“My dear, dear, Elsie. Please sit.”
Elsie looked at her father, who looked quite ill sitting in one of the study’s large leather chairs. Elsie knew then, despite the duke’s pleasant smile, that something awful had indeed happened.
Elsie sat across from her father and she swallowed down her growing fear. “Has something happened, Your Grace?”
“I’m afraid so, my dear.” He looked down at her with fatherly concern and Elsie felt distaste run down her spine. That expression was a lie, she knew it deep in her bones. “I’m afraid we are going to have to move the wedding up to the end of this week. Friday, to be precise.”
“I beg pardon?” Elsie asked, feeling suddenly faint and grateful that she was already seated. “That’s only four days from now. It’s impossible.”
“I do realize you are not quite well, but to avoid scandal it has become imperative that you marry my son as quickly as possible. A special license has already been procured, but I thought I would give you at least a few days to prepare.”
Elsie looked from her father to Kingston. “I don’t understand. What has happened?”
“I came here to tell you that a man has been masquerading as my deceased son, but apparently it is far worse than that. Your father has informed me that he has duped you, taken advantage of your good heart, and convinced you that he is indeed my son and heir to the duchy.”
“Alexander,” Elsie said, clutching the arms of the chair until her hands shook.
“The claims are ridiculous, of course,” Kingston said, examining his fingernails, before bringing his cold, blue eyes back to her. “But you know how petty gossip and innuendo can turn ugly. I want nothing to mar your wedding to my son.”
Elsie felt a calm steal over her. So, he knew, and he was denying Alexander, the scoundrel. “Alexander
is
your son,” Elsie said, her voice strong. “You abandoned him to an asylum, left him there, didn’t even know whether he lived or died and now you are denying him.”
“Elsie,” her father said harshly, chastising her. “The duke knows all about this man. Let him speak.”
“Father, how can you sit there and let him lie about Alexander?”
The duke smiled and Elsie felt her skin crawl. “I am aware of your... friendship with this man and I feel very sorry that you were put through this. My dear girl, please do not be embarrassed or ashamed.”
“I am neither.”
The duke’s eyes flickered with unmistakable coldness before he smiled again. “This is not the first time this particular man has perpetrated this scheme. Last year he claimed to be an Italian prince. Two years ago, the long lost son of a viscount. Each time, he has duped well-intended, hopeful people. He preys on the good-hearted, people who are desperate to believe him, and then demands money, among other things.”
“That’s not true. Alexander is your son,” she said, even as horrible doubts assailed her. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. “What could he possibly hope to gain by enlisting my help? Why not go directly to you?”
Again, that sickening smile. “He wouldn’t dare try to approach me. And so he went to you, likely hoping for precisely what will happen if you do not marry Hathwaite immediately. Do you realize the scandal that would erupt, the smearing of our good name, if this were to come out? That a future duchess was taken in by a charlatan? What would you pay to save your reputation? What would I pay to save my son such embarrassment?”
Elsie shook her head. “He hasn’t made any demands for funds.”
The duke stared at her a long while. “Not to you, my dear. Not to you.”
Elsie felt her world collapsing around her and fought to draw air into her lungs. Clearly the duke was implying that Alexander had demanded money for his silence.
“Oh, Elsie, please do not distress yourself,” the duke said calmly. “He is a consummate liar, an actor. He’s fooled far more sophisticated people than you.”
Elsie felt as if she were going to be ill. She recalled suddenly Alexander’s fine clothing, his new confidence, his almost aristocratic air when he’d visited. Could it have been only yesterday? Her stomach felt hollow, cold, and her heart as if it might explode in her chest. “No. It’s not true. He loves me and I love him. He is your son.” A tear slipped down her cheek and the duke handed her his handkerchief. Elsie took it blindly, her eyes unfocused, her breath coming in shortened gasps.
“Oh, my dear,” His Grace said, shaking his head sadly. “What are the chances that my long lost son would somehow end up working in your home, and just happen to fall in love with you? He is an opportunist, that is all.”
Elsie’s mind warred against what he was saying, against what had to be lies. They had to be.
“He knew of the lake,” Elsie said, sounding desperate even to her own ears. “The lake hidden by the hedgerow. He painted it just as I remembered. He knew how Henry died, he knew that you blamed him for something that wasn’t his fault. He remembered being unable to talk to you because you terrified him so. Your son remembered everything, every detail.”
“My son is dead. Good God, must you torture me with this fable as well?” the duke shouted, making Elsie startle and blink rapidly.
“Your Grace, Elsie is still recovering from her illness,” her father said, finally coming to her defense. “Please do not shout at her. She is not to blame for what has happened. That man is.”
Elsie dashed a tear away and sniffed. “His name is Alexander Wilkinson,” she said defiantly.
“His name is John Parker,” the duke spat. “He is well known by the Bow Street Runners and I have little doubt he will be in their custody within the fortnight. That is if he hasn’t fled the country already.” Kingston turned to her father. “My God, the chit cannot be this obtuse.”
