Chapter 1 #2
Mrs. Ayton visibly shrank, her hands finding the fabric of her apron and gripping it.
“Your Grace, I must ask that you understand the circumstances under which the decision was made. The child was brought to us in the dead of night by a carter who had found her at the crossroads, delirious with fever and without a soul in the world who could name her. We did not know if she had family within the parish or beyond it. We did not know if she would survive the week.” She drew a breath.
“I searched her effects for anything that might tell us who she was. A parish token. A name sewn into her garments. Anything at all. When we found the parchment, I confess I hesitated. But the child needed a physician, and we had no means to pay for one, and I thought — I hoped — there might be some provision inside.” She looked at him and looked away again.
“I broke the seal to establish whether there were funds enclosed for her care. That was the whole of it, Your Grace. I would not have done so otherwise.”
“A gross trespass,” Jameson said. He stepped away from the window, forcing Mrs. Ayton to look at him.
“The law recognizes no such defense for the violation of a Peer’s private token.
To willfully split the armorial bearings of the House of Norwyn is a flagrant offense against His Grace’s person.
I can assure you that the local magistrates, and indeed the Court of King’s Bench, would take a remarkably grim view of such malice.
With a single word, we could have an injunction leveled against this parish that would strip you of your office and leave you personally liable for —”
William raised a single hand into the air and Jameson stopped talking immediately, the half-formed threat dying instantly in his throat as he snapped his mouth shut.
“You have made your point, Jameson,” he said calmly. “The room is far too small for this much noise, and I require quiet to read.”
Slowly, he unfolded the paper, his eyes scanning the writing before he read.
“To the Duke of Norwyn,
When this letter finds you, the fever will have done its work and I shall be beyond the reach of your family’s concern. I leave you Alice. She carries your blood, she carries your eyes, and she has no one left in this world but the promise you made.
You will recall the summer lodge at Oakridge.
You will recall what passed between us there, and you will recall the morning you pressed this seal into my hand and told me it was your word made tangible — that should I ever find myself without recourse, your family would be bound to honor whatever was written upon it.
I did not think I would ever use it. I use it now.
Do not let our daughter be surrendered to the parish. She is all that remains of what you swore to protect.
— Clara”
“Clara...” he thought to himself.
The frustration was almost boiling over inside him, but William clenched his jaw, forcing himself to keep calm. There was no use raging about the whole situation now.
Mrs. Ayton stepped closer to the table. “The seal is one thing, Your Grace, but the gossip in the village has already begun. The carter who brought her here saw the seal. The local busybodies have been coming by for days, trying to identify it. Even the parish officials are demanding to know who will pay for the girl’s keep. ”
William did not look up from the letter.
“These sound like threats to me, Mrs. Ayton,” he said. “I do not respond well to threats.”
“I would do no such thing, Your Grace,” she stuttered.
“It’s just... the parish has funds for nameless orphans, yes.
But the village is small and people are curious.
It would be a considerable scandal if the papers discovered that a child who carried the Duke of Norwyn’s private seal was living on charity.
It might be better for everyone if the girl were moved somewhere further north.
Completely removed from here. Somewhere no one would ever think to ask questions. ”
William slowly lifted his chin, and the glare he fixed on the headmistress caused the woman to halt mid-breath. He despised the transactional ease with which she assumed a child’s life could be bought, paid for, and discarded just to keep a nobleman’s ledger clean.
“You imply a great deal for a woman whose livelihood depends entirely on the goodwill of the local gentry,” William said.
“Let me make one matter entirely plain to you, Mrs. Ayton. I had absolutely no knowledge of this child’s existence until your letter arrived at my townhouse.
If I did, you would never have set eyes on her.
She would not be sitting in a place as run-down and neglected as this orphan asylum, left to the elements and the meager charity of a parish board. ”
Mrs. Ayton opened her mouth to say something, but William stepped forward, his frame completely dominating the space between them and forcing her back a full pace.
“Had I known,” William continued. “I would have faced my responsibilities immediately. A Norwyn does not leave his obligations to rot in a damp charity house, nor do I allow village gossips to dictate how my family conducts its affairs. If she belongs under my protection, she will have it, and she will have it openly.”
The headmistress swallowed hard. “Of course, Your Grace. I meant no offense to your character,” she murmured, smoothing her apron.
“It is simply that... well, we knew the late Duke, your father. I remember when his hunting parties would frequent the lower village some winters ago. When I look at the girl’s brow, the precise structure of her jaw...
the resemblance to the old Carlton blood is quite striking.
People will see that resemblance. You look remarkably alike, if I may say —”
“You may not,” William cut her off.
Mrs. Ayton fell silent.
William turned to the girl for the first time. Alice sat perfectly still in her chair, watching him with wide eyes. She showed no emotion, almost as if she was waiting for something to happen. For something to make her react.
“Jameson,” William commanded, extending his hand backward without breaking his gaze from the child. “The draft from the briefcase.”
Jameson moved instantly, retrieving a legal parchment from his case and placing it in William’s hand. William laid the document flat on the table, right over the space where the letter had rested.
“This is a deed of settlement for your chapel roof and an annual endowment for your winter stores,” William said.
“It is contingent upon your absolute, permanent silence regarding the letter, and everything that has transpired this afternoon. If a single whisper leaves this parish, the funding ceases permanently, and I will personally ensure the diocese conducts a full review of your administrative books. Do we understand one another?”
Mrs. Ayton looked down at the paper, then back up at William’s face. She curtsied deeply. “The discretion of this house is absolute, Your Grace. Thank you.”
“Excellent. Then I must thank you for your diligence in bringing my... daughter to my attention,” William said and forced a smile. The word daughter tasted foreign, and entirely dangerous on his tongue.
He turned toward the door, not offering a hand, a comforting gesture, or even a second glance to the child as he gave his curt command. “Come, Alice.”
The girl didn’t hesitate. She stood up from the stiff wooden chair, and fell into step a pace behind him.
William walked out of the parlor, and they crossed the entrance hall and stepped back out into the cold, gray drizzle of the courtyard.
The footman was already holding the carriage door open, the iron steps lowered against the wet gravel.
William gestured sharply for the girl to ascend first, watching her climb onto the leather bench before he climbed in after her, his long legs cramping instantly in the familiar, confined space of the coach.
Jameson scrambled in last, shutting the door tightly against the wet wind.
The carriage groaned as the driver signaled the horses, the wheels grinding against the mud as they turned away from the asylum’s gates and began the long journey south.
Inside the coach, the silence was total.
Alice sat on the opposite bench, her small boots dangling several inches above the floorboards, her eyes fixed entirely on the passing hedges outside the window.
Jameson sat rigidly beside William, his hands folded tightly over his briefcase, his eyes darting between the Duke and the child, practically vibrating with a dozen unasked questions.
Jameson cleared his throat. “Your Grace... I think it is paramount that we discuss what —”
“Not now, Jameson,” he answered. “Not here.”
William leaned his head back against the leather cushions, staring at the small, pale face across from him. The irritation from the eight-hour journey had morphed into a weight in his stomach.
He had absolutely no idea what he was going to do with a child, where she would live, or how he would explain her presence to a society that watched his every move. He only knew that the carriage was moving, and the silence inside it was louder than the rain outside.
He would deal with the rest of it later.