Page 109 of Thrones We Steal

“Yes, ma’am, that’s correct. But I understand Henry found evidence that proves you are the rightful ruler of Wesbourne. You will ascend the throne by yourself in just a few weeks. I’m here to help you arrange everything.”

“I’m sorry.” I lift a hand to my brow, urging it to soften. “This is all a bit of a shock. What evidence did you say Henry found?”

“Ah, yes. I believe everything you need is in here.” He hands me another large envelope, this one looking less official. “He was adamant that you get this.”

I slip the flap open and remove the contents. There’s a folded piece of linen stationery and a small card face-down. Someone scribbled on the back, My Dearest Philip, 1838. I turn it over and a gasp slips out.

It’s a painting of a man in his early twenties with dark eyes and dark hair, a defined jaw and a strong nose. He’s dressed as one of the working class, surprising to find in a painting, as the lower classes often couldn’t afford them. Helena must have paid for it herself.

But that isn’t the most shocking thing.

Most startling, enough that my blood is thrumming in my ears, is the fact that Henry’s face is staring up at me from the picture. There are differences of course, mostly due to the passage of time and change in cultural customs. But there is no mistaking the similarities. Philip is Henry’s doppelganger from the past.

“Have you seen this?” I ask Mr. Weston.

He shakes his head, and I hand him the pocket-size painting. His bushy brows rise to the height of his now-extinct hairline. “Well, there’s no disputing that, is there?” he says as he passes it back.

“I don’t think so,” I say absently, my mind still processing what I hold in my hand. My eyes light on the piece of paper still in my lap. I can’t decide if I’m eager to see what it says or dreading what I’ll find. It’s evidently from Henry and has the power to completely alter my emotional state. I fiddle with it for a moment, unsure if I should read it now or force myself to fret over it all day.

Mr. Weston stands to his feet. “Why don’t I leave you for a bit to collect your thoughts? I have a few calls to make, and if your secretary doesn’t mind me sitting on the sofa out there, I’ll wait until you’re ready to discuss these matters.”

I nod my appreciation and return my attention to Henry’s letter as he leaves the room. My name is scrawled in his hand on the outside, spidery-black lines holding so many secrets.

When I can no longer bear the agony of not knowing, I unfold it. Henry’s monogram stares back at me from the top of the page.

Celia,

If you’re reading this, it means your solicitor has given you the annulment papers and the painting I found of Philip. Crazy, huh? The painting was in the same dresser we found the letters in. It occurred to me a few days ago, that after finding the letters, we never thought about checking the rest of it for anything else. So I went back and there it was, wedged in so tightly I didn’t think I could get it out at first.

I tried to make it as easy for you as I could. Mr. Weston will handle everything from here. I’m told the annulment only takes a few days to file, and then we’re both free to move on with our lives. I’m sure you and Beck are glad of that. I wish you both all the best. Despite what I said before, if you are happy with him, that’s all that matters.

Please know that hurting you has never been my intention, although it seems like that’s all I ever do anymore. Forgive me, C.

I know you’re scared to face this new step alone, but I also know you have what it takes. You’re the most powerful woman I know, and if anyone can lead Wesbourne to greatness, it’s you. I wish I could be there, but I’ll be watching from afar. My presence will only complicate things and you don’t need that.

Make her great for both of us.

Henry

P.S. Please don’t worry about me. I’m fine, simply keeping my distance so you can do the right thing. I’m letting you go so you can let go.

I read it several times before oxygen returns to my lungs. It’s everything I thought I wanted. I should be elated.

Instead I feel like I’ve been kicked in the ribs.

The fairy tales don’t warn you about this. They preach a happily-ever-after gospel and dashing off into the sunset with your hero. They don’t mention hearts bleeding on the floor or heroes who hook up with your sister.

They don’t prepare you for the dreams that turn into nightmares.

34

“Rolling in the Deep” - Adele

Sweat beads on the back of my neck where the sun pours buckets of heat onto it. I’m dressed in a linen shift dress, but even the loose, light clothing does little against the sun in all of its glory, baking us with these record-breaking temps.

Adelaide squats next to me at the perimeter of the garden bed, similarly dressed and just as drenched in sweat as I am. She digs another hole about twelve inches deep with the trowel, before tossing it aside and swiping a gloved hand across her brow, leaving a brown smudge in its wake. Her silk scarf is probably ruined. “Are you sure we’re still in Wesbourne? Feels more like the Sahara.”

“Go sit in the shade.” I motion toward the bench under the oak trees. “I’ll finish up here.”

---