Chapter 25

William was walking through Bluebell Woods in the direction of his mother's cottage. He had not been able to settle in London – not after learning the truth about his lineage. It felt strange to be back in Lancashire – the familiarity of his childhood replaced by an uncertainty as to who he really was. He had grown up believing his father to be a hero who had died in battle. That much was true, but the identity of his father was something quite different. William had read through the diary a dozen times – it belonged to the dead duke, his father, and it spoke entirely of his love for William's mother, and the hope of William, himself.

"I just don't understand why no one told me," William said to himself, in words he had repeated over and over again.

Digby's explanation had been admirable, and William bore no ill will towards his friend, who had kept the secret from him in the hope of it being revealed by those who should have revealed it. A letter of recommendation was a poor payoff in exchange for the dukedom, and as he had journeyed north, William's sense of injustice had only grown stronger.

"It wasn't meant to be like this – none of it was," William told himself, as he came in sight of his mother's cottage.

Digby had accompanied him north and was waiting for his return at an inn in Burnley. William was not certain what he would say to his mother, or what he would do when confronted by his godfather. But the time for lies was over, and William was angry with the duke – his uncle – for spoiling his chances with Anne. He had heard nothing more from her, and his hopes of romance had been dashed.

I was such a fool. They're all laughing at me, I'm sure. The Duke, the Duchess, Maximilian… William thought to himself, for he felt certain everyone else knew the truth – everyone apart from him.

As he approached the cottage door, his heart was beating fast, but before he could knock, it was opened, and his mother stared out at him in surprise.

"William? I saw you coming along the path…but why are you here?" she asked, as William held out the pages from the diary Digby had given him.

"I want to know who my real father is," he replied, as his mother's eyes grew wide with horror.

* * *

Teresa had not expected to see her son that day. She had spent the morning mending stockings and had been about to start on a pair of breeches when she had noticed William approaching the cottage through the trees. He looked a fine figure of a man – grown up, and handsomely dressed – and she had hurried to open the door to him, excited at the prospect of welcoming him home and hearing tales of his adventures. But the look on his face had told a different story, and as he held out the diary and spoke those dreaded words, Teresa knew the time had come.

"I…you'd better come in, William. I'll make us some tea," she said, ushering him inside.

William followed her into the humble dwelling, where a fire was smoking in the hearth, the kettle hung from a chain above. Teresa lived a simple life, taking in mending and getting by as best she could, though always with Ralph and Miriam on hand should she need them. The duke had been good to her – especially in his treatment of William – and Teresa would be forever grateful to him, and the duchess, for their kindness.

"Tell me, Mother. I don't want tea or empty platitudes. I want to know the truth. Who do I call my father? It's the Duke, isn't it? The one who died?" William said, as Teresa turned to him with a heavy heart.

She had never told him the truth. Not out of malice or spite, but because she and the duke and duchess had agreed to leave the matter in the past. It was over, finished, and there was no reason to open old wounds or invite fresh scandal. With a sigh, Teresa shook her head.

"It doesn't matter, William. What matters is how we are now," she said, even as she knew her words were feeble.

William had every right to know the truth about his father. But Teresa knew he would not have guessed as much on his own, and now another fear seized her, as she sat down with a heavy sigh on the chair by the hearth.

"How we are now? But I want to know, Mother. I want to know the truth about who I am now. I've read the diary. It talks only of you. He loved you. You were going to marry. He wanted me to be his heir. I'm the rightful Duke of Lancaster, aren't I?" William said, fixing Teresa with an angry look, as now she sighed and nodded.

"Who told you, William? How do you know this? You can't have guessed it for yourself," she said, fearing William's answer.

There was only one man who knew the truth and would wish to use it against them – Connor Edge, the land agent, sent away in disgrace for his attempts at blackmail and his threat of scandal. It had been Ralph's mother, the dowager, who had exposed his own fraudulent ways, and the duke had threatened him with ruin if he should ever return. But despite this ultimatum, it seemed Connor – or someone close to him – had told William the truth long kept secret.

"A friend. They gave me these pages from his diary, too. It's all here, Mother. I know the truth. Why didn't you tell me? What gave you the right to keep it from me?" William demanded.

He had always been such a gentle creature, and yet in his anger, Teresa could see that of Connor, too. He had been the same – swift to claim insult, and desirous of revenge.

"It was for the best, William. You don't know what it was like. We suffered a terrible burden," Teresa replied, tears welling up in her eyes, as she thought back to all they had endured at the hands of Connor, and the cruel circumstances of Max's death.

"Then it's true. I'm the heir to the dukedom?" William said, and Teresa sighed.

"It's not as simple as that, William, but it's true – you're the son of Max, the last Duke – he's your father," she replied, speaking the words she had vowed to keep forever in her heart…

* * *

"We were delighted to receive your letter," Miriam said, as she took a cake from the cake stand, smiling at the Countess of Blakeley, who had come to Burnley Abbey with her daughter and husband that afternoon to take tea.

It had been Lady Flintshire, an acquaintance of Miriam's from a season she had spent in London, who had suggested a possible match between Anne, daughter of the earl and countess, and Maximilian, who was currently sitting sulkily by the hearth nursing a saucer of tea. Miriam had been surprised to receive a further missive from the earl himself, informing her they were traveling north to make the introduction. The past few weeks had seen a lull in Lady Flintshire's previously enthusiastic correspondence, and Miriam had assumed the matter to have been quietly dropped, even as Maximilian had shown no interests whatsoever in its coming to fruition. But Anne was an attractive creature, and whilst she appeared shy, the match was not without its potential merits.

"And we must apologize for the swiftness of our progress north. One shouldn't delay these things, I feel," the earl said, and Miriam nodded, glancing at Ralph, who appeared content to allow her to make the arrangements on his behalf.

