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Tears blurred her vision. “I checked this room twice and never found anything.”
“Is that it?”
She blinked away the tears and opened the diary. Inside on the first page was her mother’s name. “Mary Camille Kendal.”
She looked up at Will, whose face went pale. “What is wrong?”
“Camille?”
“Yes, only my father called her that. He thought Mary was too common a name for her.”
“Oh, dear God,” he mumbled.
Chapter 22
Will stared at the book, unable to move. Her mother’s name was Camille. The memory of the entry in the late duke’s journal came back to him. A wager. They had wagered over bedding a servant. Camille had been his wife, not his mistress. This was going to hurt Elizabeth deeply.
“What is wrong, Will?”
“How far did you get in your father’s journal?” he asked, hoping she hadn’t discovered the truth.
She shrugged. “Not far. I found it quite disturbing.”
“Elizabeth, you might not want to read your mother’s diary.”
Elizabeth frowned at him. “Of course I do. There might be mention of my real father in there.”
He took the book out of her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Darling, perhaps you might find it more disturbing than your father’s—I mean, the late duke’s journal. Maybe even, you should give up this idea of discovering your real father. The duke never disavowed you. In the eyes of the law, you are the duke’s daughter.”
She smiled gently at him and then caressed his cheek. “It is very kind of you to try to protect me from getting hurt. But I need to know.”
“Elizabeth, it might not be good news.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Will, my mother probably had an affair with another titled gentleman. I most certainly will not seek out the man and claim to be his daughter. I just want to know for my own benefit.”
“What if he’s not a gentleman?”
“What do you mean?” she asked. “Even if he was a non-titled gentleman, the man must be from a well respected family. There is no one else they would have socialized with.”
“But, what if the man is a servant, or a rogue?”
“Oh, please,” she said with a laugh. “My mother would never have done such a…”
“What it is?”
She reached for her father’s journal that rested on the nightstand. “Did you read this?”
“Only a few pages. Why?” Had she found the entry with the wager?
She opened the book and flipped the pages until she came to an entry for January 12. “Did you read this?”
“No, I don’t believe I did.”
She snatched it away before he could read the entire note. “I cannot let you see this. It’s terribly embarrassing.”
“It might not be as bad as some of the other entries,” he said quietly.
“It gets worse?” she asked in a high tone.
