Author's note: Thank you for the continued support – cannot tell you how much it means to me! Please excuse any historical inaccuracies again concerning Belle's inheritance with this chapter! Happy reading everyone!

Chapter 41

Lady Archambeau had been watching of course, from the balcony above. Following the end of the conversation between the Duke and Marquis, she quickly exited the ballroom, taking the secret passageway which led down to the rickety staircase by the kitchens, where Mrs Potts was waiting for her.

"So?" uttered Mrs Potts, her kind blue eyes filled with pent up anticipation as Archambeau's feet emerged from the upper stairs.

"It is done," she replied, her gaze steady, much like her nephew's tended to be. "He performed the way I hoped he would."

"That is fantastic, then we can give him the letter from his mother and-"

Lady Archambeau lifted her hand to silence Mrs Potts.

"However," she spoke, her voice cutting through and for the first time, sounding uncharacteristically cold. "There is still the matter of the mademoiselle. Until that is solved, I still remain on guard."

"Oh Madam," sighed Mrs Potts, clearly apprehensive as Lady Archambeau stepped down on to the landing. "He has done so well and made great efforts for us all! The master was always a kind-hearted soul and now he has fully embraced it and-"

"The issue is not my nephew."

The words were plain but the implication behind them was inescapable. Mrs Potts' radiant smile faltered as Lady Archambeau's eyes dimmed, the sense of all-knowingness ever present.

But the head of household had a backbone just as much as the woman standing in front of her and so it was, after a moment of collectiveness, that she lifted her head high and gave her reply quite candidly.

"If you are referring to the mademoiselle, then I must defend her on her behalf. I had thought you viewed her with the greatest esteem-"

"You mistake my words, dear friend," replied Archambeau, her voice suddenly filling with warmth as she looked at Mrs Potts with alarm. "I care not for social standing and the mademoiselle is by far one of my favourite people within this country. No, that is not the issue. It is more… whether I can hold any faith in what is to follow…."

….

"Belle, I do not know what to say. I have kept a secret from you, for most of your life. We have not had time to speak properly since we left Villeneuve but-"

"Papa, I have long forgiven you," replied Belle as she took her father's shaking hands into her own, just as D'Arque, the debt collector, opened the door and entered the drawing room.

"But Belle, you must have so many questions," continued Maurice as he and Belle continued to sit together on the divan by the fireplace. "Like who your mother was and-"

"I know who she was," said Belle simply as her father continued to stare at her incredulously. "She was the woman you have always described to me and painted countless times. Kind-hearted, brave and fearless, who always spoke her mind but never with malicious intent. I know who she was on the inside papa, and that is what really counts."

"Nevertheless, Belle, you must allow me to explain-"

"I apologize for interrupting," said D'Arque, interjecting with a rather guilty look on his face as both father and daughter turned their similarly brown eyes towards him. "However, I really must explain further about the matter at hand and why I returned to Villeneuve. It is imperative you both are fully aware of the circumstances."

"Of course," said Belle immediately, "I must apologize to you, monsieur. You tried to approach me a few days ago and graciously respected my wishes and had the patience to wait. We will not delay you any longer."

D'Arque couldn't help but smile in response as he stared at the elegant young lady, even as she was dressed so plainly she could easily be a countess. Sometimes genes did factor into things, despite one's upbringing.

"In which case," he said with some finality as he sat opposite the two, "I will explain all."

While rubbing his hands, D'Arque knitted his brows together out of habit. After so long, it was a little hard to know where to begin.

"As you are now both aware, there is a substantial amount of inheritance which was to be bestowed upon any last living descendent on your mother's side of the family mademoiselle. As her brothers failed to produce an heir of their own, this all falls to you. In fact, the will of the late Baron was changed so it would, without question, fall to you. As I'm sure you have surmised, your mother deserted the family before you were born, so they did not know of your existence. It was my task therefore, set about by the late elder brother, to find you and well, confirm your existence, as odd as that may sound."

