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The evening your engagement came to an end, I had left you alone. I was with the lady then, and I have been with her many times since. She was in love with me, but nothing could be done about it. You see, she was Lady Annabelle's sister, Elizabeth Blackwood. When the two of you were betrothed, we knew that we could never marry. When the engagement was cancelled, she and I considered marriage, but then the child came. I abandoned her. I should not have, but I did.

I have been sending funds to her, but she wants more than that. She expects me to marry her, but I cannot. I could never do that to you. You have been stoic about Lady Annabelle, and you do not deserve to spend your life reminded of it because of a selfish decision that Lady Elizabeth and I made.

Forgive me, Morgan. I know you may never do so, but I know that you will at least care for these girls in a way that I never did.

Yours sincerely,

Thomas Lockheart

The Duke of Ulverston"

His hands trembled. It had been the ultimate betrayal, and it had taken three years for Morgan to learn of it.

Thomas could not have known that Lady Elizabeth would not be taken care of, and that she would take matters into her own hands. He would have assumed that Morgan would find the letter and then the lady and do what had to be done, but that was not what had taken place. Instead, the lady was left abandoned and was left with what she felt was no other choice. His skin began to crawl.

He looked up at Dorothy, who was looking at him expectantly. He had told her everything about Lady Annabelle, but he had not yet given her the letter to read. He was too busy doing so over and over, hoping that if he did so it might begin to make more sense.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Are you not angry with me?"

"Do I have reason to be?"

"I never told you that I had been engaged."

"I never asked. Believe me, I do not care. Under the circumstances, our marriage being arranged that is, there was no reason for me to know. That is not what I care about. I want to know why you look so… so angry."

He blinked. Was he angry? He had every right to be, but he did not seem to have it in him.

"I spent years trying to help my brother," he said quietly. "I thought that If I helped him when he found himself in situations that he could not control, eventually he would have to see things differently. Instead, he decided I would always be there."

"That is not your fault. You did all that you could."

"But it was not enough. I was not able to prevent this."

He handed her the letter, and she read it quickly. As she reached what he imagined was the lady's name, she looked up at him with confusion in her eyes.

"My word," she gasped, "you could never have guessed that he would do something like that to you."

"No, which is likely why I never thought of her."

"Do you still plan to tell Catherine about her?"

"I shall have to. What other choice do I have? I promised her that I would tell her who her mother was, and that she could visit her resting place. What happened to me is of no consequence. The only thing that matters is that she finds her answers, and that among everything that has happened to her she can find peace."

Dorothy looked at him with sympathy, but he did not hate it. If anything, it was precisely what he needed. He felt foolish for thinking about the past, as he should have moved past it, but to see someone supporting him meant more than he ever would have expected.

"Would you like to tell her alone, or would you like me to be there?"

He did not know the answer to that.

"Would you like to be there?"

"I believe I would, yes. I should very much like to be there for you, and if I am there then you will not need to tell me about it afterward."

He sighed, nodding and walking to the door, with her following behind.

"Very well then. Let us go and tell her."