Chapter 29
The man walked toward them with slow, purposeful steps. Henry studied him, his heart a thunderclap in his chest. Every inch of him was alert with an instinctive wariness hard-earned by years of pretending. Pretending not to carry the very secret that now threatened to burst from the shadows.
The man was tall and broad-shouldered, perhaps in his late fifties.
His coat was modest but neatly pressed, and though his hair had silvered at the temples, the shade of brown was familiar.
His eyes—the color of bark—were bright and searching.
There was no trace of anger in his expression.
If anything, he looked... hopeful. Eager. Almost afraid.
Henry’s mother turned toward him and gripped his arm just hard enough for him to feel her nails.
“I don’t understand what’s happening.” She sounded more lost than he’d ever heard her before. “I refuse to remain here for this. Whatever it is, it can’t end well.”
Before Henry could say a word, she was gone, sweeping past the crowd in a rustle of silk and jewels, her chin held high even as the color drained from her face and she ran away from the scandal she had helped create, leaving Henry, the victim of it all, to deal with it.
He didn’t stop her.
“Your Grace,” the man said when he reached him, his voice low and unsteady. “I received an invitation, but I wonder now if it was genuine. Might we speak somewhere private?”
Henry swallowed the rising tide of dread and gave a single nod. “Of course.”
He could feel the eyes on them across the room—dozens of guests wondering who the man was and what he wanted of the duke. Curious whispering. Could they see a resemblance between them?
The music hadn’t stopped, and yet the ballroom buzzed with energy that had nothing to do with the next dance.
Charlotte stepped forward without a word and took Henry’s arm.
Her presence steadied him. William caught his eye and gave the faintest nod before turning toward the musicians, already taking on the responsibility of keeping the party from descending into chaos without needing to be asked.
Henry, Charlotte, and the man—his father—left the ballroom together and made for Henry’s study. Once inside, Henry shut the door and locked it behind them.
He didn’t offer anyone a drink.
He needed his head clear.
The man remained standing, glancing around the office as if it were something holy. “It’s strange,” he murmured. “To be here. I’ve passed this house a hundred times over the years, but never stepped inside.”
Henry folded his arms. “You said you were invited?”
“I was,” the man replied. “By someone claiming to be from your household. They said you were ready to meet me. That you’d arranged the whole thing and wanted it to be discreet.”
“I didn’t,” Henry said, more sharply than intended. “I had no idea who you were until two minutes ago.”
The man nodded slowly. “I realized that the moment I walked in. You looked like you’d seen a ghost. Which, I suppose... in a way... you had.”
Charlotte stepped closer, standing just behind Henry’s shoulder. She didn’t speak, but he felt her anchoring presence like a lighthouse in the storm.
“Who are you?” Henry asked quietly.
The man’s face creased with something between sadness and pride. “My name is Elias March. I own a modest shipping business now, but long ago I was an assistant steward to your grandfather—His Grace, the twelfth Duke of Arundel. I worked here on the estate. That was how I came to know your mother.”
The air thickened.
“I was young,” Elias continued. “Not stupid, but... optimistic. I was eager to prove myself. She was—well, you know what she’s like. Beautiful. Clever. Terrifying, if I’m honest. We were both lonely, I think. And I was foolish.”
Henry said nothing.
“When I learned she was with child, I went to her and asked if it might be mine,” Elias said softly.
“I wanted to support her as best I could, but she sent me away. She said it was handled, and there was no need for further contact. But I knew what it meant. I knew the duke—her husband—must have agreed to raise the child as his own. The way she worded it, I almost wondered if he’d known everything all along. ”
Henry nodded. His father had. Most likely, he’d masterminded the affair, and the duchess had simply followed his orders and manipulated poor Elias.
“I was devastated,” Elias went on. “But I knew I would be unable to give either of you the life you deserved, and the duke could have ruined me if he wanted. Instead, he came to me soon after and offered me a cheque on the condition that I leave and never approach any of you again.” He looked down, ashamed.
“At the time, that was enough for me. I took the payment, and went.”
Silence fell.
Henry stared at him, wondering what on earth to say.