"That is why you were in Villeneuve, all those months ago?" said Belle, a puzzled expression creeping over her face. "I thought you were just collecting debt for the county."

"That is my official role, yes," replied D'Arque, shifting his feet against the rug beneath as he spoke, aware of the young lady's lack of reaction to the fact that she was the sole inheritor of a pretty large inheritance. "But within a debtor's prison, people have all sorts of unresolved issues. Often without any happy endings. Luckily this time, for your mother's youngest brother, I was able to actually help. As the sole inheritor, what is left to you is, aside from the financial side of it, an estate, to the east of Paris, along with the title of course that belongs to the Géroux bloodline. I understand this must all come as quite a shock, but you and Maurice- er, I mean Monsieur Benoit must fully comprehend the large changes that are about to occur in your life. First things first, you must come to Paris so we can sort out the legalities. Not to mention you will need to be officially recognized by the King at Versailles and afterward, there is your new estate to contend with and-"

"Sir!"

Belle's voice cut across the room just as Maurice too had opened his mouth in order to say something.

D'Arque immediately turned to look at the mademoiselle, who, herself, was now fidgeting in a rather awkward position on the divan, her brows screwed together as if in deep thought.

"I appreciate all you have done for us monsieur, all the effort and patience it must have taken you to do all this," she began after a while as the debt collector and her father continued to stare at her, "but from I can gather from my father, it was never my mother's intention to return to her family. If what you say is true, then of course, I will do my duty, but I cannot help but wonder if this is really how it should be. I am, at the end of the day, a farm girl who just happens to like books and helping her father with his inventions. I am not prepared for any of this, not suitable. I have not been brought up for it, for any of this and it is no fault of my father's because I believe all he has done for all these years since my mother's death is simply to carry out her wishes. She may no longer be here, but should I not respect her wishes also?"

She spoke eloquently of course, which D'Arque found to be sort of ironic. She may say she was a peasant girl but she had the posture which suggested not nobility but something even better. Someone who was noble at heart and it showed.

"Oh Belle," replied Maurice in response, taking his daughter's hands into his own. "I never imagined this would happen, please forgive me. If I had known…. I would have told you but it was the last thing your mother said-"

"Papa," said Belle, her voice strong as she turned toward her father. "I understand why you did what you did, I know. I know what mama said…. to keep me safe. You'd told me before that we had to leave her during the plague and now I know why you chose Villeneuve, a place far below the standards of what you had to offer. But that is why I am asking what I am asking to Monsieur D'Arque. Surely there is someone else more suitable?"

"Mademoiselle," started D'Arque, as Belle continued to stare at him resolutely. "You are the last of the Géroux family and with that comes the title of Countess, among other things. I'm sure you have gained some knowledge since coming to this castle, and should know by now how these things work, even just by observing the Duke. It is beyond the individual, even the family. You do understand, don't you?"

Belle turned once more to look at her father, but he only stared back at her with a sense of inevitability in his eyes. But there was something else there too.

She thought it was something like pride.

"Belle," he sighed as he took her hands into his, all the worry that had been on his face disappearing as if it had never been. "Perhaps this was always meant to be. You didn't belong tucked away in a village and neither do you belong stuck dusting cobwebs in a castle. I may have tried my best to run away from the past, but somehow, I always knew something greater lay in store for you. What you choose to do with all this is up to you, but I will be there to support you, whatever the future holds in store."

"I…." stammered Belle as she shook her head in disbelief and looked at D'Arque again.

"Mademoiselle," said D'Arque, leaning forwards in his chair. "I don't ask for you to make any hasty decisions now, however either way you must at least consider them."

"I understand," replied Belle finally, as something within herself shifted, the feeling that that something she had always been craving for, that future had finally reared its head in her direction.

It was just that now that it had, she was no longer dreaming towards the horizon but looking behind her, at-

"Your Highness!"

