Page 7 of A Bride for the Scottish Duke (The Gentleman’s Vow #5)

CHAPTER 7

Eammon

E ammon stood outside his uncle Edwin’s townhouse half an hour later and hammered on the door. When the butler opened, he blinked at him in a curious manner, making it clear he had already locked the house up for the night and retired.

“I beg your pardon, Carson, but I must speak to my cousin,” he said and pushed in.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Carson replied as Eammon rushed into the parlor.

He paced the space while Carson went to fetch Thomas, who had made the family’s townhouse his permanent residence. When Thomas stumbled into the parlor, his hands were working to tie the belt around his banyan, and his eyes were heavy with sleep.

“Eammon? What in the world is this? I was already in my nightclothes, ready for bed,” he said, in a tone that gave light to his vexation.

“It is barely gone midnight, and you were already abed?” Eammon observed.

“I am to meet my father in the morning—you know how he is. Six o’clock is late for him. But tell me, why are you here? I thought you were visiting your mother this evening,” he replied as a yawn escaped him.

“I was indeed. However, I found out something this evening that left me no choice but to make my way to Stafford House at once—to claim Lady Charity as my wife. It is rather a tangle, Thomas, and I shall need your help untangling it all.”

Thomas frowned, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Something tells me a stiff drink is in order.” He crossed the room to the sideboard and, without asking, poured two glasses of cognac. Handing one to Eammon, he swiftly downed the other in one swallow.

“Now, tell me. What has happened exactly? You have made an offer of marriage?”

Eammon took a sip, allowing the liquor to warm him, then set the glass aside. “Not quite. I may have indicated that I am already wed to Lady Charity and she agreed. It was the only way to stop her from having to marry Lord Markham.” He paused. “Well, there may have been another way but this was the only thing I could think of in haste.”

Thomas shook his head. “You …Lady Charity? Pembroke’s daughter? You— you are married to her?”

“Not yet. I shall have to be in the morning. However, she and I have made a claim that we already are wed. So as all presume the matter already settled, I shall need your assistance in persuading the registrar to provide the necessary documents. You must serve as witness, along with Lady Charity’s cousin, Millie. As for Uncle Edwin—he must understand that you are unavailable to meet him in the morning. This is more important. This…I must protect the family.”

Thomas threw up his hands. “Protect the family? Start at the beginning. Last we spoke, you had no wish to wed. Now, at near midnight, you tell me the whole ton believes you married a woman you hardly know? And what has Aunt Lydia to do with this?”

Eammon drew a breath, finishing his drink before sinking into a chair.

“I went to call on my mother as I said I would, and while she was delivering her customary lecture on my duty to marry and produce an heir, the topic of Lady Charity arose. I mentioned how I was under the impression that Lord Markham intended to propose this very night. That was when my mother grew rather agitated.”

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “She told me that Pembroke’s Book of Confidences was not entirely fabricated. I had thought it all a gammon but it seems not. He indeed kept a book with secrets about the most powerful families in the ton, secrets he used to elicit certain advantages. My mother is convinced that he will bequeath the book to his daughter in her inheritance, in order to keep it in the family.”

“So, Lady Charity will inherit it? Is that why you proposed to her? You are so desperate to get this book? I thought you were quite capable of getting what you want without resorting to blackmail or whatever it is you intend to do with this book,” Thomas said, his tone making it clear he was not the least bit impressed with what he’d heard thus far.

“I have no desire to blackmail anyone and I am hurt you would suspect me of wanting to do such a thing. No. The reason I had to make sure Lady Charity weds me and nobody else is because the book contains a secret about my family. Our family,” he said, and closed his eyes as his head pounded once more.

“It seems making me the heir despite the circumstances of my birth was not only my parents’ doing. Lord Pembroke was the one who arranged it all. He made me legitimate,” he said, and dropped his voice as he spoke.

Thomas shot to his feet, swiftly shutting the door to the parlor, then crossing the room to close the second door leading to the hall.

“Pembroke knows that you are not Uncle Alexander’s natural son?” he asked when he returned, his voice low so it was hardly more than a whisper.

Eammon nodded, wretched now about having to talk about this secret his parents had burdened him with years ago.

To the world, Eammon was the natural-born son, and thus heir, of the Duke of Leith. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth. This secret was known to only his aunts and uncles. Not even his sisters knew that Eammon was not their brother by blood. Of his generation, only Thomas knew the truth and even he had never been told the details—or asked for them. All Thomas knew was that Eammon was illegitimate, and therefore had no right to the title he now bore.