Elias cleared his throat. “As the years passed, I wondered about you. I read what I could about your life. I even kept the painting from the papers when you became the new duke. You looked... proud. Serious. Like him, I thought. Like me.”
There was a certain likeness between them. Even Henry could tell that at a glance.
Elias gave a shaky laugh. “I never dreamed we’d meet. Not until a few months ago.”
Henry narrowed his eyes. “What changed?”
Elias hesitated. “I was drunk,” he admitted. “In a tavern in London. I ran into the son of an old acquaintance, a Mr. Roger Leonard. I said too much. I let slip more than I should have.”
Henry’s jaw clenched.
“I thought he was just a man with a sympathetic ear,” Elias said. “But now I see that he was using me to cause you harm.”
Henry’s eyes hardened. “He’s behind a series of anonymous letters I’ve been receiving. He’s threatening to expose us. You. Me. My mother.”
Elias closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I swear to you, I never wanted this. I never intended to ruin you.”
“What do you want?” Henry asked, suddenly tired. “Why are you here?”
Elias straightened. “Only to tell you that I will never speak of this again. If anyone comes to me, I will deny it. I’ll burn every letter I kept, every proof I ever had.
You are the Duke of Arundel. No one else.
He raised you as his son and accepted you as his heir.
I agreed to that at the time, knowing it was best for you.
Why would I want to take that away now? Going away and staying quiet was my gift to you. The only one I could give.”
The words sat heavy between them.
“I’d like....” Elias paused. “I’d like to get to know you, if you’re willing. I know it’s a lot to ask. But I’m not here to claim anything. I’m not here for money. I only—well, I only hoped you might like to know me too.”
Henry looked at Charlotte, whose gaze was soft with empathy. She nodded once, encouraging him
“I’ll think about it,” Henry murmured. “That’s the best I can do right now.”
Elias’s shoulders sagged in relief. He reached into his coat, pulled out a card, and offered it. “This is where I’m staying. Just a small inn in the village. I won’t linger. I just wanted you to know I’m here and that I have no ill will toward you.”
Henry took the card but didn’t look at it before he slipped it into his coat pocket.
“Thank you for hearing me out,” Elias said. “And congratulations. She is a very pretty girl.” He nodded at Charlotte, who gave him a flattered smile.
With that, Elias March let himself out. The door clicked shut behind him.
Henry stood still for a long moment, staring at the place where the man had been.
“Well,” he said quietly. “That was something.”
Charlotte came to his side and slipped her hand into his. “Are you all right, my love?”
“I don’t know.” He was rather stunned by the events of the day.
“Do you want him in your life?”
“I don’t know that either,” Henry said honestly. “It’s strange. I thought if I ever came face to face with him, I’d be angry. Feel betrayed. But mostly I’m just... tired. And a little sad.”
Charlotte squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to decide anything right away.”
He turned toward her, his face softening. “No. But thank you for being here.”
“Always.” She slipped her arm through his as they left the study to return to the ballroom.
Henry’s thoughts buzzed with everything still unresolved, but the relief he felt was real. Tangible. A weight lifted off his chest that had settled there when he was barely old enough to understand it.
Charlotte leaned closer as they walked. “We’re safe,” she whispered.
“He said he’ll deny everything. No one will hear the truth from him.
We don’t have to worry anymore. Without his evidence, it’s nothing but a salacious rumor cooked up by Sir Roger.
This means we’re free to be together without fear of scandal. ”
Henry stopped in his tracks as her words hit him. A flicker of lamplight danced across her cheek as she turned to face him. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, he felt something other than dread. Something warmer, brighter, more alive.
He dipped his head and kissed her.
Not cautiously this time. Not with any restraint.
He kissed her like a man who had thought he would lose everything, only to find it again in the shape of the woman before him.
Her arms slipped around his neck, and he held her close, anchoring himself to her.
Tasting her, burying his face in her hair.
When they pulled apart, she was breathless, smiling softly.
“Come,” he said, threading his fingers through hers. “Let’s go finish this.”
The room where Sir Roger was being held was small and sparsely furnished, more of a storage room than a cell. Two Arundel footmen stood guard at the door, arms folded and expressions grim. Henry gave them a nod, and they stepped aside to let him and Charlotte pass.
