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Chapter 10
William awoke the following morningfeeling a bit unsure. Today, he was going to have to speak openly about his past with Louisa.
On their way to the supper box, where Louisa’s parents, brother, the duke and dutchess, and Lady Elizabeth had, indeed, been awaiting their return—some more anxiously than others, he’d noted when he’d glanced at Louisa’s parents—he had promised her again that he would call upon her the following afternoon. They had agreed that they would spend the time in the garden of Ashworth House, weather permitting, and she could ask him any question she wished about him.
William would answer her questions as candidly as possible. He wasn’t sure, however, that their individual definitions of candid were in total accord, and he wouldn’t know until the matter was put to the test.
He had nearly completed his morning toilet when there was a knock at the door. He wiped the lather from his face and went to investigate.
“Lord Farleigh,” the rusty voice of Mrs. Gideon called after knocking again. “There’s a man here to see you. Says his name is Wilcox and he was sent here by a Mr. Heslop. He’s got a letter for you and refuses to leave until he’s delivered it personally to you.”
What could Heslop possibly want that would require personal delivery of this sort? “Thank you, Mrs. Gideon,” William said after unlocking and opening the door to thank her face-to-face. “Tell him I’ll join him presently.”
He pulled a shirt on over his head and tucked it into his pantaloons and then tugged on his boots, buttoning his waistcoat on his way down the stairs to the sitting room just off the main entrance. He doubted Wilcox, who was one of Heslop’s clerks, would care whether he was properly dressed or not.
Wilcox jumped to his feet the moment William entered the room. “Good morning, your lordship,” the man said, bowing deferentially to William before producing a sealed letter and handing it to him. “Apologies for the early hour, but it couldn’t be helped, I’m afraid. The matter is urgent, and Mr. Heslop was most insistent that you receive this and respond to it as soon as possible.”
William broke the seal on the missive and read it. He read it again, his head beginning to throb. He rubbed his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I should have suspected something like this,” he muttered to himself. “I assume you arrived in a hackney, Mr. Wilcox?”
“Yes, your lordship. It’s waiting outside.”
“I need but a few minutes to make myself more presentable, and then I shall be accompanying you back to Mr. Heslop’s office.”
“Mr. Heslop said to expect that would be the case.”
William returned to his room, taking the stairs two at a time. He tied his neckcloth into the quickest, most basic knot he could and grabbed his coat and hat. Thank goodness he’d finished shaving before Wilcox arrived.
Wilcox gave the driver directions and urged him to make haste. When they arrived at the solicitor’s office, Wilcox paid the driver while William rushed inside. He felt a wreck.
“I’ll let Mr. Heslop know you’ve arrived, your lordship,” his other clerk, Jamison, said, rising to his feet from behind his desk. The clerk stepped into the next office, and William could hear murmuring beyond the door, albeit he was unable to tell how many people besides Heslop were in the other room or what they were saying. He removed his hat and ran his hand over his hair. Always keep a cool head, boy. Keep your thoughts to yourself. Ironic that his father’s words were the ones that once again came to mind in a crisis since the infernal man had created all the crises William had been dealing with.
Fathers left their mark on their children, for good or for ill.
Heslop left his office and came forward to shake William’s hand. “Is it true?” William asked him, unable to even greet the man properly first.
“It appears so, yes,” Heslop replied. “This all comes as quite a shock, to be honest. There was nothing I could find in your father’s papers to indicate he’d . . . done this. But it’s a bit more complicated than even that, I’m afraid.”
“What do you mean?” William asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“It’s best you see for yourself.”
Heslop opened the door to his office and stood back so William could precede him inside.
William closed his eyes briefly, braced himself for what he would see, and then opened his eyes and entered the office.
There, seated facing Heslop’s desk, was a slender, brown-haired woman who appeared to be not many years older than William. She turned at the sound of the door.
And William instantly understood what the additional complications Heslop had mentioned were—for a little girl sat on her lap, and a young boy a few years older than the girl sat stiffly in the chair next to her.
“Lord Farleigh,” Heslop said. “Allow me to introduce the dowager Lady Farleigh and her two children, Peter and Daisy Barlow.”
“Except I never was Lady Farleigh, was I?” the woman said in an evenly modulated tone. “I was only ever Mrs. Barlow, and now I’m not even that.”
Heslop shot a somber look at William. “Miss Jane Purnell, then,” he said softly. “Miss Purnell, this is William Barlow, Junior, Viscount Farleigh. Your husband’s son by his first wife.”
William’s vile, accursed, selfish father—oh, there were not enough unsavory words in all the English language to describe the man—had married another woman, but the woman’s words added a dreadful layer of foreboding to Heslop’s letter.
William watched the boy and girl closely. The boy, Peter, sitting as stiffly as ever, glowered at William. He was brown-haired like his mother and looked to be nearly the age William had been when he’d been sent off to Eton. The little girl had large, dark eyes and curls the same yellow color as William’s own when he’d been a lad. On the little girl, it looked like spun gold. She was chewing her lower lip and watching William closely. He doubted she knew what was going on around her beyond sensing that it was serious.
