“You never know, he might be the King of France in disguise!” Cynthia winked at her and the sisters shared a chuckle when from outside, rapid footsteps could be heard.
“Halt!” a voice called out.
The sisters exchanged a harried glance and Cynthia rose.
“Remain here,” she ordered and stepped into the hall. After a moment, Seraphina heard her sister once more.
“What is it, Father?”
The reply was muffled, and a lengthy silence followed until Cynthia returned, her face pale.
“You had better come.”
She assisted Seraphina out of bed and led her out of the room.
“What is it?”
“It seems perhaps we won’t have to wait until Lord Alderbridge to find out who Oliver is.”
Seraphina’s heart beat faster. “What do you mean?” she asked but her sister did not reply. Instead she led her to the library, just down the hall and stopped in the door.
Inside, Oliver was standing with her father, looking up at the painting of her great-grandfather.
When they heard them enter, the two men turned back to her. Both their faces carrying a similar stony expression.
“Seraphina,” his face brightened at the sight of her, but then grew dark again in an instant.
“What is it, Oliver? What has happened?”
He swallowed; his Adams apple bopped. When he spoke again, his voice was cautious, and his words spoken with care.
“I believe I know who I am.”
Chapter 29
“You remember?” Seraphina gasped, her face lighting up. Oliver nodded at her, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden realization of who he was. And the knowledge that his true identity could mean the end the tender connection that had begun to grow between him and Seraphina.
“Oliver?” Her voice was soft, but there was a gentle prodding tone in it. She was still standing just a few steps behind the doorway. Beside her was her sister, Cynthia, and the footmen who’d been so ready to take him into their custody. For, he had come charging into the house like a madman ignoring their calls to stop. He glanced at her gentle, hopeful face and sighed.
I almost do not dare to tell her or her Father who I am. He may well eject me from the Castle at once. And she? For all her proclamations against the feud, is she truly ready for what I am about to say?
There was nothing to it, however. He could not lie, could not deny who he was. He’d suspected who he was when the memory of Henrietta’s death had come to him. He’d known for certain the moment he stepped in front of the painting in the library and laid his eyes upon the Coat of Arms in the right-hand corner. Identical to the one he’d seen on the carriage that had taken his sister away but for the five-point label in the upper middle.
The Duke of Borough and the Earl of Swift peered down at him. He almost felt as though they were challenging him. Challenging him to speak his name out loud in this, the home of his family’s sworn enemies.
“Young man?” The Duke of Oxshire stepped into his line of sight. “You have made quite the spectacle, rushing in here in such haste, ignoring the footmen.” He nodded with his chin at the young men who stood and looked at him with suspicion. Ready to charge at him at the Duke’s orders. “What is his proclamation you’ve made? Have you indeed recovered your memory?”
He stepped back, nodding gently. Beside him, Seraphina and her sister both gasped at the revelation. He glanced at Seraphina and the look on her face almost crushed his heart. There was so much love in her eyes, so much hope. Would that love be crushed in a moment once she knew the truth?
He sucked in a large lungful of air and looked from her to her father, and then back up to the painting which had played such a vital role in recovering his memory.
“I have,” he swallowed. “I am…I…my name is Lysander.” He swallowed and was about to speak again when Seraphina broke in.
“Lysander? I know the name. I have heard it before. Alas, I cannot recall where.”
“Lysander?” The Duke of Oxshire said, his voice already carrying a hint of irritation. “You are the late Duke of Emberborough’s son? Lysander Keswick?”
Lysander did not look at Seraphina, though he could feel her stare burning into the back of his head. The name Keswick surely alarmed her.
“His son and heir,” Lysander nodded quietly. The expression on the Duke’s face was unreadable. He stared at him, arms crossed, as if he did not know what to believe.
“You are the Duke of Emberborough?” Seraphina’s voice was small, laced with shock and confusion. He suddenly felt himself filled with fear that the truth of who he was might destroy her. It might well ruin everything they had.
She had seemed to be rather tired of the feud, but then again, she was a Camden and he a Keswick. No matter how much they might despise the feud, it was their reality.
It was her sister, Cynthia, who broke the sudden silence. She approached him, eyeing him carefully, her head cocked to one side.
“I met you once, years ago. At Court. When I was being presented to the Queen along with several other ladies. Your cousin was there, I believe. I remember having a conversation with her before we were each presented. When she found out I was a Camden she took great pains to reassure me that she, her mother, and you were the only Keswicks in attendance.”
Lysander smiled, as he now recalled the event. He’d been just a lad of perhaps six-and-ten. His cousin, Lisbeth, Liam’s sister, was as tired of the feud as he and Liam were, thus it did not surprise him she’d have made friends with a Camden girl. It amazed him that he could remember the day with such ease when memories had been so difficult to come by just a little while ago.