"I quite agree, and with Maximilian now taking on further responsibilities for the running of the estate, it's the right time to consider a suitable match. How nice to bring two young people together in this way," Miriam said, glancing fearfully at her son, who scowled.

"And what a wonderful estate to take responsibility for," the countess said, having already gushed over the furnishings in the drawing room, and complimented Miriam on the running of her household.

"Well…yes, quite," Miriam said, glancing anxiously at Maximilian, who thus far had not shown the slightest interest in welcoming their unexpected visitors.

If this was to be the beginnings of a courtship, it was hardly going according to plan. Miriam knew she had no grounds to force Maximilian and Anne together – nor would she want to, given her own history with Ralph. But she wanted him to be happy, and she could not understand why an intelligent and pretty young woman like Anne should not at least spark a little interest in him.

"It's not been easy for Anne, lately. London life rather…overwhelms her," the countess said, glancing at Anne, who gave a weak smile.

Miriam wondered how much her being there was a matter of coercion, rather than desire. She felt sorry for Anne – like all young ladies, she was at that stage in life where changes come thick and fast, and the expectations of one's parents can feel overwhelming. Miriam remembered it well.

"Oh, I couldn't live in London. But I understand from my husband, you've made the acquaintance of our…former associate, William," Miriam said, glad to change the subject, even as the earl grimaced.

"Ah, yes…we met him at the Charlton Lodge ball. He spun quite the tale," the earl said, shaking his head.

Anne shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and Miriam wondered if there was not more to the tale than the earl and countess were willing to reveal. Miriam and Ralph had heard little from William since he had set off for London, and it had come as a surprise when a letter from the earl had arrived, seeking the particulars of the young man whom they had sent off to seek his fortune in the south.

"I'm sure that's not the case. William's a good man. He worked hard here. He comes from a lowly background, of course. But that's no bar to making something of himself. I took it on myself to provide a tutor for him, but his intelligence and quick thinking are the result of his own diligence," Ralph said, glancing at Miriam, who nodded.

The earl and countess looked at one another, and Anne appeared close to bursting into tears.

"Oh, dear…it seems we've struck an unfortunate subject. Won't you all have another scone? They're quite delicious," Miriam said, hoping to diffuse the situation.

She had not expected William to be a force of division between them, even as Anne pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

"I don't know why anyone would bother with William. He's no one," Maximilian said, looking up from his saucer of tea with a smirk on his face.

Miriam raised her eyebrows. She knew there was no love lost between the two boys – the two men, as they now were. But she did not like the way Maximilian looked down his nose at William – particularly given the truth she knew about her nephew. If the truth was revealed, William could claim to be the rightful heir to the dukedom. It was unlikely, of course, but Maximilian's behaviour had been nothing short of rakish in the preceding months, and Miriam feared further scandal was looming. Ralph had bought her own father's title for him, but he was still waiting for the opportune time to reveal the truth – if William knew it now, it could spell disaster.

"He's your father's godson, Maximilian. The two of you were friends as children. Why this bitterness now?" Miriam replied, not wanting Anne to think badly of Maximilian on this, their first meeting.

But to her surprise, Anne turned to Maximilian and nodded.

"I think you're quite right. He certainly keeps some unfortunate friendships now. Better to have realized that earlier on," she said, as Miriam looked at her in surprise.

She glanced at Ralph, whose eyes had narrowed – who was the friend Anne spoke of?

"Did…William make any friends in London?" she asked, and Anne nodded.

"Oh, yes. He has a friend called Digby Kirkpatrick. They were never apart. When I first met him, I assumed him to be William's valet. But then I assumed a great deal about William I found to be untrue. I didn't much care for Digby – he told as many lies as William. It seems odd, now I think about it. An older man, befriending a young man, newly arrived in London. There was something about him I didn't like, his bright blue eyes – they were piercing, always looking for something" she said, shuddering shaking her head.

Miriam did not like to press the matter further, even as a sudden, terrible thought occurred to her.

"Connor," she said to herself, offering the plates of scones to the countess.

She forced a smile to her face, looking sympathetically at Anne, who was dabbing her eyes with handkerchief.

"Well… I'm sure there's an explanation. We've never known William to be anything but a decent, hardworking young man," she said, even as she feared he had been tainted through association.

The conversation now progressed, and the countess spoke of her hopes for a happy match for Anne, even as she did not specific precisely what heartbreak William had caused. There was no suggestion he and Anne had entered a courtship, and whilst Miriam had heard the name of Lord Peter Ulverston in relation to Anne, no mention of him was made either. It seemed the earl and countess wanted a fresh start for their daughter, and they had brought her north for just that reason.

"Will you stay long in Lancashire?" Ralph asked, and the earl and countess glanced at one another.

"We're in no hurry to rush away," Anne's mother replied, just as the door opened and the butler, Mr. Gregson, appeared with a characteristically disapproving look on his face.

"Miss Teresa Baker to see you, your Grace," he said, and Miriam rose to her feet immediately.

"Please, forgive me, you must excuse me," she said, fearing what news Teresa was bringing.

She thought again of Connor – had he found William and made it his business to poison his mind against them, and make mischief for him in the process? She hurried from the room, trying to maintain her composure, as she found Teresa waiting for her in the hallway.

"Something's happened, it's terrible," Teresa gasped, clutching at Miriam, who nodded.

"I fear I know it," she said, and Teresa stared at her in astonishment.

"But how? It's William…he's come back, and I fear…he's…met Connor," she said, whispering the final word as though it were an incantation.

Miriam sighed.

"And in the drawing room, we've got the other part of the story," she replied, ushering Teresa into a room off the hallway and explaining everything that had just occurred.