are speaking lies!”
