Guy paused at the door of his father’s study. It was Guy’s study now, as was everything in the Mandivale estate, but in his mind this room would always belong to his father, and would always be a place of foreboding.
Unclenching his fists, he turned the handle and entered before he had time to change his mind. Once inside, with the door shut behind him, he closed his eyes, fighting off that familiar childhood fear that had possessed him every time he’d stood on the oriental carpet in front of his father’s desk.
He forced his eyes open and looked around. The room was much the same as it had been when he’d been a child. It even smelt the same, musty and oppressive, and Guy was sure his father’s cigar smoke still lingered in the air, even though the former duke had been dead for five years.
The mahogany desk and bookshelves full of old account books and ledgers had remained untouched since his father’s time, although now layers of dust covered them. Spiders had even had the audacity to spin their webs on the top shelves.
Guy never used this room, had never intended to do so. The last time he’d entered the study was just after his father had died when he’d retrieved the estate’s latest account books. He had done so with as much haste as possible, then told the servants to leave it as it was. The unkempt state of the room would have horrified his father, and that gave Guy some satisfaction. Horrifying his father had almost become a mission for Guy when the old man had been alive and, even now, every time he did something he knew his father would have disapproved of, he took pleasure in the thought of the old man spinning uncomfortably in his grave.
He moved his shoulders to loosen the gripping tension. The only time his father had paid him any attention was in this room. He would be summoned to the study so his father could, as he phrased it, ‘beat some sense into his disappointment of a son’. No doubt the leather strap was still hanging in the cupboard, waiting to be raised once again in anger, but Guy would not bother to find out.
Those disciplinary sessions might not have changed his behaviour, but they had taught him one valuable lesson. He had eventually learnt how to be impervious to the neglect, to the beatings and the constant reminders that he, a useless, good-for-nothing son, had taken the life of his mother.
He shook his head to drive out any memories of his father. As a child, he had fought hard to learn that lesson. It would be foolish to let that cold-hearted man’s behaviour affect him now.
Instead, he strode across the room and ripped open the desk drawers, tipped the contents onto the floor and rifled through his father’s possessions. His satisfaction grew with the mounting mess. He was proving to his father that none of those beatings had worked. He was still an ill-disciplined wastrel and always would be.
When he reached the bottom drawer, he found what he was looking for. Piles of letters, some tied together with ribbons, others opened and strewn haphazardly around the drawer. He picked up the beribboned piles, one pile neatly addressed in what was clearly his father’s firm handwriting, the other written in a more feminine style that must be his mother’s.
He looked down at the disorderly pile of half-open letters. That was not like his meticulous father, whose insistence that everything be kept in a pristine, orderly fashion bordered on the fanatic.
The disorder did, however, answer one question. Where Horace had found his mother’s letter. In future Guy would be keeping a close eye on his cousin when he visited the Mandivale estate.
He traced his fingers slowly over the faded blue ink on his mother’s letters. Horace’s theft didn’t answer the second question. Was the letter genuine? The one he had shown Guy could have been real, or he could have stolen a letter to get an example of her handwriting so he could make a forgery.
There was only one way to find out. He bundled them all up and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him. As he walked away from the study, the pain in his chest diminished with each step until by the time he returned to the drawing room he had all but forgotten about his bully of a father.
Daisy looked up when he entered, a neglected book lying in her lap. ‘So, what did you find?’ she asked, looking at the pile of papers in his hands.
He placed them on the table beside her. ‘Letters. Lots of letters.’
‘So, does the handwriting look like the one in the letter Horace showed you?’
He picked up the pile of letters with feminine handwriting, untied the purple ribbon and opened the top letter. His heart sank. ‘Yes, exactly the same. And the signature is the same as well, although this one has “AG” not “AP”. My mother’s maiden name was Giles. She entwined the initials in exactly the same way.’ He angled the letter towards Daisy so she could see for herself.
‘Oh, Guy, I am so, so sorry.’
He looked back down at the letter, which was addressed to his father, and read the first words.
My dear lord, the Duke of Mandivale
His throat constricted, his eyes itching, Guy could bring himself to read no more.
‘I suppose that’s it,’ he said with forced indifference, placing the letter back on the table. ‘When the lawyers see these letters, it will all be over, and Horace will take possession of everything.’
