Page 164 of Kathryn

“As do I.” He reached into his coat and withdrew the letters. “Amelia gave me these a few hours ago. I would like you to read them aloud and I will answer your questions when you’ve finished.”

Her forehead pleated with confusion, and she hesitatingly took the two letters.

“Read the one on top first.”

She unfolded the missive and darted a startled look at Gerrit. “It is from your mother.”

“Correct.”

“And—and it is from decades ago.”

Gerrit inclined his head. “Please read it.”

She turned back to the letter. “It pains me that I am reduced to writing to you, but Dulverton is as unyielding as a block of granite. I beg of you, Mrs. St. Clare, if you have any influence over him, use it to good purpose and convince my husband to send my son back to me.

I know Dulverton will have told you the truth about Gerrit. I also hope that given your own situation as the lover of a married man that you will not judge what I did harshly. And always remember that everything I’ve done has been at Dulverton’s behest.

My marriage was a lie from beginning to end and you are a large part of that lie. You stood as wife to my husband in everything but name and position before I left my home and family and friends behind and came to this country. My son visits you at your house with Dulverton’s permission. And yet I am excoriated for living the only life my husband allowed me to have.

It is unjust, madam, that you should have both my husband and my child.

If you possess any shred of decency, send Gerrit back to me.

Lijsbeth Van Draak”

Kathryn slowly folded up the letter before turning to him. “She must have sent this right after you ran away.”

“Yes. Amelia told me today—when she gave me these letters—that she implored my father to send me to my mother on alternate school holidays. But he refused to insist that I visit her and left it for me—a child—to decide. I did not see her for almost a decade.” He turned and stared unseeingly at the high foliage walls of the maze. “Read the other letter.”

“Mrs. St. Clare,

I am doing what I told myself I would never do again. I am writing to beg you. This time, I want you to tell my son the truth before it is too late. Before his father dies and—”

Kathryn looked up. “Your father? But this letter is dated only a few days ago.”

“Keep reading,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Before his father dies and he does not have the chance to acknowledge him. The silence Dulverton demanded of us was cruel. Certainly, it was unnecessary after Gerrit grew old enough to understand what the duke had done and why. I asked you for decency once before and received nothing. This is an opportunity for you to redeem yourself. You owe me this. And you owe Gerrit, too. If you care anything for my son, you will tell him who his real father is and you will do it before it is too late.

Lijsbeth Van Draak”

Kathryn stared up at him with incomprehension on her beautiful face. “What on earth does she mean, real father?”

“She means that I am not the fourth Duke of Dulverton’s son. I am the son of Helmut Berg, the last duke’s stablemaster.”

***

Katie clamped her jaws shut just in time to catch her shocked gasp. Not that Gerrit would have noticed at this point. He was staring at nothing, and his face, usually so healthy and tan, was a sickly gray.

“Evidently my father—the last duke, that is—lied to me when he said that he’d not known Helmut Berg was his brother.” He stared down at his hands, which were balled into fists and resting on his knees. “He brought Berg to England along with my mother—his new, innocent seventeen-year-old bride—because he had realized he was impotent and he wanted a child of Van Draak blood—regardless of what he had to do for one. Helmut was the best way for him to get what he wanted.” He snorted softly. “That was what he told my mother on their wedding night. On their wedding night. Can you imagine how she must have felt? She was just a girl.”

He shook his head, his expression one of disbelief and disgust. “Berg was not her lover then. There was nothing between the two of them other than a regular mistress-servant relationship. It was my fath—the duke—who orchestrated everything that happened. For the rest of his life he allowed me to blame her—and my real father—when he was the one who threw them together. All these years I believed my mother drove my father out of his house.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “And now I find it was the other way around. All these years,” he said again, his voice tight with pain. “I have ignored my real father and shunned my mother.” His eyes were like raw wounds when he finally turned to her. “Good God. I am so ashamed of myself, Kathryn.”

Unable to keep her distance any longer, Katie set her hand over one of his clenched fists. He jolted at her touch but did not pull away. “How can you be ashamed for what you did not know? If anyone should be ashamed, it is them.”

The skin between his eyes puckered. “Them?”

“Yes, them. Not just the duke—although he bears the brunt of the blame—but your mother, Berg, and Mrs. St. Clare. All four owed you the truth. I do not care if the duke demanded their silence. Some things are too important to hide. And there was no excuse to keep the truth from you when you came of age.” She shook her head, dismissing the issue for the moment. “There is a more important matter now—Mr. Berg’s health. Have you heard anything? Is he—”