The sound of D'Arque's voice jolted Belle out of her thoughts, the clicking of the door turning all their heads toward the far end of the drawing room, where the Prince stood, dressed so smartly one could not have guessed he had been bed-ridden mere days before.

"Monsieur D'Arque, Maurice, Belle, I apologize for the intrusion," he spoke, his deep voice reverberating across the room as it always did, it's familiar warmth seeping into Belle's skin as she watched him bow his head before turning to look at her hesitantly.

"Not at all!" exclaimed both D'Arque and Maurice as the two men stood up, much to the chagrin of the Duke who quickly stepped further into the room and told them to stop the unnecessary movement and to sit down.

"We were just going through the particulars sir, and I needed a suitable room, so I made use of your drawing room," said D'Arque warily as the Prince came to stand by the fireplace, facing them all.

"I am glad it has come to some use," replied the Duke smoothly, giving a wry smile.

"We have been rather pressed for time," said D'Arque, as Maurice and Belle continued to stare at the two men nonplussed. "Given everything that has been going on, as I explained to you this morning, I have planned to make sure of a safe journey to Paris today-"

"No need to worry about that," replied Duke, his blue eyes full of certainty as he placed his arm on the mantelpiece, "I have arranged the transport for you, my men will be sufficient to accompany you all that way, and-"

"What are you talking about?"

All the men present in the room turned to look at the only woman in the room, who was now staring at the Duke with something which could only be termed as outrage.

"Belle?" said the Prince, nonplussed as he turned to look at D'Arque who hastily turned his gaze toward the mademoiselle, who had now stood up.

"What do you think you are doing, making plans behind my back? Monsieur D'Arque, I do not believe I gave you permission to make any plans for me, and besides, we have said nothing about leaving today."

"A thousand apologizes mademoiselle," said D'Arque, his eyes growing to the size of marbles, having never witnessed the young woman's rage before. "I did not intend to manhandle you or your father, it was only that I assumed you would want to leave as soon as possible-"

"Why on earth would you make such an assumption?" replied Belle, her eyes turning to slits as even Maurice looked at her in confusion and then toward the Prince who wore such an oddly sombre expression that it made him realize this was not the first time the aristocrat had seen Belle lose her temper.

"Belle-" started the Duke, but he was cut off immediately by the dark-haired girl as she turned to stare at him too, eyes aflame.

"And you!" she snapped, pointing her thin finger toward him in such a manner he had to take a step back. "What were you thinking, trying to send me silently away again like last time?"

"Like last time?" muttered D'Arque, his gaze turning all the more confused as Maurice seemed to realize something and then stared at his daughter with a warm, parental sense of pity in his eyes.

"Belle-" tried the Duke again, taking a step forward as he stared into her eyes but finding no refuge there as she refused to meet his gaze, rebuffing him immediately.

"No, I don't want to hear it," she replied, her voice hard. "You haven't recovered yet and we both know you only got yourself into that ridiculous situation because of me-"

"Belle," said the Duke, this time more firmly as D'Arque and Maurice exchanged glances of mutual understanding. "We both know that was between Gaston and me. I was simply trying to protect you by removing you from a dangerous situation-"

"Oh yes, that old worn out excuse again," replied Belle, her behaviour turning more and more bitter, even as she heard, much to her shame, a slight wobble in her voice. "The same you used last time we were speaking properly to each other."

"The last time we spoke properly to each other I admitted to you that it was enough!"

Belle's eyes widened even as she continued to stare at the floor and the Prince continued to stare at her, the temperature in the room, which had been steadily rising throughout their squabble, suddenly dropping like a stone.

"Please excuse my behaviour sirs," continued the Prince, his voice still calm and controlled as he turned to bow toward D'Arque and Maurice. "But there is some unfinished business between I and the mademoiselle. I would like to ask your permission to speak to her in private, if that were at all possible. I promise it is nothing untoward and I will treat her with the utmost respect."

