Chapter 24

William was entirely taken aback, even as he had feared what Anne's father would do with the revelation of their shared connection to the Duke of Lancaster. He had been a fool to boast in such things, and now he was paying the price. He stared at Anne, his lips trembling, knowing he had lost her.

"I'm sorry, Anne. I don't know what else to say. I didn't mean to tell those lies. I got caught up in the possibility of your loving me, as I love you," he said.

For a moment, her anger seemed to falter, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

"I…it might've been so," she said, as her maid took her gently by the arm.

"Come, my Lady. You've upset yourself enough," she said, and Anne allowed herself to be led away.

William watched her go, before sinking into his chair and burying his head in his hands.

"What have I done?" he exclaimed.

"Don't blame yourself, William," Digby said, and William looked up at him angrily.

"Then who am I to blame? It was you who encouraged me – gambling, dressing up, lying about imports and exports," William exclaimed, his anger inflamed at the thought of what Digby had persuaded him to do.

But his friend shook his head.

"Those things would surely have passed by, William. You had good prospects. But it was your godfather who spoiled them for you. What a letter to write. Does he really hate you so much as to dash your hopes and dreams on the rock of truth?" he asked.

The rest of the taproom had returned to their drinks after the dramatic spectacle, and William now stared at Digby in disbelief. He had always believed his godfather to have his best interests at heart, and yet the words of the letter suggested otherwise.

"But I… I don't understand," he said, as Digby shook his head.

"He's betrayed you, William. He didn't need to say those things, did he? He's always been the same – only interested in himself. Look what he's done to you, William. Don't you feel angry at him?" Digby asked.

William was confused. He did feel angry at the duke for telling Anne's father those things, even as he knew they were the truth. His godfather had only written the facts as to William's position in life. But whilst it had been William who had told the lies, he now blamed the duke for revealing them.

"I…but, what do you mean – he's always been the same?" William asked, and Digby shook his head, pushing William's tankard of ale towards him.

"I must admit, William, I've not been entirely honest with you. I knew Professor Murray, of course. But I knew your godfather, too, and his brother," Digby replied.

William stared at him in astonishment. They had known one another for weeks, and yet Digby had said nothing of his connection to the duke. But as for the duke's brother, William knew little about him. He had died in Corsica – just like his own father – and his only legacy was a portrait of him in the dining room at Burnley Abbey.

"You knew them? But why didn't you say anything?" William asked.

Digby shrugged.

"I didn't see the point at first. But it means something now, doesn't it? I'd hoped your godfather might be different now. But he isn't, is he? He's still only interested in himself. He betrays others, William, and he's betrayed you, too," he said, and William banged his fist down angrily on the table.

"No…he's not like that," he exclaimed, even as the evidence suggested the contrary.

"Oh, but he is, William. He's just like that," Digby replied, shaking his head.

William did not know what to think. He had trusted his Godfather, just as Anne had surely trusted him, too. He felt ashamed at having lied, but angry to have had that lie revealed – and for what? Was his godfather angry with him for what he had done? William still had the letter of recommendation in his pocket, and now he pulled it out, unfolding it to read his godfather's words of introduction.

"A fine young man, whom I believe can achieve much," he read, shaking his head, as Digby snatched it from him.

"More lies," he exclaimed, and his eyes flashed with anger.

William did not understand why Digby should be so angry with his godfather, and he wondered what the connection between them really was.

"How did you know him? Why can you be so sure about him?" William asked, for he still could not entirely believe his godfather had wilfully betrayed him.

"I was the land agent for the Duke's father. At least, my father was such, and I learned from him. But your godfather didn't want me there any longer, not after…well, there was a secret. A cover up," Digby said, leaning forward and fixing William with an intense gaze.

William felt uncomfortable. His mother had always told him to avoid discussions of scandal and secret.

"Don't listen to people who tell tall tales, William," she had often said, even as Digby continued to hold his gaze.

"I'm not interested," William said, for he preferred to put the whole sorry matter behind him.

He had been a fool to think his lies would not be found out, and so caught up in his growing feelings for Anne as to ignore the possibility of what would happen when they were. His godfather had merely brought the blow to bear earlier, and William knew there would be consequences for the way in which he had used his godfather's good name to secure invitations and make himself appear the gentleman he was not.

"Your godfather betrayed you, William. He's taken away your chance of happiness," Digby persisted.

"There'll be others," William replied, for he was not entirely certain Digby was not without fault, either, in this matter.

"But I suppose it's nothing new, is it? The Duke of Lancaster taking away your happiness…" Digby continued, a slight smile coming over his face.

William looked at him in surprise. His godfather had always been kind to him, and despite his initial anger at learning what had been written about him, William knew he owed the duke every good fortune he had.

"He's always been good to me. I shouldn't have used his goodness to my advantage. I shouldn't have lied or made myself out to be something I'm not. I gambled, I spent money freely, I used his name to impress a woman I had no right to impress," William said, feeling terribly ashamed of himself.

But Digby shook his head.

"That's what he wants you to think, I'm sure. He's always taken control of your life, William," he said.

"Come now, Digby – you know nothing about my life," William said, but Digby shook his head.

"It wasn't my place to tell you, William. But given what the Duke's done to you – betraying his own nephew…" he said.

It took a moment for William to realize what Digby was saying. He gasped, almost falling off his chair, and toppling his tankard of ale as he let out a cry of astonishment.

"I…what do you mean? What are you saying?" he stammered, as Digby heaved a heavy sigh.

"Why would a duke be the godfather of a servant's son?" he asked.

