Page 62 of A Lady's Dangerous Secret
“That would mean Captain Hughes is your rightful heir and your daughters are illegitimate,” Arthur said. “Though your first wife was believed dead, so I’m sure the courts would look favorably on the matter with your daughters. The more pressing issue is proof that you were married to Captain Hughes’s mother.”
James interjected, “This is the problem. When I was young, I went to St. Paul’s Church to find documentation of the marriage because I wanted to believe my mother when she swore she was married. Our lives were that of servants under my tyrannical uncle, the vicar.” The Duke flinched, as he should, before James continued, “When I went to the church, there was no record of it. It solidified the unrelenting reminders from my uncle that I was a whore’s son, a worthless bastard.”
The Duke shook his head in disgust.
Arthur looked over his spectacles at the Duke. “Do you recall signing the church’s registry?”
“Rose and I both signed it. If it wasn’t there, it must have been removed.”
Arthur pursed his lips and tilted his head while he thought, then said, “If Roberts intended to murder James’s mother, one would assume he accepted that you were married. Otherwise, why do such a thing? He may have removed the marriage record to hide any evidence.”
“Or my uncle could have done it. He reveled in the power he had over my mother and me.”
The Duke shook his head. “This is all too much.”
“How do you think I feel?” James said.
Charlotte’s mind was muddled. A fog drifted through her brain, and the moment she thought she recognized a thought or a sound, it floated back into the mist and was lost. Other times, she would resurface from darkness and catch a snippet of a familiar voice, then dive back into a featureless abyss. This time, there was still fog and confusion, but it was not quite as thick. She heard voices and tried to turn her head in the direction of the sound. A stabbing pain shot from her arm. She grimaced.
Why does my arm hurt?
This one cohesive thought was too much for her addled brain, and she submerged herself in darkness again.
“Lottie.”
A voice intruded into the abyss. She tried to ignore it. It was actually quite comfortable to have a blank mind.
“Lottie.” This time, she felt her body move slightly. She flung her good arm up to stop the pain.
“Bollocks. Sorry, Lottie.”
Who’s Lottie?
Whoever she is, she is not here. Charlotte tried to return to the darkness.
Leave me alone.
There was pressure on her right hand. “Charlotte, it’s me, James.”
Charlottesounded familiar.
I’m Charlotte, now this voice can go away.
Her mind began to wander.
“Charlotte, please. It’s James.”
I don’t know a James.
She drifted off again.
Charlotte remained in blissful oblivion for an unknown amount of time, but finally the shadows lifted. Her senses detected stimuli. Voices, pressure on her arm, pain…lots of pain.
Her eyes flew open. Candles shed light on an unfamiliar chamber.
“Lottie, I’m here. It’s James.” She turned her head to the voice, and recognition dawned upon her when she noted the concerned gray eyes gazing down at her. She knew James. She knew him quite well. The usual storm brewing in him was absent. Instead, he looked exhausted and despondent. Dark circles lined the eyes on his usually handsome face, and stubble covered his angular cheekbones and square jaw.
Charlotte tried to sit up, but that only worsened the pain. “Ow,” she moaned. Her right hand flew to her left upper arm.