D'Arque turned to look at Maurice. It was obvious the Duke was really speaking to him more than anyone else.

"Why, of course, of course," said Maurice hastily, standing up immediately as his eyes shifted between Belle and the Prince. "Please, take all the time you need."

As the two gentlemen stood up and quickly left the drawing room, the two remaining occupants stood still, as if part of the furniture, with Belle still staring the Duke as he kept his eyes uneasily turned toward the window behind her.

Even as the door shut, neither immediately spoke and so it was that Belle found herself opening her mouth first, eager to ask the most obvious question still hovering precariously in the air.

"You remember," whispered Belle, even as he still refused to look at her. "I thought you would have forgotten."

"I don't forget Belle," replied the Duke finally, his voice still thick and guarded as he turned to face her, his blue eyes dim. "I apologize for everything you have had to endure over the past couple days. It has put some delay over the original objective."

"Original objective?" repeated Belle as she clasped her hands together. The Prince she saw before her resembled nothing like the man she had spoken to last night, withheld, his face giving away nothing.

"Concerning your future Belle," said the Duke. "The reason why D'Arque is here. He means well you know, we both do. I apologize if you misinterpreted-"

"I misinterpreted nothing," said Belle sharply. It was her turn to show him the cold shoulder, just as he had done countless times before. "Not concerning this and not concerning what you said last night."

The Prince's eyes did not exactly change expression as he took in her words, but rather they seemed to deepen in colour as he took a small step toward her and bent his head slightly, so he should see the stubborn look on her face more clearly.

"I know better than to hide anything from you Belle," he said quietly as she turned to look at him. "We have danced around this for so long now and I am wise enough to know I cannot keep things from you. I was not sure you had heard my words last night and understood their meaning, but I see now that you did. I meant what I said."

As the Duke spoke, he reached for Belle's hands, staring down the them as he wrapped his larger ones around hers and felt their collective warmth, wanting to sear the image into his mind so he would never forget what it felt like.

"But that does not change the immediate reality," he finished before calmly letting Belle go and walking behind her toward the window, where outside beyond the grounds, light drops of rain could be seen scattering into the grey lake. "Now you understand, I did not push you away because I didn't care for you. It is anything but that."

Silence fell but not for long as Belle's next words soon pierced through the sombre atmosphere, the Prince opening his eyes abruptly as anxiety suddenly entered his system and swirled like a tempestuous storm within himself.

"And what I said to you? The words I spoke to you in return last night? They held no consequences? You heard what I said but I know you will only pretend you didn't. They had no effect on you, they change… nothing?"

Unlike before, Belle's voice was so fragile, like glass or that of a child, and the Prince was immediately filled with the fear that he would be hurting her again.

In the past, he might have lied, pretended that he hadn't heard, that he'd been asleep, as he had tried to pretend to be last night as he heard the precious words she'd uttered while lying against his chest. Yes, in the past he would have. He was able to do that. But now, after all those weeks, with all his returned letters scattered around his desk as she remained silent, the days filled with self-hatred as he imagined how she must have hated him, knowing she would never smile in his direction again…

"No!" he found himself saying hastily, his voice full of guilt as he turned around and saw the exact same fear he felt inside reflected back towards him in the almond brown eyes he had grown to love so much.

"You were listening?" replied Belle hesitantly as they stood looking at each other, the Prince wide-eyed as he remained mute, just as surprised as she was by his sudden outburst.

"I'm always listening Belle," he said slowly after a moment, taking a step towards her and gently lifting his hand to stroke her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek and leaving a faint bloom of pink in its wake while she continued to stare at him. Suddenly, nothing else seemed to matter. Only that she understood everything completely.

"It's enough-" he began but Belle immediately took over, drowning out his next words.

"For you to have my heart," she finished, her brown full of warmth as she placed her own hand above his hand and smiled, the expression nearly shattering the Prince on the inside, feeling like a small miracle had just occurred.