Sir Roger sat in a chair in the center of the room, his legs sprawled out and his arms crossed defiantly, but the way he chewed on his lower lip gave away his nerves. He looked like a man who had been caught but wasn’t sure yet what crime he’d been charged with.
Henry shut the door behind them. “Sir Roger,” he said coolly. “I think you know why we’re here.”
“I have my suspicions,” Leonard drawled. “Though I must say, you’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble. A bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
Charlotte stiffened beside Henry, but he kept his tone even. “You spoke to Elias March. He told you something he shouldn’t have.”
Leonard shrugged, one side of his mouth hitching up slyly. “Men say foolish things when they’ve had too much brandy and not enough sense.”
“And then you used that information,” Henry said, “to orchestrate a campaign of blackmail. To keep me from marrying the woman I love.”
Leonard smirked. “Blackmail? Oh, come now. I never sent a single note. Never lifted a pen. I told someone, that’s all. What they did with the information wasn’t my business.”
“So you know about the notes. Strange, if you had nothing to do with it. Who did you tell?”
Leonard flushed guiltily, knowing he had been caught out. “The Fairchilds. You remember Miss Harriet Fairchild, I assume? Pretty girl. You were alone with her in the garden not long ago.”
Henry’s stomach dropped. Of course. The note directing him to the grotto, the scene staged with Harriet. It had all been a trap. He had seen the outline of it; only now could he put it all together.
“They wanted a match,” Leonard went on. “They figured if you got caught alone with her, they could steer you into a marriage without ever having to say why. No need to spoil the arrangement with scandal. Clever, really.”
“You stood by and let them do it.”
Leonard grinned. “I didn’t want you. I wanted her.” His eyes flicked to Charlotte, and Henry nearly took a step forward.
“She looked at you like a man dying of thirst looks at a glass of water,” Leonard said nastily. “No matter what I did, she wouldn’t even see me. You had everything I wanted.”
“And now you have nothing,” Henry said quietly. “I’ve spoken to Elias. He will deny all knowledge of these rumors about being my father. Including to the Fairchilds. No one will believe you over a duke. If you continue, I’ll see you in court for slander.”
Leonard’s grin faded.
“I’m having you escorted from the premises,” Henry continued.
“You will not come near Lady Charlotte again. Not in town. Not at any ball, any gathering, or any shop on Bond Street. If I so much as hear your name spoken in her presence, I will meet you at dawn. And we both know,” he added coldly, “no matter how much you love hunting, you’re a miserable shot. ”
Leonard paled but nodded his assent. He’d clearly realized he could go no further.
Henry opened the door and motioned to the waiting servants. “Show Sir Roger out. Please make sure he understands that he is not to return. Ever.”
They stepped inside, flanking Leonard without a word. He rose stiffly, and for a moment, it seemed he might protest—but then he saw Henry’s expression and thought better of it.
He turned to Charlotte. “You’re making a mistake, you know. Men like him don’t change. He’ll ruin you eventually.”
Charlotte met his gaze with steel in her eyes. “Get out.”
Leonard was gone within moments.
Henry exhaled.
“What now?” Charlotte asked.
Henry turned toward her. “Now we confront the Fairchilds. We’ll make it clear their game is over.
That whatever they thought they might gain has slipped through their fingers.
As far as they’re concerned, Sir Roger was lying to them.
I’ll have them banished from the house, ordered to never speak of this again unless they wish to be arrested for blackmail. ”
“And then?” she prompted, her tone teasing.
“And then,” he said with a small smile, “we go back to the ball and celebrate our betrothal. Smile for the crowd. Pretend none of this happened. And I’ll have to consider what I want to do about... my father.”
Charlotte swayed closer. “You’ll figure it out.”
“But before any of that...” Henry took a step toward her, reaching for her hand again. “Before I think about anything else at all—I want to celebrate being free.”
She tilted her face toward his, expectant.
He kissed her.
A kiss full of victory and promise, and something deeper still—something fragile but certain. The kind of kiss that tasted like beginnings and the end of fear.
In the quiet room, with shadows curling around them and the ghosts of secrets starting to fade, Charlotte let herself believe—for the first time since all this had begun—that perhaps, just perhaps, they were going to be all right.