“What does all of this mean? How is Pembroke involved?” Thomas asked.

Eammon inhaled deeply. “You recall the story, do you not? Of my parentage? You know I am not…”

“Of course. I am well aware you are not Uncle Alexander’s true son. I know your parents are John and Maebh Keane. Is that not why I have been looking into their deaths for so long? To put your mind at ease that they truly died in an accident and not because there was something more sinister involved?” Thomas asked.

Eammon nodded. “Yes, I always feared that their close connection to Alexander might have had something to do with their deaths. But perhaps you were right and it was only an accident, I do not know. But in any case, they were my parents. I am their son, I share no blood with you or the rest of the family,” he said, and as he did so, he realized that for the first time since he was nine years old, he’d spoken those words out loud. He wasn’t a Hayward. Not by blood. And yet, he felt a part of the family. Had always felt a part of them, for he had no other family.

“I am certain it was an accident, Eammon. But that does not matter now. What matters is how is Lord Pembroke involved in all of this? In this secret? And how could his Book of Confidences bring you down?”

Eammon gulped and shook his head. “As you know, when John and Maebh died, Alexander took me in as his ward. I was raised as such by him and Lydia and they became my parents. While they treated me as a son, it was known I was a ward, nothing more. I was treated as such. Or mistreated as such, one could say. It was well known. But then, when I was nine, it all changed…”

“Because Aunt Lydia could not have more children and had not been able to produce an heir, I do know that part.”

Eammon nodded. He still remembered the anguish his parents suffered over the years. Their daughters, Hazel and Marjorie, were the only children his mother had been able to bring into the world alive. All other pregnancies had ended in the loss of the child, or in a stillborn child. After the last pregnancy had almost cost Lydia her life, it had been clear there would be no further children. And no heir.

“Indeed,” Eammon murmured. “I recall how much they fretted, not just over not having more children but over what would become of the estate. You know my father was the first Duke of Leith, so there was no other relative for the title to pass to. Most of all, they were upset that I could not inherit it because I was not their natural son.”

“Of course they would be upset. They both adored you. The entire family did and does. You are one of us, there is no difference,” Thomas said with such conviction, Eammon knew he meant it. Still, that didn’t matter.

“That is when they decided to change the narrative when it came to my origin. They started telling people that I was in fact Alexander’s son. That he was married while he lived in exile in Ireland and that I was the offspring of that marriage. His natural born son and heir.”

“And your supposed mother died in childbirth, if I remember correctly,” Thomas said.

“He said that on his decision to return to England, he left me with John and Maebh Keane to raise as their own because he did not think it right to bring an Irish Catholic boy to England with the political situation as it was. By the time John and Maebh died, he felt he could not tell the truth about being my father and so decided to pretend I was a ward.”

“My head already hurts,” Thomas pointed out and rubbed his temples for emphasis. It was a convoluted tale his parents had spun, it was true. And perhaps it was the fact it was so very tangled that it had been believed. Otherwise, why would an English lord make up such a tale? Telling everyone he had wed an Irish Catholic and then hidden it on returning to England had made sense. It would not have been the first time an Englishman kept a dalliance with an Irish lady secret.

Likewise, having a child with such a lady would have been a scandal. Thus, hiding Eammon would not have been out of the realm of believability. And bringing him back into the fold when there was no other heir to be had was also something others among the aristocracy could believe. There was nothing more important, after all, than securing one’s line.

“My parents told this story time and again, how my father always hated that he had to lie about my parentage, how he wanted me to have what I deserved as his natural-born son and that he was tired of lying. In due course, people began to believe him. The idea that an English nobleman would hide a marriage to an Irish woman and their offspring made sense at the time,” he shrugged. “Of course, there have always been rumors, but my parents had the so-called proof.”

“Right, your father had a marriage license and a birth certificate showing you were his son,” Thomas said. “I’ve seen them.”

“Forgeries. Both of them.” He leaned forward. “This is where we come to your question about Lord Pembroke. You see, I always thought the forgeries were my father’s doing. That he knew someone who did it for him. But it was Lord Pembroke who arranged it all for him.”

“Goodness gracious,” Thomas gasped. “Of course. It makes sense. Your father and Lord Pembroke were close friends.

Eammon inclined his head. “Yes. They were. But I did not know someone outside of the family was involved. Suddenly, my mother’s panic made perfect sense. She was scared that whomever Lady Charity weds would be getting their hands on the Book of Confidences.”

