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“Forgive me for intruding. And don’t blame Langley. He d
id his job flawlessly, insisting that you were not yet receiving any visitors.” The solicitor’s lips curved into a grin. “But I’ve been sharpening my timing. I waited until Langley took one of his infrequent breaks, then showed myself in. And evidently, my timing is better than I realized.” He strolled over, laying his portfolio on the desk. “I have a letter here that I believe will provide you with the peace you seek.”
“You’re not a visitor, Hollingsby. You’re a friend,” Pierce responded at once. “And you’re always welcome in our home.” His brows drew together. “A letter?”
Hollingsby extracted two envelopes, simultaneously inclining his head in Daphne’s direction. “I’d like to express my sympathy on your father’s untimely death.”
“Thank you, but it isn’t necessary.” Daphne crossed the room, pouring two glasses of brandy and handing them to Pierce and Hollingsby. “We all know what kind of man Father was. I wouldn’t wish so violent a death on anyone, but to feign mourning would be absurd. In truth, what I’m feeling is a combination of deep sadness and deep relief. Sadness at the ugly waste Father made of his life, and relief that Mama, and all the others who were subject to Father’s cruelty, are finally free.”
“You’re an astonishing woman,” Hollingsby replied admiringly. He stared into his drink, then raised his gaze to meet Daphne’s. “I’ll be blunt. What I have to show Pierce involves your father. If you’d prefer not to be present—”
“No.” Staunchly, Daphne went to her husband’s side. “I’ll stay.”
Waiting only to see Pierce’s nod of agreement, Hollingsby extended the first sealed envelope. “The late duke left specific instructions that I deliver this letter to you only upon and immediately following the Marquis of Tragmore’s death.”
With a start of surprise, Pierce set down his drink and accepted the envelope, tearing it open and smoothing out the handwritten sheets it contained. Then he sank down onto the settee, gesturing for Daphne to sit beside him. She complied, and together they read his fathers words.
My dear son Pierce:
You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to address you as such, to shout to the world that you—and your mother—are mine. But some realizations come too late, as it is only at the end of one’s life that one can truly assess what is important and what is trivial. Apologies are meaningless, for no words can recapture what has already been lost, nor mend pain too deeply inflicted to heal. Just know that I have suffered greatly by my own stupidity and weakness, for I denied myself a life with the woman I loved, as well as the chance to know the child we shared.
How proud I am that you have inherited your mother’s compassionate heart and strength of character, for your children will never know the agony of desertion I allowed you and Cara to bear.
Enough empty regrets. The fact that you’re reading this letter means that Tragmore is gone, and his threats can no longer harm us. In looking back, I realize what a fool I was to trust him. My only defense is that, in my colossal naiveté, I truly believed him to be a friend.
Let me explain my imprudent actions of three and twenty years ago, in the hopes that you will comprehend, if not understand.
The letter went on to reiterate the details Tragmore had flaunted before he’d died: that Markham had approached him out of a desperate need to visit the workhouse and under the guise of overseeing a friend’s child, that Tragmore had conjured up the idea of accompanying him in order to himself conduct illicit dealings with Barrings, and that, once Pierce had escaped the confines of the House of Perpetual Hope and Markham had wanted to extricate himself from the whole situation, Tragmore had refused to allow it.
Eagerly, Pierce turned the page, searching for the answers he so desperately craved.
Tragmore didn’t give a damn if I continued accompanying him to see Barrings or not. All he wanted was my ongoing payments for his initial assistance and my ensured silence about his illegal activities. He revealed to Barrings that I was considering backing out of our arrangement, embellishing on my notification by adding that I planned to report their unlawful transactions to the authorities—something I’d never threatened, nor even considered. Of course, Barrings panicked, as Tragmore knew he would. The two of them confronted me, announcing that, should I refuse to agree to their demands, Tragmore would go to the House of Lords and disclose the entire scheme, except that he would proclaim me its perpetrator and he and Barrings the shocked and innocent parties who had denounced my illegal dealings and now sought justice. Barrings would, of course, support Tragmore’s claim. With such weighted evidence, my family and my reputation would be destroyed.
It wasn’t worth the risk, Pierce. It was far easier to just pay Tragmore his cursed money and be done with it. And not only to protect my family name. You would also be in peril, should I refuse. You see, by now I understood the way Tragmore’s mind worked. He wouldn’t stop at condemning me before the House of Lords. If I refused to comply with his wishes, he’d dig into my past until he discovered my true reason for visiting the workhouse. And then, you’d be exposed to his blackmail—something I refused to permit. So I agreed to their terms, and started my private search for you all over again. Had I located you immediately, I assure you, you would not have spent those long years on the streets. I would have found a way to help you, no matter the cost. But by the time I unearthed your whereabouts, you were no longer a crafty pickpocket, but a shrewd young man, well on your way to success. The manner in which you assessed your investments, carefully and accurately selecting the lucrative ones and dismissing those that were unprofitable, reminded me a great deal of myself. You were a force to be reckoned with. You still are. Consequently, son, you didn’t need my help.
Nor did you need me.
ironic, isn’t it, that it is now I who need you?
At this point, Pierce raised his head, realization jolting through him like gunfire. “Hollingsby, the day you read me the codicil, I recall your saying my father had kept a perpetual, though discreet, eye on me after I’d left the workhouse and that he therefore knew of my keen mind and suitability to run his estates and businesses.”
Hollingsby nodded. “And he did, as you can see for yourself. I also told you he planned to approach you personally, but his illness thwarted him. Read on, and you’ll find that to be true, as well.”
Pierce lowered his head and resumed.
I can’t give you back the years, Pierce. Nor can I bring back your beautiful mother and beg her forgiveness for being the selfish, weak man who cast her aside. All I can give you is the knowledge that I was a heartless fool, and that I deserved neither Cara nor you by my side. Also know that I recognized these facts long ago, and that what kept me from riding to Wellingborough all this time and acknowledging you as mine was shame. Not shame for you, but shame for myself and for my cowardice. You see, I hadn’t the courage to face the hatred in your eyes when I told you who I was. And now, when I’m even willing to risk your enmity so that I might once stand before you and call you son, I fear it’s too late, for each day I grow weaker, less able to leave my bed. So heed my words, Pierce, lest I die before having the chance to say them aloud.
You’re an extraordinarily fine man, son. One who’s survived the depths of hell and flourished, both in spite of it and because of it. Never doubt your worthiness, for if any man can call himself noble, it is you. Be armed with that knowledge, for I’m proud that my blood flows through your veins. And now, in the event that you are seeing this letter before your two-year term as the Duke of Markham is complete, read my final note to you, left in Hollingsby’s capable hands. But remember, whether or not you choose to remain the Duke of Markham, you will always remain my rightful heir—an honor, indeed, not for you, but for me.
With great affection, Your father, Francis Ashford
For an endless moment Pierce stared down at the pages, his fingers trembling as he folded them.
“Pierce?” Daphne touched his face. “Are you all right?”
“I’ve lived
thirty years believing he didn’t care enough to acknowledge me,” Pierce replied in a choked voice. “Even after I’d heard the terms of the codicil, I assumed he’d only made those stipulations because he wasn’t alive to be humiliated by heralding his bastard son.”
