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Inside, a stack of perfumed letters rose all the way to the top. Thomas picked up the first one and unfolded it.
His mouth popped open at what he read.
When the first letter was concluded, he set it aside, and read the next one. And the next one. And the one after that, heart hammering in his chest. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t. How…?Why…?
The letters were all addressed to his mother, but they weren’t from his father. The penmanship was completely different, and they regularly referenced the Duke of Elvington, gone away to the Far East…this would have been during Father’s time abroad.
They also spoke of illicit, scandalous things. The sort of acts Thomas could never imagine within the same context as regal, properMother.
He scanned through them faster and faster as he went along.
In the very last letter, the author asked after ‘the baby,’ which at the time, had apparently been due right around Father’s return.
The baby…?Thomas thought, sitting back on his heels. His stomach sank as the answer came to him.
Gerard.