"Don't you see, it goes both ways," whispered Belle as she stepped even closer towards the Duke, her head tilting even further upwards as she tried to keep eye contact with him.

"When I went back to Villeneuve, there was a hollowness within myself that I could not fill anymore with the things I used to love doing," she began, knowing she could not stop the flow of words anymore, like a dam had been broken. "I was selfish, wanting so much, so much out of you, I realized how ridiculous it was, what I was demanding, a peasant girl demanding something from a Duke!"

"Belle, that doesn't-"

"It was like a cold splash of water in the face and I needed it," said Belle firmly, refusing to let go of her convictions even as the Duke's eyes filled with warmth which she had only ever seen directed towards her.

"You must think I am very cold-hearted. After what happened," replied the Duke as he absent-mindedly continued to stroke Belle's face, much to her embarrassment.

"Not anymore," she replied curtly as she looked away, starting to feel nervous. They had never stood at such proximity for such a length of time before, especially in a drawing room where anyone could come in at a moment's notice.

"I must admit," she continued, feeling very self-aware, "I was angry, but after some reflection, I realized what you meant. At the time, I was scared because I had grown to feel like we were equals. But hearing you speak that day, it shattered the dream I was under, you made me realize how far apart we actually were, how different we were. How foolish it was for me to even consider-"

"We were equals," interrupted the Duke, taking hold of Belle's shoulders as if it would help prove his point and pull her out of any sense of uncertainty. Except, as he assessed his own words, he realized he had spoken out of turn.

"No, that is not exactly true," he corrected as he let go of Belle and looked straight ahead at the large mirror above the mantlepiece which reflected back both Belle's figure turned toward him and his own surprisingly calm looking face above her hazelnut hair.

"We were never equals," he spoke softly as he stared directly at himself before turning to look at Belle who was now staring at him nervously, which only caused a faint smile to appear on his face. He bent his head again so that she could see him clearly.

"You were like an angel sent to me," he said, choosing his words carefully, "you have always been my superior, an ideal I once despised I must admit, feared even…"

"I am not perfect monsieur, please do not put me on a pedestal!" exclaimed Belle, her dark eyebrows furrowing together, just as he had expected, which only caused his grin to become that much wider.

"And feisty," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "Stubborn to an infuriating degree, with a far-away look in her eyes, always dreaming, forgetting sometimes where she was or what she was doing…"

Belle's expression changed as the Duke's timbre shifted and his eyes lost their humour, replaced quickly by something far deeper and unrecognizable to her.

"You are not perfect, you have flaws like any good spirit, but I…." said the Duke as he lifted his hand again, staring at it as if it were not his known while placing it hesitantly against Belle's cheek once more. "You made me care, Belle. You made me want to take responsibility, not just out of duty but.. Because I wanted to. For so long, I had forced myself to not care. It was the only way I could survive, but you came along and ripped my heart out."

The Prince seemed to be speaking to her from somewhere else, and though his words half alarmed her, she refused to interrupt him. Despite his darkening gaze, she did not feel uneasy, for it lay in stark contrast to how gently he was holding the side of her face.

"No… No, I ripped it out myself and offered it to you…" he continued, his voice raw and revealing rough edges Belle hadn't known where there before. "Every time I looked at you, I was offering it… but you knew that…. Clever girl and it scared you."

"I was never truly scared of you," said Belle firmly, even as the Prince stared at her with some mixture of guilt and fear in his beautiful eyes.

"You had nothing to fear from me, I can see that now," replied the Duke somewhat reluctantly as he took hold of her hands again and led her towards the pale blue divan by the fireplace. "But I was terrified the first time I saw you."

"No, not of you per se," he quickly corrected as Belle looked at him in alarm, freezing for a moment before sitting down beside him, clearly noticing that he was keeping some distance between them even as he continued to hold her hands in his. "Rather because of what you saw, what I saw reflected in your eyes. You gave me clarity when I needed it most."

