“‘My men brought the couple back to Lockewood, and there, after I had the maid shut up in her room with a guard on the door, I railed against my son. How dare he defy me like this? I would not have it. A mere maid as his viscountess? We would be laughingstocks. I forbade it. I may have had no choice in his inheriting the title, but I would take every last shilling away from him. I would spend it, give it away, or burn it in my own fireplace before I would see a farthing of it go to a scullery maid. My son, who had always been weak, eventually saw reason. I convinced him to have the marriage annulled. I agreed to find a new place of employment for the girl, and as quickly as possible, Alfred would marry a woman of my choosing.’”

Mr. Moody looked up from the papers before him and made eye contact with the other woman in the room, whose face had gone paste white. Her lips were a bloodless straight line, and cords appeared in her thin neck as her jaw tightened.

The lawyer looked down again, his jowls moving as he swallowed.

“‘I contracted with my friend Lord Cutshall that my son would marry his daughter, Miss Lucy Cutshall, with all haste in a very public wedding. Lord Cutshall knew nothing of the first marriage, and my son agreed to keep it from his new bride as well.’”

Daniel’s hands hurt, and he glanced down to see he was gripping the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white.

“Nearly thirteen years after these events, when Alfred had been married and produced an heir, one Alonzo John Darby, my son was thrown from his horse during a hunt. He was brought back to Lockewood, and the doctor said he was not expected to live through the night. At his bedside, I and my valet, Cooper, heard the dying confession of my son, and he revealed his terrible secret.’”

Tension flowed through the listeners, and Daniel’s chest tightened until he could barely breathe.

“‘My son, who had never shown any initiative beyond that one wild hair to elope with a servant girl, who had never stood up to me before or since that day when he acceded to my wishes to have his first marriage annulled and the woman banished from his life, had been lying to me for thirteen years.

“‘He confessed that he had never had his first marriage annulled at all. He had gone to London, found a forger, and had annulment papers drawn up.’”

The air disappeared from the room. Several people, his mother included, gasped.

The viscountess bolted to her feet. “No. That’s a lie. There is no truth to any of this.” And quick as that, she fainted, sliding to the floor.