Dominic stilled. His solicitor.Of course. He had intended to meet with Mr. Wells that very morning, but his detour to the hospital—and everything that followed—had derailed the day entirely.
He pushed back his chair, rising. “Very well. I shall go speak with him.” He turned to Tristan, who looked up with cheeks puffed, stuffed with bread and cheese.
“Chew before you swallow. I’ll be back shortly,” Dominic said.
Tristan gave an enthusiastic nod, clearly more interested in the feast before him than anything else.
Dominic exited the dining room and made his way down the long corridor to his study. It was a warm, book-lined room tucked into the rear of the townhouse, with long windows overlooking the gardens. The fire had been stoked, casting flickering amber light across the dark mahogany furniture.
Standing near the hearth was Mr. Wells. He was a short, barrel-chested man with thinning gray hair, wire-rimmed spectacles, and a satchel slung over his shoulder.
“Mr. Wells,” Dominic greeted him as he entered. “I must apologize for missing our appointment. Something urgent came up this morning.”
The solicitor waved a dismissive hand. “No harm done, my lord. I suspected as much. I thought it best to bring the documents here directly.”
Dominic circled around to his desk and took his seat, gesturing for Wells to do the same. “That was very considerate of you.”
Wells lowered himself into the chair and set his satchel on the floor beside him. “I’ve brought the documents concerning the Sidmouth estate. Everything is in order. I just need your signature in a few places.”
“Very good,” Dominic said. “Let’s see it.”
Wells withdrew a sheaf of crisp, neatly folded documents and placed them on the desk. He opened them one by one, indicating the spots for Dominic to sign with a gloved finger. Dominic took up the quill beside the inkpot and began signing with practiced ease.
When the last page had been signed and the ink allowed to dry, Wells gathered the papers and began slipping them back into his satchel.
“Well done, my lord,” Wells praised. “You are now the proud owner of a profitable estate on the coast. Excellent land and healthy tenant yields. You’ve done quite well for yourself.”
“Let’s hope the numbers bear that out,” Dominic remarked.
Wells hesitated as he clasped the satchel shut. His brows furrowed slightly. “There is another matter, if I may… something of a more delicate nature. It is not my place, but I feel compelled to say something.”
Dominic looked up, curiosity piqued. “Go on.”
The solicitor resumed his seat slowly, folding his hands atop his knee. “I’ve been continuing to send a stipend, as per your wartime instructions, but I must inform you that your wife appears unaware that you are still alive.”
Dominic stared at him in stunned silence. For a moment, the room seemed to tilt. “My… what?” he asked.
“Your wife,” Mr. Wells repeated calmly, though his eyes flicked to Dominic’s clenched jaw.
Dominic rose from his chair so abruptly it scraped back with a screech against the floorboards. “I do not have a wife,” he growled.
Wells remained seated, unflinching. “You do, my lord. The marriage is legal and was witnessed. I even verified the marriage license myself. It took place on the Continent while you were stationed abroad. The bride was a Dorothea Haverleigh.”
Dominic’s mind was reeling. The name struck a distant chord—Dorothea Haverleigh, the dutiful daughter of his commanding officer. He remembered her sitting by his bedside after he was wounded, bringing him broth, reading from her books in a soft voice. But marriage? He had no memory of proposing, of exchanging vows—nothing.
“That cannot be right,” he said, his voice hollow with disbelief. “I remember her… but I do not remember marrying her. There must be a mistake.”
Wells looked at him with what could only be construed as pity. “I wish it were so, my lord. But the marriage is legally recorded, and there were several credible witnesses. I’m afraid it is not in dispute.”
Dominic’s thoughts spun in chaotic circles. He had survived war, come home with scars both visible and not. So how could he have forgotten something as monumental as marrying someone? Had the fever clouded his memory? Or was there something more sinister at play?
“And you did not think to inform her that I had returned?” he demanded.
“I did not believe it was my place, nor did I tell her about your elevation in status,” Wells replied. “I assumed you would make that decision yourself once you had… settled. Furthermore, her brother is rather protective of her and has refused to allow me to meet with her.”
Dominic turned away, pacing towards the fireplace. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “Can the marriage be annulled?”
Wells shook his head. “As you are no doubt aware, annulments require approval from Parliament and are rarely granted, even under compelling circumstances. And if the union was consummated?—”