She lightly touched his arm. ‘I am so sorry, Guy.’
‘But there is one good thing to come out of this.’ He forced out a laugh. ‘It means that man was not my father. It also might explain why he treated me with such disdain. Perhaps he always suspected I was not his.’
‘The way your father treated you was so unfair. And this is also unfair.’ She waved her hand over the pile of letters.
He shrugged, as if dismissing the unfairness of his father and the unfairness of the Mandivale estate once again becoming the property of a bully. ‘It matters not,’ he said as much to convince himself as Daisy.
They sat in silence for a minute, both looking out at the bright summer’s day. His gaze moved back to the abandoned pile of letters. He picked up the top one, stared at his mother’s writing and traced a finger along her elegant penmanship. ‘But perhaps I should read these,’ he said, as if to himself.
He sat up straighter, aware that his mother’s letters should command a more respectful posture. ‘Maybe I’ll learn more about my mother, and somewhere in this pile I might learn how my father...’ He breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. ‘How the late Duke of Mandivale drove my mother into the arms of another man.’
He looked at Daisy, who was nodding slowly, her eyes still sad. ‘Are you sure you want to know what happened? Why she...? How your father...?’
Guy looked down at the letters. ‘No, I’m not sure, but I do want to read her letters.’
She smiled a sad, gentle smile and he knew, whatever he discovered, there was no one he’d rather share it with.
‘I never knew my mother and have always thought of her as some sort of saint-like person.’ He looked at the letter cradled in his hands. ‘I suppose I’d always imagined that, if she had lived, my life would have been different. So, yes, it’s a bit hard to have those childhood illusions shattered and to know that she was an adulteress.’
‘Oh, Guy,’ Daisy murmured.
‘But I do want to know what she was like, and saints don’t really exist, do they?’ he said with a shrug. ‘She was a real woman, one who perhaps took comfort with another man because she was so unhappy being married to my father. Or maybe she was like many people of our class, and had been forced into a loveless marriage, and this Boysie...my father...was the man she really loved.’
He looked back at Daisy and smiled to reassure her that there was no need to feel sad for him. ‘There’s only one way to find out what my mother was really like,’ he said with more briskness than he felt. ‘And, if nothing else, it will pass the time while you convalesce. So, are you up for some letter-reading, Daisy Chain?’
Still biting her lower lip, she slowly nodded.
He handed her the pile of letters written by the former Duke of Mandivale. While he wanted to know more about his mother, he had no interest in reading that man’s words. Just looking at his handwriting sent a shiver through him, reminding him of all those missives he’d received at boarding school, demanding that he must change his ways if he was ever to be worthy of the title of Duke. Well, he hadn’t changed his ways, and it looked as though his father had been right—he wasn’t worthy of the title.
Instead, he reopened the letter written by his mother and skimmed the contents.
‘What does it say?’ Daisy asked, leaning forward.
‘She’s just discussing a ball they both attended and informing him she would be pleased to ride out with him on Sunday.’
‘Oh, well, that doesn’t tell us much. Read the next one.’
He took another letter from the pile. It was in a similar vein. Unlike the letter Horace had shown him, it was all very matter-of-fact and contained none of the passionate prose she had addressed to Boysie.
‘She’s saying how much she had enjoyed their time together and is looking forward to seeing him at the next ball.’ He handed the letter to Daisy.
She read it and replaced it in the envelope. ‘You said the writing looks the same, but perhaps Horace’s is a forgery. Someone might have copied the way she wrote, but what of her way of expressing herself? Is that the same? Because that won’t be so easy to fake.’
Guy wondered how much he should tell Daisy. She was no longer a child, and her curiosity was obvious. She already knew that his mother was an adulteress and had shown no shock at that revelation. Her reaction had been one of concern, for him and Florence. Perhaps little Daisy Chain could be told the whole truth. ‘The letter Horace showed me was a love letter, full of affection and, dare I say it, passionate longing. These are all rather formal and rather dull, so it’s hard to tell.’
‘Oh, well, keep on reading.’ She bit her lip, and he knew what she was thinking. Maybe they’d find some letters that alluded to this Boysie person. Then they’d know for certain that Horace’s letter was genuine.
He read another letter. It too was perfectly polite and revealed nothing. ‘This might be a waste of time,’ he said as he handed the letter to Daisy.