“Elsie, please, think of how ridiculous his story is. An artist’s mute assistant is truly the heir of a duchy? And he wasn’t even a mute, he was lying about that even to the man who gave him a home, who loved him as a son. If he could lie to a man such as Desmarais, do you not think he would lie to you, as well?”
Her father’s tone was so kind, so sad, Elsie’s face crumpled and she began crying in earnest. How could it be true? How could everything Alexander told her be a lie? It couldn’t. “Oh, God,” Elsie moaned, as Aunt Diane drew her into an embrace. “It can’t be. It can’t be.”
“Oh, darling, everything will be fine,” her aunt murmured. “Thank goodness no one has found out about it. Just thank goodness for that.”
Chapter 22
That night, Elsie thought of everything Alexander had told her about himself, fighting the terrible doubts that were assailing her. He’d had an explanation for everything. The grave that he claimed was false, the years away from England, the funds to buy his new clothing. She thought of all those wonderful hours spent with him in the ballroom, hours in which she’d fallen in love with him long before he’d told her his identity. Was that why he’d held off? Waiting for her to fall completely for him, knowing that she couldn’t think clearly in the throes of love?
Elsie hugged her knees against herself and rocked back and forth. It couldn’t have been all lies. Could a man make love to a woman the way he had if he hadn’t loved her? She wasn’t that stupid, and Alexander would never do that to her. Never.
But the duke said he’d done it before, duped others into believing he was their child, their long-lost son, a voice nagged in her head. When Alexander had come back, he’d been confident, smiling, wearing new clothes.
How she hated these doubts, this terrible sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, this complete and utter helplessness. She wanted Alexander here, telling her the duke lied, bringing with him the proof of who he was. Should she simply have blind faith? Should she completely disregard her father, her aunt, and a duke of the realm because she’d fallen in love with an artist’s assistant? Elsie buried her head against her knees and cried softly, remaining that way even when a soft knock came at her door. She did not answer, but continued to sit, tears soaking her nightgown, as her father stepped quietly into the room.
“Elsie, I’m so sorry.”
She lifted her tear-ravaged face and nearly began sobbing anew at the sorrowful look on her father’s face.
“He was a very convincing young man,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “He very nearly had me convinced, you know.”
“But you never believed him entirely.”
“I believed that he loved you. And I still believe that, in his own way, he did.” He let out a grim laugh. “I must else I would have to kill him, wouldn’t I?”
Elsie felt her eyes burn with new tears, but held them back. “I don’t know what to believe. It could not have all been lies, it could not have been. He came back to see me, he never demanded money. He wants to marry me.”
“Think of this from his perspective. He came back when he saw the notice of your engagement in the newspaper. Perhaps he panicked and thought you’d lost interest, and that would have meant his schemes would end there. It was integral to his plan that you be in love with him when he made his demands.”
Elsie shook her head. “He knew so many things. No one could pretend the pain I saw in him, the fear. No one.”
“No one in our experience, no. But this sort of thing is not unheard of.”
“We are to take Kingston’s word on everything? He could be lying about the Bow Street Runners and that John person who he claims is Alexander. He could be lying about everything.”
Her father let out a sound of frustration. “Why would His Grace not want to welcome back a long-lost son? Why would this man’s appearance incense him so if Alexander wasn’t truly dead?”
“Because he hated Alexander. He always blamed him for Henry’s death. And because when Alexander was a boy, he was afflicted and could not talk.”
“And now he miraculously can.”
“He is not entirely cured, but he is far better.”
Her father threw up his hands. “No father would keep a child in an asylum for twenty-two years if he didn’t belong there.”
“Oh, who is naïve now, Father?” Elsie said bitterly.
“I’ll grant you that it is possible. Yes. But isn’t it far more possible that this mute artist’s assistant is precisely what the duke claims he is? An impostor and a schemer?”
“No,” Elsie shouted. Then her face cleared as she realized how easily she could prove Alexander was who he claimed to be. “We can write the solicitor he hired. We can ask them.”
“And cause even more gossip?”
Elsie glared at her father with mute anger, breathing harshly through her nose. “We can write to them and learn the truth. It was... it was... Cromley or Crowley...” An awful panic hit her as she realized she could not remember the name of the firm. “No. Crowley or Cromley
and
someone. It began with an ‘h’ I’m certain of it.”
“Cromley and Harte?” her father asked dubiously.
“Yes, that must be it.” Elsie felt the first surge of hope. “Alexander told me they were a prestigious firm in London.”
“They are certainly well-respected enough.” That her father was so uncertain Alexander could have hired such a firm only cemented her belief that he had. Now she could have proof that Alexander was who he claimed to be.
“Please, Father. We’ll write and send a messenger and then we’ll know.” She grasped her father’s hands tightly and looked pleadingly up at him. Finally, he closed his eyes as if to block out her desperation.
“All right then, I’ll send a letter tomorrow.”
“Urgently. We need an answer before the wedding and we have only days left.”