"Not a monster though," said Belle softly, tilting her head so he would not avoid her gaze. "Nobody who lived in this castle ever was."

Her words clearly had a heavier impact that she had been anticipating, for the Prince's shoulders seemed to tense for a moment, his adam's apple bobbing against the white cravat around his neck while his gaze turned nervous, even as Belle continued to look at him, now with some confusion in her eyes.

"You were right Belle," he said finally, his voice so deep, as if he were letting go of something he had been holding on to for some time.

"About what?" asked Belle, suddenly not liking the distance between them, a distance which she had always been thankful for.

"About everything. About my mother, my father, me."

The Duke spoke he reached into his vest and pulled a thin piece of parchment from a hidden inner pocket, placing it gently on Belle's lap as he looked up at her with some apprehension though she knew not why.

"It's from my father," he clarified, noting her puzzled expression. "The reason for all the chaos in the first place. It was what Gaston and the Marquis had been searching for, mistaking it for some hidden inheritance."

Belle stared blankly at the parchment on her lap. It was obvious as she turned to look at the Duke who was looking at her expectantly, that he wished for her to read it.

"I couldn't possibly!" she exclaimed, attempting to give it back to the Duke but the man's face turned stubborn, an immovable sense of intent clearly in his eyes as he pushed her hands away.

"I want you to read it. Please."

Belle looked uneasily at the parchment again. Somehow, she knew what it was, partially from the broken dark blue seal, clearly embossed with the coat of arms of Chartres. That the Duke wanted her to read words which were obviously only meant for his eyes only made Belle nervous, but still, that familiar sense of curiosity which had always resided within herself refused to go away.

The skies were darkening outside, and in the dull afternoon the drawing room began to dim as if it were twilight, the opaque white clouds nevertheless providing some gentle light within. The rain was still pouring, but the drops of water pelted against the windowpanes as if they were far away, only creating a faint, dampened sound. .

The Duke stared at Belle as she opened the letter, her dark brown eyes moving horizontally as she read his late father's words, words which at first he had not known what to think of as he had read them mere hours before.

He had not known what to think of them, for they did not seem to have come from the ink and quill of his father. Adam had not recognized the man behind the words because in the end, they had all been words of love.

It started with the very first line, causing the Prince to feel immediate alarm, for his father had not once, to his recollection, ever addressed him by his given name….

….

Dear Adam,

If you are reading this then it must mean that I am dead, and you are the next Duke of Chartres. I write this, knowing soon I will leave this world and finally re-join your mother in heaven, god willing.

The purpose of this letter is not one out of necessity. You know what is to follow and what your duties are. I am sure you will grow to become a far better Duke than I and I am sure you will store the Dukedom to its rightful glory. I only regret leaving everything to you in the terrible state that it is.

Since you left this castle for Paris ten years ago we have not been on speaking terms and for that, I cannot tell you how sorry I am. It is what had I expected, what I had sown but I must tell you, if you are willing to read this, that I deeply regret every action I have taken ever since your mother died.

You have always believed I was the reason for your mother's death and quite rightly so as it is what I had wished. But I cannot leave this world knowing that I leave you blind to the truth. I only hope you will believe what I say and if not, I hope one day you will.

I loved your mother very much, and the rumours are true, we were a love match, despite it being an arranged marriage. We were very happy, and I cannot tell you the joy we felt when you were born. Your mother however had complications during the birth, and I grew to fear if we ever conceived again it would put her life in danger. It caused a great rift as she was adamant that she wanted more children, especially as she quite logically felt more heirs would place better security for the future of the Dukedom. I refused however, and instead focused on you instead, trying to convince her you were enough. I thought if put in enough effort she would see this too. Inadvertently however, I see now I put too much pressure on you.

