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“Elizabeth, even though you had several sisters, you told me they were all much older than you, correct?”
She nodded in reply.
“So I’m guessing you never had many arguments with people, did you?”
She shook her head.
“I told you to leave in the heat of anger. I did not mean those words,” he said softly, hoping she believed him. As much as she tempted him, he didn’t want to see her leave. He needed her. And he knew she needed him, too.
Elizabeth looked down at her sage gown. “I must apologize, too. I know this has been difficult for you and your family.”
“And I realize how important this family’s name is to you.”
Her face paled. “It is,” she whispered, still staring at her gown.
Will wondered at her quiet answer. Perhaps she’s just feeling a little out of sorts today because of his anger.
“Tell me about your father.”
“My father?”
“Yes, the previous duke. What type of man was he?”
“I cannot talk about this right now,” she mumbled. She rose quickly and started for the door.
Will beat her to the door and stood before it like a sentry on duty. “You said you would tell me about my history and the history of this family. I would like to know about your father.”
/> Her eyes filled with tears. “You know, don’t you?” She spun away from him and faced the fireplace. “You found it and now you know the truth.”
He approached her slowly as if he were trying to get close to a wounded animal. He gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “Elizabeth, I don’t have any clue what you are speaking of.”
“Of course you do.” She moved away from his grip and turned to face him. Tears rained down her cheeks. “How could you not know? Everyone knows, or at least suspects.”
He shook his head. “Suspects what?”
Her misery turned to anger. She grabbed his hand and pulled him with her out the room and down the hall toward the music room. Slamming the door behind them, she pointed to the portraits on the walls.
“Look at them,” she demanded.
Will did as she said and stared at the paintings on the wall. There were portraits of four women with blond hair and blue eyes, who all looked to be about sixteen when they had been painted. And then there was a portrait of Elizabeth at the same age. He smiled at the painting of her.
“What exactly am I supposed to see other than you and your sisters?”
She pointed to a large portrait over the fireplace and said, “That is my mother.”
Trying to maintain some patience, since this was apparently important to her, he nodded. “She was a very lovely woman.”
“And I look nothing like them,” she whispered. “Nothing.”
“Just because you have red hair and freckles doesn’t mean anything. You probably have another relative you look like.”
“No, I don’t. There is not one painting of anyone in any of the estates who has red hair. Just me! I am the only one.” She dropped to the sofa and placed her hands over her face.
He sat next to her and attempted to pull her into his arm. She pulled away and stood.
“Elizabeth, you cannot assume just because you have red hair that you’re not the duke’s daughter.”
“I don’t have to assume,” she mumbled. “I know I’m not his daughter.”