“My cousin, yes. Lady Elizabeth. The daughter of my uncle, the late Earl of Millsbury. She rushed to me later and pointed you out to me. I believe it was the first time I saw a Camden in real life.”
“Like seeing a rare animal, I agree. I was rather fascinated by seeing a real-life Keswick, when all I ever heard about you were stories.”
He was immensely grateful to Seraphina’s sister for her attempt at lightening the mood.
“Your Mother never told me you were introduced to the Keswick family at Court,” her father’s voice was harsh, as if a grave secret had been kept from him.
Cynthia swallowed. “It was the summer Mother took me to Court, shortly before my coming-out ball. She did not know who I met. She was rather occupied showing off her gown to the assorted ladies. In any case, I certainly did not tell her. Not the way the feud is talked about in this house.”
She looked at Lysander apologetically. He smiled at her and shook his head to let her know there was no need.
It is certainly good to see I have an ally when it comes to the ridiculousness of this feud.
Although, he had to admit, it was strange to be standing in the very castle he’d heard about for so many years. The subject of the feud itself. He looked at the Duke of Oxshire and wondered. Had the man been more cautious of him when he thought him to be a harmless stranger, enamored of his daughter? Or now, that he knew he was the offspring of the infamous Earl of Swift?
Silence fell between them as the Duke began to walk back and forth, pacing the room as if attempting to make sense of it all. Lysander, meanwhile, cast his eyes onto Seraphina who stood silently. Her could almost see the thoughts tumbling over each other in her mind. She looked up at him, her mouth slightly open. He smiled at her but to his dismay, she did not return it.
“Pray tell, what is it that made you recover your memories, and at such speed?” The Duke of Oxshire suddenly asked.
Lysander, pulled out of his own thoughts, turned to him and licked his lips.
“I have experienced flashes, images. Some memories that have surfaced at random over the past few days, as I am sure you have been informed of.” He looked at Seraphina for confirmation, but she said nothing. “Well, earlier today I was able to recover an almost complete memory. It was of my sister and the day she passed…It—” he
stopped, not wanting to expose too much of himself. He did not have to, for the Duke already seemed to know all about Henrietta.
“Please, you need not say more. I know all about the tragic death of Lady Henrietta. Everyone in the House of Lords was immensely sorrowful at the time.”
Grateful for the Duke’s kindness, Lysander nodded and carried on. “It was in this memory that I saw a Coat of Arms. Very clearly. I felt I recognized. I was certain it was the key to unlocking my memories. And I was right.”
Indeed, it had been this, the Coat of Arms that had brought it all back. Like the glue to a puzzle his memories of Henrietta had brought to the surface. He wasn’t sure how, but it had sewn together the parts that had been separated and had floated in his mind, unattached. Once he stood before it, everything had become clear to him.
“The moment I laid eyes upon this painting once more, it all became clear. For the Coat of Arms, I saw in my memory was almost identical to the one on this painting. Save for this,” he pointed at the five-point-label in the upper corner.”
“The cadency symbol for the eldest son of an eldest son,” The Duke of Oxbridge said quietly, nodding as he understood.
“Indeed. I do not know why, but it brought everything back again and I knew at once who I was. It is almost as if I knew all along but there was a blockage. A barrier I had to overcome.”
He thought back to the memory of Henrietta and that awful day so long ago that had robbed her from him. He remembered carrying her to the house, knowing it was too late. He recalled the screams of his mother, the dismay in his father’s voice, and the utter devastation in his brother, Harry’s face. It was that, the memory of Henrietta, which had turned the tide and swept along with it all the rest of his memories.
“Once I did, I remembered who I am. This man,” he nodded with his chin toward the painting, “the Earl of Swift, is my Great-Grandfather. His eldest son, Francis, the First Duke of Emberborough, was my Grandfather. And his eldest son, Jasper Keswick, the late second Duke of Emberborough, was my Father. And I am the Duke.”
He glanced down at his hands, understanding now why they were so smooth, so free of calluses and creases, so free of damage from the sun and weather. He’d never worked outside a day in his life. He’d never emptied a stable. He’d ridden horses, driven carriages–yes. But others had always done the dirty work for him.
“It is why I did not recognize you—I do not believe we ever met. I knew your father had passed and there was a new Duke, but I …” the Duke of Oxshire shook his head, “I had no idea it was you.” He paused for a moment and then spoke again. “So, do you recall everything then?”
Lysander nodded as the Duke licked his lips. “Then you understand that you being here, on our property, in our home, is—”
“Highly unusual, I understand. Unthinkable, even,” Lysander said, interrupting him.
The two men locked eyes undoubtedly each thinking about the many years their families had been locked in a feud. The many bitter memories that lingered between them.
It was Serafina who broke the silence.