Do not misunderstand, we both loved you very much, but it was nevertheless something always on her mind. It was also the reason for our argument that day. This will be very hard for you to hear, but she had called me to her quarters to tell me she had become pregnant. We had been so careful, or rather I had, but the past couple months she had convinced me the distance I was placing between us was no longer warranted. When I heard the news, I must admit all I felt was fear. Fear that I was going to lose her, that all the effort I had done to keep a safe distance from her had been for nothing.

Whether you believe this or not, the following account is what I remember happening and can be proven if you ask the Heads of Household as a witness was present. I had inevitably upset your mother and she'd left the drawing room quickly and it was after a few moments that I heard an odd noise. I was so wrapped up in everything that had transpired that I had failed to think more of it and it was a few minutes later that a maid rushed into the East Wing quarters, telling me that the Duchess had been hurt. By the time I came to the top of the grand staircase, I found you sitting beside by her.

You ask why I did not react. You must understand, that for me it was as if fate had played a cruel trick, proving I was right, that my fear had won out, that it was inevitable that she had to die.

Adam, perhaps you do not understand, no, I hope you will never have to understand, but it destroyed me. I tried to think of you but all I could think about was Evaine and how I had failed her. In fact, I couldn't feel anything. I failed her as a husband, and I failed you as a father. I do not ask for your forgiveness, only that, despite what you might think, I cared for you very much.

Privately I claimed responsibility for her death, and I purposefully let the public believe what they wanted. I thought it was no less than I deserved. To my utter horror, it only seems to help my reputation as a Duke, but it suited me well as I was free to seclude myself.

Why I let you believe I had killed her is a little more complex. At the time, in my distorted state of pain and grief, I believed it best that you despise me and use me as a lesson to never become what I was and to cherish and protect those that you love, never taking them for granted. I believed it would make you stronger and that there was nothing of use that you could possible learn from me beyond that. I only see now this was my first mistake. I should have been more open with you and let you know how much I loved your mother and cared for you also. But this is the past, and I can only say I regret what I did. I was a coward, running away from my responsibilities as a Duke and more importantly as a father. It was self-loathing and in my blindness, I had failed to see you.

I know you are capable of great warmth and empathy, and it is something I regretfully slowly tried to extinguish because I believed it would not help you. I became convinced that it was better to live without love as it only grew pain and sorrow. I had allowed fear to take over and it was a fear I never wanted you to experience. I thought it would make things easier for you, especially as you grew up in a very unforgiving world.

Simply put, I cared for you too much.

As the years past, the only thing left was the Dukedom and what I would leave for you. This estate was losing money, mostly because I was struggling to balance the books. Being out of society meant things were harder to get a handle of and I was not getting the support I had before your mother's death either. In my weakness and ever-present depression, I grew weak and was drawn into gambling because it was the only choice I felt I had left. I used the people around me, and yes, I must admit, abused my power through my status as a Duke and did not always give back what I was lent.

It was only when your aunt, your mother's sister, who, yes, is still alive, came into contact with me a few years ago following her husband's passing that things changed. She was candid with me and visited the estate several times, observing you from a distance. She was the only person it seems I could not ignore, for she has some of the same directness that your mother possessed, and I began to realize my folly and how nothing was how Evaline would have wished things to be.

I slowly began to put myself out of the mess I had created. Once I had come out of the alcoholism which I had allowed to take over my life, I realized I needed to rectify as much as I could before I departed this world. Unfortunately, I have only managed to recover some of the damage and I leave this Dukedom is a worse state than it was before.

I do not ask for you to forgive me, only to believe that I did love you and your mother very much, even if I failed you both. I only hope you will learn from my mistakes and find your own path, moving forward from the damage I have caused. Do not live life with regret and know that the future still shines bright for you. It is your choice what you choose to do with it. Always stay true to yourself. I hope in time you will be able to find yourself again and sooner than I did. Above all Adam, do not let fear govern your life. Your mother never did and she was always right.

With all my love,

Your Father