Finally, her father let out a sigh. “You must know that the answer will not be what you want it to be. Please, Elsie. Use common sense. I know this is hurting you, but some day it will simply be an unfortunate incident, a slight embarrassment.”
“If you won’t write, I will.”
“I told you I would write and I will,” he said with a bit of pique. “I would do anything to stop this ridiculous doubt you feel about what we are doing.” His gaze softened. “You know that, don’t you?”
Elsie’s eyes filled with tears. How she loved him. “I know, Father. Even when I don’t agree with you, I know you believe in your heart you are doing the right thing. Even when you are very wrong.”
“We shan’t tell His Grace of this,” he said.
Elsie grinned and launched herself into his arms. “I do love you, no matter that you drive me mad sometimes.”
Her father chuckled. “If you want to know what mad is, wait until you have a daughter of your own.”
Her father kissed her cheek and rose, leaving behind a girl with a smile on her face and reckless hope in her heart.
Elsie awoke the next morning, her eyes swollen and gritty, her head pounding. She lay in bed feeling a cloak of depression settle over her. Last night, the thought of writing to Alexander’s solicitor had filled her with exhilaration, but in the cold morning light, the hope that had surged so strong was ebbing quickly. For long minutes, Elsie stared at the thin slice of light behind her heavy draperies that told her she was one day closer to marrying Lord Hathwaite.
Yes, she would marry him and she would pretend that her world wasn’t ending, that her heart wasn’t shattered. She pushed away the agonizing thought that perhaps everyone was wrong about Alexander, that she was right. But how could it be? How could she be the only person who believed Alexander was the duke’s son? Had even Monsieur Desmarais fully believed him? Elsie didn’t know and supposed she would likely never find out.
Elsie forced herself to sit up and dragged her feet over the edge of the bed. Mornings were still difficult thanks to her illness, and this morning seemed worse than ever. She stood and shuffled to her wardrobe, opening it and staring at her clothes listlessly. Just then, her door opened and Elsie found herself smiling for the first time in days at the sight of her little sister.
“Oh, Mary, how wonderful for you to visit me,” Elsie said, bending over and giving her little sister a large kiss.
Mary pressed one chubby finger against her lips. “Ssshhh. Miss Lawton said I was not to see you. But I missed you,” Mary said solemnly. “Are you all better?” Her little sister looked up at her worriedly and Elsie knew she must look a fright.
“I’m far better now that you’re here. I daresay I would have been cured long ago if Miss Lawton had let you visit me sooner.”
“She said you were taking a nap. A lot of naps,” she said, clearly exasperated with the number of naps her big sister had been taking.
“Yes, well, I’m done napping now.”
“Can we play hide n’ seek, then?” Mary said, her little face filled with hope.
“Your sister isn’t quite well enough for that, Miss Mary,” her nanny said, her tone slightly chastising. The woman smiled at Mary, because Elsie suspected it was quite difficult to remain stern when Mary looked up with those big blue eyes.
Elsie nodded her head, smiling. “I fear Nanny is correct, Mary. I’m not quite well enough for that yet. But why don’t we eat luncheon together today. Wouldn’t that be nice? And then I’ll read you a story.
Little Red Riding Hood
.”
Mary clapped her hands, delighted, before following Miss Lawton out the door. As soon as the two were gone, Elsie’s smile faded, her heart grew heavy once again in her heart. Unless a miracle happened, she was getting married in three days to a man she didn’t love. She’d never been quite so miserable in her life.
Alexander was quite certain he’d never been happier in his life.
“This is wonderful news,” Crowley said. “In four days, this will all be over. I cannot think of another reason for this meeting between your father’s solicitors and us. He’s going to acknowledge you, which means we’ll avoid a hearing before the House of Lords. You’ll be married to your sweetheart before the month is out.”
“I cannot believe it,” Alexander said, a wide grin splitting his face. “I must tell Elsie.”
Crowley held up his hand. “I wouldn’t do that just yet. I don’t entirely trust His Grace, and their reason for calling this meeting isn’t entirely straightforward.” Crowley handed over the letter.
His Grace, the Duke of Kingston, has requested a meeting with your client on October tenth at 11 a.m. His Grace would like to avoid taking this matter to the House of Lords and is amenable to your petition.
Very truly yours,
Donald Tinkerman, esq.
“While it would appear that His Grace has accepted your claim, it’s that word ‘amenable’ that concerns me. He hasn’t accepted your claim, you see. He’s merely amenable to it. I’m not quite certain how to interpret that.”
“But you believe it is good?” Alexander asked, unable to keep the surge of joy from enveloping him.
“I believe it is very good,” Crowley said, moving to a sideboard and taking up two brandy snifters. He took the stopper from a crystal decanter with a flourish and poured Alexander a fingerful and did the same for himself. “To our success, eh, my lord?”
Alexander grinned, feeling almost overwhelmed by the emotions that warred within him, this hope and joy and lingering fear. He turned and looked out the window when he felt tears pressing against his eyes. Crowley came and stood beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“I know, son,” he said, giving him a comforting squeeze as he lost his battle with his emotions. “I know.”