“Oliver? How is this possible? You? A Keswick? And Mother, she…all this time, I do not understand.” Her voice was so full of confusion that he wanted wanting nothing more than to reassure her. To let her know that the reality of his identity would change nothing. That he despised the feud as much as she, that indeed he had planned to end it once and for all, when he met her father in London.
He did not get the chance. “Cynthia,” their father said, “please take your Sister and ensure she settles back in her room. There is no need for either of you girls to be involved with this. I must speak with His Grace, and I must speak with him alone.”
“But Papa,” Seraphina cried out. The tone in her voice, the confusion of desperation that was displayed across her face broke his heart. He wanted nothing more than to be by her side.
“Now, Cynthia.” The Duke looked sternly at Cynthia, ignoring his younger daughter’s pleas.
Lysander watched as Cynthia took Seraphina’s arm and led her out of the room. The Duke motioned for the footmen to close the door from the other side. Once the heavy double door shut, the two men stood across from one another. And so, for the first time in a hundred years, a Camden and a Keswick were alone together in Vallant Castle.
Chapter 30
Seraphina was laying back on her bed, angry tears running down her face.
“The Duke of Emberborough? Cynthia? How could this be? Of all the things I thought Oliver might be, this was furthest from my mind.”
She dropped back onto her pillow, tears running down her face. Beside her, Mobsley jumped on the bed and began to lick away her tears.
“I do not know, Seraphina. I wonder what he was doing here, so close to Vallant Castle.”
Seraphina turned her head to her sister.
“You did not recognize him at all? You said you met him before.”
Her sister shrugged and walked to the window, hopping on the sill with ease.
“It was many years ago. He looked different then. He was but a boy. I remembered as soon as he said his name, as I recall thinking what an unusual name it was. If I’d recognized him sooner, I would have told you.”
She looked outside over the garden, leaving Seraphina to her thoughts.
Would this Duke be anything like her sweet stable boy? She’d always assumed that no matter who Oliver was, he’d retain his gentle nature, his kind, and compassionate ways. Now she wasn’t so sure. She’d never heard anything but terrible things said about the Keswicks and their poor character.
While she felt the feud was silly, she’d never much thought about what the Keswicks might really be like. What if he was indeed a terrible person? Worse still, what if he thought she was? Certainly, if she had been fed all these tales about the Keswicks, they had to have been told the same about her.
“I made a cake of myself, hoping for a future with him. It will never happen now,” she said through tears.
‘What are you talking about?” Cynthia’s voice was full of confusion.
Seraphina sat up. “What if he is as bad as they say? Mother and Father, and everyone else? What if now that he’s himself, he’s entirely different?”
Cynthia rolled her eyes. “Do not be silly. You know him. You know him better than all of us. He’s a kind person. He certainly was kind to me when I met him years ago, and he did not act like a scallywag when we spoke in Father’s library.”
Seraphina thought about this for a moment. It was true, he had looked at her with the same concern he always had. The same compassion. It had been her father who’d taken the news badly. Although not as badly as Seraphina had expected. Of course, perhaps that had been because her mother was not nearby to stoke the flames further.
She sighed. “Do you think he has the same terrible ideas about us as we do him? Do you think he is horrified for having been so close to me?”
She thought of their kisses and of their nap together in the tree house. Did it disgust him now that he’d been so close to a Camden?
“I should hope not. If he did, he certainly won’t be worth crying over. That much is for sure.”
Seraphina sighed deeply. It would not matter either way. Even if he still felt the same about her, she was not sure if she could. For, while she did not care about the feud, she knew that her family, especially her parents, would never stand for her to be anywhere near a Keswick.
I venture to say, my Mother would rather I had run away with a stable boy that with the Duke of Emberborough.
She shook her head. No. It was no use. There was no future for her and Oliver. And all she could do was accept that.
“Lord Alderbridge is arriving,” Cynthia suddenly said. Seraphina looked up, frowning as she hobbled toward the window. Indeed, at that very moment, the carriage with Alderbridge’s Coat of Arms stopped outside of the Castle and a moment later, the man himself jumped out.
“I wonder what he is doing here.”
; Seraphina wetted her lips. “I am certain Father has summoned him to confirm Oliver’s identity. He was certain Alderbridge knew him, after all.”
Cynthia eyed her from the side. “Lysander. Or His Grace.”
Seraphina squinted her eyes at her sister.
“You keep calling him Oliver.”
“Right, right. His Grace.”
Seraphina grew quiet as she watched Lord Alderbridge make his way into the Castle. There was no Oliver. Oliver, the stable boy, was gone.
Several hours later, Seraphina was seated on the front porch of the Castle, watching as her sister ran across the lawn with Mobsley. Her injured foot was resting on a stool and a cup of steaming tea stood on a glass table, next to a plate of candied oranges.
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