‘Oh, no, surely not?’ she said. ‘We’ve only just begun. I’m sure if we continued we’ll...’ She looked up at him with those big blue eyes. ‘But of course, it is up to you. If it is too painful, we should stop.’
Guy considered her words. Yes, it was painful. It was painful to discover that you were illegitimate. It was painful to know your mother was an adulteress. And painful to know that Horace was the rightful heir. But he had experienced pain before and was well-schooled in how to ignore it. And he did want to know more about his mother’s life.
‘All right. You read some of my father’s letters. Let’s see what that old...what the late duke has to say for himself. Maybe he’ll mention Boysie and we’ll find out who he was, be it a friend, a servant...’ he gave a humourless laugh ‘...or a passing scoundrel who seduced my mother. It would make more sense that a man like that was my father than the late Duke.’
She frowned in disapproval, then looked at the letters. ‘Are you sure?’
He didn’t want to read the old man’s words himself, but he was curious as to what his letters might reveal, so he nodded. Daisy opened the first letter in the pile and he braced himself, waiting to hear what the former Duke had to say, and reminding himself that words could not hurt you.
Her eyes grew wide as she scanned the letter. ‘Oh, he’s a bit more enamoured with your mother than she was with him.’ She looked up at him then her gaze dropped back to the letter. ‘Right from their first meeting, he was infatuated. Listen to this. “My dearest Miss Giles, If you would do me the greatest honour of allowing me to escort you as we ride in Hyde Park next Sunday it would fill me with a great deal of happiness. Yours, Hubert Parnell, Duke of Mandivale, your most devoted servant”.’
‘That doesn’t sound particularly enamoured to me,’ Guy said, waving away Daisy’s offer to let him read it for himself.
‘It is. They’ve only just met and he’s already gushing over her. Most first letters are very formal and merely invitations.’
‘Oh, you’ve had a few of them, have you?’
‘Yes, I have, actually,’ she shot back and scowled at him.
‘And how many have you accepted?’
To that, she merely shrugged and picked up the next letter in the pile. ‘Oh, it looks like they had rather a good time in Hyde Park. Your father certainly enjoyed himself. “My dearest Annabella...”’ She looked at Guy. ‘Your father is already using her first name, and it’s only his second letter to her, and they’ve only met twice.’ She waited for him to acknowledge that he understood the significance of this.
He nodded and signalled for her to continue.
She looked back down at the letter. ‘“I’ll always remember our time beside the Serpentine and all the fun we had together...” I wonder what happened beside the Serpentine?’
‘My father probably drowned a duck.’
She laughed. ‘I don’t think so. What does your mother say in response?’
He picked up the next letter. ‘“My dearest Mandivale, I too enjoyed our time together at the Serpentine, but you were a very naughty boy.”’ He looked up at Daisy. ‘I was right. He did drown a duck after all.’
She swatted him with her hand. ‘Carry on—what else does she say?’
He looked back down at the letter. ‘“And naughty boys should be punished.”’
They stared at each other, both wide-eyed, then Daisy’s hand moved to her mouth to stifle a giggle. ‘I think your mother is getting a bit saucy.’
Guy suspected she was right and such letters were not suitable for a young lady’s innocent eyes and ears. ‘Perhaps we should stop reading these,’ he said, folding up the letter.
‘We can’t!’ Daisy cried out, picking up the next one. ‘The only way we’ll know the truth is if we keep reading.’
Before he could stop her, she opened the next letter and quickly read its contents. ‘Oh, he rather likes that saucy side of her nature. Listen to this. “My dearest, darling Annabella...”’ She looked up, her eyes wide, making sure the affection in the opening was not lost on him. ‘“I look forward to my punishment and please do not hold back. The harder, the better, I always say.” Oh, this is starting to get good!’ she said as she pulled open another letter, her eyes moving rapidly over the written words. She put it down and looked at him, her teeth nibbling on her bottom lip. ‘I’m not sure you’re going to want to hear this.’
Guy cringed. How much worse could it get than knowing that his father liked to be punished, the harder, the better? ‘Go ahead.’