It was a question, William too, had pondered in the past, even as he had put the matter down to kindness and philanthropy. It was something he had never questioned, and his mother had never explained.

"Nonsense, you're just speculating. My father died…" he began, but Digby finished his sentence.

"In Corsica, yes, just like the Duke's brother – the last Duke of Lancaster. They served together in Corsica, whilst your mother was left at home, working as a maid at Burnley Abbey," he said, and William's eyes grew wide with realization.

His mother rarely mentioned his father. He was dead, and had died in Corsica. William had never before made the connection, though he knew the former duke had died there, too. His father was a hero – he remembered his godfather saying as much, even as he now wondered if Digby was only trying to make trouble.

"No, I don't believe it. It's not true, Digby. You're lying. Why? Don't you want me to be happy? If you really knew them, you'd know the truth, and…" William began, but again, Digby interrupted him, throwing down a small, leather clad, black book onto the table in front of him.

"It's all here, in black and white, William. The diary of your father, Max, the former Duke of Lancaster. It tells of his love for your mother, and his delight in learning she was to bear him a son. He couldn't wait to return home and marry her. It was all planned. And then he died. After that, your godfather – your uncle – wanted everything to be kept quiet. They didn't want a bastard as the heir to the dukedom," he said, pushing the diary towards William, who reached out to take it with a trembling hand.

It was that word – "heir." If what Digby said was true, William was the heir to the dukedom. His father's dukedom, not his uncle's. Maximilian would be displaced, as would the duke himself. It was all too extraordinary for words, even as William took the diary in his hands and undid the clasp.

"A diary? How extraordinary," he said, and Digby nodded.

"They thought they'd got it back – silenced me from telling the truth. But there was more to it than they thought. Your father wrote a journal, too – I kept as much as I could, along with pages I snatched in haste. I've kept it all these years. I wanted you to know the truth, William," he said, and William looked up at him, still unable to understand why Digby should keep such a secret from him.

"But… I don't understand. Why didn't you just tell me?" he asked, distracted by the entries he was flicking through.

"Darling Teresa, how I love her…how happy I feel to think of the child…what a family we will be…my son and heir," he read, his hands trembling as he flicked through the pages.

"I'd hoped your uncle would do so himself. I still wanted him to have the chance to do so. I thought he'd wait until you were established as a gentleman. It wasn't my place to do so. But in this sorry state of affairs, he's betrayed you. I've no choice but to tell you the truth now, and I urge you to take your revenge against him. He sent you to London with a letter of promise, expecting you to make your own fortune… William, a fortune lies readymade for you in the house he occupies against what's right. You're the Duke of Lancaster, William – seize your inheritance, and revenge yourself against him for betraying you and taking away your chances of love," Digby said, banging his fist down on the table.

At these words, William felt his anger growing. He looked down at the diary – there was no reason to doubt it. The fraying pages, the fading letters – it was old, and dated from the time of the war in Corsica, the same war in which his father had been killed. A sudden sense of sadness came over him, too – why had his mother never told him the truth? She, too, had colluded in the lie, and William now held the evidence in his hands. Digby was right, his godfather had betrayed him, and if Anne was to reject him, he would gladly take his revenge against the man who had made it so. The letter of recommendation had been only a token gesture – a payoff for that which the duke had stolen from him – his rightful inheritance.

"You're right, Digby – I've got to do it, haven't I? I can't let him get away with it. I want you to tell me everything you know," William said, knowing he was caught up in a web of lies, his own paling into insignificance.

* * *

"I think something good can come of this, Anne," her father said, as Anne sat dejectedly in the drawing room that evening.

She looked up at him curiously.

"I don't see what, Father," she replied, for she had spent most of the afternoon in tears, lamenting her sorrowful situation.

"Well…the possibility of Maximilian. The two of you never met, did you? And writing to the Duke of Lancaster rather put me in mind to renew the possibility of an acquaintance between the two of you," he said.

Anne looked at him in surprise, even as her mother clapped her hands together in delight.

"But that's a wonderful idea. Isn't your father clever, Anne?" she asked.

Anne was not sure she would have used quite that word, even as it seemed her father had decided on an idea he would not easily relinquish. It all seemed rather too soon to be thinking about another match – albeit one cast aside in favour of a hope which had now failed to transpire.

"But he'll surely know about William. I can't…" Anne replied, but her father waved his hand dismissively.

"That man – that fool – was trading on his godfather's good name. A man like the Duke of Lancaster has dozens of godsons. I've got twenty-two. I've no doubt some of them use my own name to secure positions for themselves. I doubt he gives him a second thought. As for Maximilian…well, he's hardly going to associate with the son of a servant, is he? It would do you good to get out of London, Anne. I'll write to the Duke and tell him we'll journey north at once," the earl replied.

Anne was swept up in her mother's excitable intentions, and it was not long before arrangements were made, and a letter sent north, informing the Duke and Duchess of Lancaster of their plans.

"Whatever made you change your minds? I'm glad I didn't write to the Duchess myself, calling the whole thing off," Anne's godmother, Lady Flintshire, said, when she came to take tea the following day.

"It was the godson of the Duke – William Baker," Anne's mother replied, and the tale of what had happened was told.

Lady Flintshire listened, shaking her head and tutting.

"Well, we don't need to worry about him anymore, do we? The important thing is the match, and it seems you're to make an excellent one, Anne," she said, as though the matter was a fait accompli.

But despite her anger at what William had done, and the sense of betrayal she now felt, Anne could not help but feel sorrow at the fact of what had happened, and how close she had come to finding love, only for it to be snatched so readily from her…