“He might even marry a woman he doesn’t love to save his brother.”
“He was going to do that until he returned and saw that Vellie loved you.”
Claire snorted at that.
Leatrice looked sad. “I wish I could make you believe me. I wish I could make you see Trevelyan as he really is.”
“I wish you could have seen him stand by and let a young woman drink poison. No, I don’t wish that on anyone. If Trevelyan had trusted me…If he’d loved me enough to share some of himself with me…” Claire sighed. “It’s too late now, and it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m assuming there’s a reason why Trevelyan isn’t claiming the title of duke. My guess would be that he doesn’t want the title, and he plans to allow Harry to continue being the duke.”
“Yes,” Leatrice said. “Trevelyan wants only to be Captain Baker. I doubt if he’ll ever return to us after what has happened this time.”
“No, I don’t think he will. I don’t—”
Claire didn’t finish her sentence because the door to her room opened and in walked Harry. Behind him were four footmen bearing trunks. “Put them there,” Harry ordered.
When the footmen were gone, and the bedroom door closed, both Harry and Leatrice turned to look at Claire. It was then that she realized what the trunks contained. She knew without a doubt that they were the letters from Trevelyan. At one time her dearest wish in the world had been to read the private letters of Captain Baker. But now she looked at the trunks as though they were filled with cobras.
She took a step backward and shook her head. “I have to leave.”
Harry leaned against the door. “You’re not leaving here until you read them. All of them.”
Claire looked at the two people. Harry’s handsome face was set, unmoving, while Leatrice’s eyes were pleading. “It won’t do any good. Reading a bunch of letters isn’t going to change anything. Trevelyan’s not going to claim to be the duke, therefore my parents won’t approve the marriage and I’ll lose my grandfather’s money. And I’m not going to leave my sister to the mercy of the fates.”
“You’re not leaving,” Harry said.
Leatrice went to the first trunk and opened it. Inside were neatly bundled letters, hundreds of them. “He started writing me when he was first taken away, when he was nine years old. Shall I tell you about that day?”
“No,” Claire said firmly. “I don’t want to hear a word about it.”
But Leatrice told her anyway, and when she finished, Claire began to read the letters.
Chapter Twenty-five
The duke of MacArran requests the company of Miss Claire Willoughby, the handwritten card read.
Claire read the card, then dropped it back onto the silver tray that the butler held. “Tell Harry I’m busy packing,” she said and turned away.
The butler didn’t move.
“Well?” Claire said, looking at him. Her temper was short and she was anxious to leave Bramley.
“It is the true duke who asks you,” the butler said.
It took Claire a moment to understand what the man was saying. “Trevelyan?”
The butler gave a small nod.
Claire walked back to him, picked up the card again, looked at it, then tossed it back to the tray. “Tell him that we’ve said all there is to say to each other. Tell him that I have things I must do. Tell him I am sick of the entire Montgomery family. Tell him that I never want to see him or any of his relatives again.”
“Perhaps madam would enjoy telling him herself.”
Claire started to say that she wouldn’t enjoy anything about Trevelyan, but then she thought of several things she could tell him. “Where is he?”
“In the blue bedroom. It was his father’s room.”
Claire nodded, then motioned that she’d follow him. I’ll tell him what I think of him, then I’ll leave here forever, she thought. I shall never have to see any of this family again, and, most of all, I won’t have to see or hear of Captain Baker again.
The butler opened a door to a large bed chamber that must have once been beautiful, but now the silk on the walls was faded and torn. The deep-blue silk bed hangings were dirty.