She drew in a breath and placed her hand on her stomach. ‘“My darling, my Bella, my sweetheart. Kissing your lovely lips has left me so discomposed I can hardly think, can hardly sleep. I must taste your sweet honey again, soon and often. Please tell me you were not just taunting me, and that one day you will let me feast myself fully on all your sweetness.”’ Once again biting her lip, she looked over at him, blushing. ‘Well, I never. It’s only the second or third time they’ve met and they’re already kissing.’
Guy was unsure what that meant. Did it mean they were consumed with passion for each other, or did it mean his mother had given out her kisses freely, including to men who were not her husband?
‘This is not a good sign,’ he said, reaching for the next letter in his mother’s pile.
‘What does she say about him wanting to be punished? How does she feel about the kiss?’
Guy looked down at the letter, then back up at Daisy, and suppressed a smile. ‘You’re getting rather excited by this, aren’t you?’
She crossed her arms and scowled at him. ‘I am not. I’m just curious to know what happened.’
‘And I’m not sure if this is suitable reading material for someone as young as you,’ he teased.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not a child. Now, read it out loud.’
He stifled a smile. ‘Well, if you insist.’
‘I do, I do. What did she say?’ She shuffled forward in her seat and tried to look over the top of the letter to read it upside down. ‘But, I mean, only if you want to,’ she said, sitting up, her eyes moving between him and the paper he held.
He gave a small laugh at her attempt to cover her eagerness.
‘“My darling Hubert, my darling Duke, my darling Mandivale...”’ He shook his head. How anyone could call that man ‘darling’ he would never understand. ‘“I am so hungry for your kisses...”’
He stopped reading, folded up the letter and replaced it in the envelope. He wanted to know more about his mother, but there were some things a son did not need to know.
‘Gosh!’ Daisy gasped. ‘She was hungry for him.’ She bit her bottom lip again and her teeth ran slowly across the soft, full flesh, as if imagining what it was like to hunger for a man’s kisses. Unable to look away, Guy watched her lovely lips part slightly. Was that an invitation?
He forced his gaze to move from her lips up to her eyes. She held his gaze, her lips still parted, her cheeks still flushed, her eyes sparkling.
This was Daisy Chain, he fought to remind himself as he looked into those enticing big blue eyes. He should not be thinking of kissing her, tasting her, savouring her sweet honey.
‘I wonder what he had to reply to that,’ she continued, picking up the next letter in the pile before he could stop her. Clasping the neck of her blouse, she scanned the letter. ‘Goodness, listen to this,’ she said.
Guy was about to tell her he had no interest in listening to the man’s response when she grasped his arm.
‘Stop!’ she cried out. He looked round to see what he was supposed to stop doing.
‘Florence and Nathaniel are coming. Quick, hide the letters.’
Guy turned to the window and saw the couple strolling up the gravel pathway, arm in arm, chatting and laughing together.
‘Quickly, quickly!’ Daisy cried, her hands still clamped to his arm. ‘Hide them before they get here.’
Guy did as she ordered. He pushed the letters together into an untidy pile, rushed over to the sideboard and shoved them in a drawer while Daisy anxiously watched the couple’s arrival. He wasn’t sure why he was doing so. After all, they were merely trying to find out whether or not Horace’s letter was genuine. But as he slammed shut the drawer, he sighed with relief, as if they had avoided being caught doing something they shouldn’t.
Florence and Nathaniel entered the room, bringing with them carefree laughter and joy. Guy returned to his chair and tried not to look guilty. And why should he? He had done nothing wrong. Perhaps they should not have been reading his parents’ private correspondence, but they were doing it for a perfectly innocent reason. No, he had absolutely nothing to feel guilty about.
He looked over at Daisy. She was staring straight ahead, her body rigid, her cheeks still flushed and looking the very epitome of guilt, although she had even less about which to feel ashamed than did he.
He glanced at Nathaniel and Florence, hoping they could detect nothing amiss, but they were paying no attention to Daisy or Guy, too absorbed in each other’s company.
He shot a quick look over to the sideboard to make sure he had fully closed the drawer, then back at Daisy. Her gaze was now flicking between the sideboard, Guy and the other couple.
It was so easy to read her thoughts. She wanted them to be alone together again so they could continue reading the letters. Their content had obviously excited her. Was that the reason he felt so guilty? Or did it have nothing to do with the letters? Was it because he had just done the unforgivable and actually imagined kissing his best friend’s little sister?