“It seems peculiar that Lord Pembroke would keep evidence of your father’s dealings in his book when they were friends. Do you think he kept it to blackmail him?” Thomas asked the question that had bothered Eammon as well.

“Mother is convinced it is not so. She says Pembroke always kept record of everything he was involved in. She does not believe he has written out in detail who asked for the forgeries, but there is enough to put it together. Also, if he is anything like me, he would have stuck with the same people to help him. It would be easy enough to track down.”

“So that is why you wanted to secure Lady Charity’s hand as quickly as possible.”

Eammon sucked in a sharp breath, his chest tightening. “It is. If anyone uncovers the truth, I lose everything—the title, the lands, the life I’ve built. And worse—our family falls with me.” His hands gripped his hair, fingers digging into his scalp as dread coiled in his stomach.

He dropped his head in his hands. “I was never comfortable with this deception. I wished my parents had lied to me outright, told me the lie as truth as well but…”

“You were old enough to know better,” Thomas said and Eammon shrugged.

“I know it. And I know better now. I never should have accepted the title of Duke of Leith. I should have told my father that I could not take it on. It was always a question of time until somebody found out and used the information. Even if I can prevent it this time, it will happen. I am a fraud.”

Thomas got up and stepped beside him, placing one hand on his shoulder.

“You are not a fraud. You may have been born illegitimately, but you are a duke through and through. You are honorable, kind, you tend to your tenant farmers and your lands, and you are loyal to the Queen,” Thomas said. And though Eammon knew all of this was true, he also had that doubt in his stomach which never quite ceased. And now there was more…

“I cannot help but realize that to protect myself, I must ruin Lady Charity’s life by making her my wife,” he said. Thomas removed his hand.

“It is hardly a burden to be a duchess, old chum. Besides, did you not say she was to wed Markham? That would have been a sad fate in any case but now we know the Book of Confidences exists, we know that likely he wished to wed her because of it. Do you suppose he knows of its existence?”

“Perhaps. There has been rumor of it for years, as we know well,” he replied. It was true. For many years there had been speculation over the book, if it was real or not. “If Markham found out that it was in fact real, he would have stopped at nothing to get his hands on it. I am doing the same after all. Although…” he paused and rubbed his chin as a thought came to him. He had not considered it sooner but now that he was confronted with the new reality, memories of the past came flooding back.

“Lord Pembroke said something to me at my father’s funeral. Something I dismissed as the ramblings of an old man. He said that the promise my father gave him had to be upheld by me, that he expected he could count on me,” he said.

Thomas drew his eyebrows together.“What promise?”

“I could not think of it until now but I recall now when I was a boy, the night my parents told me that I would be duke, that I had to pretend my birth parents were never my parents, I overheard Lord Pembroke and my father speaking. I did not put it together then but it must have been the night Pembroke was able to arrange for the forgeries.” He leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to remember what he’d overheard twenty-one years ago.

“He wanted my father to protect Lady Charity and any sisters she might have, should he die before they wed. My father promised him that,” he said.

Thomas’ eyebrows shot up. “So when Pembroke told you he’d hold you to the promise, he meant that he wanted you to protect Lady Charity. Do you think that is why he wrote in his will she was to wed? Because he thought you would know that he wanted you to wed her?”

Eammon shook his head. “I cannot imagine it. After all, I scarcely remembered my father’s promise. In fact, Father never spoke to me of it.”

Thomas wetted his lips. “Likely he did not think he would pass so soon.”

Eammon took this in and sat quietly. His father had not been old when he’d passed. Not yet sixty. His death had been a shock to them all, as he was the first of his generation to pass. His aunts and uncles, some of them older than he, were in excellent health. In fact, his father had been in excellent health as well. He’d gone hunting the day before he passed with no indication that anything was amiss.

It would make sense that he’d assumed he had many years left to live, and with Pembroke still alive and Lady Charity of marriageable age, he’d likely put the matter out of his mind.

But now, it had caught up to his son. And Lord Pembroke’s daughter.

Protect Charity …

It was a task set for his father and one passed along to him now. If Lord Pembroke had intended for him to be the one to marry her or if he had been forced to add the stipulation of marriage to his will somehow, it did not matter now.

What mattered was that he would have to marry Lady Charity to protect not just himself, but her, from men like Lord Markham, who would surely seek to unravel every secret he could. And bring down Eammon’s world along with it.