Eventually she drew away, but wouldn’t look at him. He faced the wall of journals, and set his hand to her shoulders and rubbed his thumbs over her delicate neck. “Where did you say Leopold’s journal was kept?”
Her arm lifted to point. “Here.”
He slid his hand from her neck and along her outstretched arm slowly, covered her tiny one with his. He tapped their fingers against the spine of a plain leather bound volume. “This one?”
She moved their joined hands further along the shelf. “No. This one.”
“Ah.” He pulled a journal off the shelf at random, relinquishing his grip on Blythe in the process. She pressed the hand he’d been holding against her belly and curled it into a fist. He gave her a quick reassuring smile and sat on the table edge. After a moment, Blythe relaxed.
He flicked open the book and studied the first page. His date of birth was clearly written on the first line, along with other details of his birth. But he stared at the numbers scratched out beside it.
At the beginning it had been a five, but that had been crossed out and amended to the number four, and then changed to number five again. He pointed at the numbers as recognition dawned. “This was my place in the succession at the time the old duke died. I’m third now, I suppose, until Oliver is found alive.”
Blythe shifted closer to see, her cheek pressing against his shoulder. “Really?”
He pointed to the first number and tapped out the order of succession. “Cousin Edwin, my father, Leopold, Oliver and then myself.” He shifted his finger. “It changed again when my father was murdered. Then changed again when young Edwin was born. Oliver must have been alive until the end of the duke’s lifetime.”
“Goodness. That’s the first time he’s been so obvious and I’ve looked at these books for weeks.” Blythe leaned over him and flicked to the end of the book. She pointed to an entry.
“Lady Margaret? Never heard of her.” He frowned. “Not even a ship of that name. If it’s of any use, I was taken to the Williamstown first and later removed to another ship.”
A frown creased Blythe’s brow. She flicked pages until she was somewhere in the middle and ran her fingers over the page. “Here it is. 1803. The Williamstown.”
He stared at the name as fury filled him. “Yes, that’s the one.”
His voice came out as a growl and Blythe’s gaze flew to his. “You were on that ship, but not the Lady Margaret?”
“That is correct.”
She took the book from him and pointed to an earlier entry; June, 1799. “Where were you then?”
“I lived at Harrowdale with my family.”
She stared at the book then returned to the last pages. She returned to the entry about the Williamstown, running the tip of her finger down the page. “Were you moored off Swansea in eighteen six? Captain Fenwinch wrote His Grace that he was to take up duties on the Lady Margaret next. He mentions taking someone with him.”
Tobias took the journal and stared at the entry. Captain Fenwinch had gleefully traded him to the slaver two years before in Charleston. He swallowed. “Not me. I was in service aboard a slaver, the Enid Wren, from eighteen four to eighteen eleven.”
Blythe gasped. “A slaver. You’ve never mentioned anything about that before now.”
Tobias’ smiled, but it was tight with strain. “It’s not something suited to delicate ears and I’d much rather not think about those days ever again.”
Her head bowed back over the book and asked him more questions. Some he could answer, most he could not. Eventually, she set the journal aside on the table and covered his hands with hers. He couldn’t hide the way they shook.
“I am so sorry, Tobias. So very sorry. It appears the old duke was lied to by Captain Fenwinch. The duke may never have known where you truly were or that you suffered so much.” She licked her lips. “He lost you.”
Fifteen
“Discarded like rancid whale meat,” Tobias said tonelessly.
Blythe set her hands on either side of Tobias’ face and brought his gaze to hers. “The duke appears not to have known and was convinced you were still aboard Fenwinch’s ship. There are pages of entries after the first mention of the Williamstown and he wrote to Romsey of his business in command of the Lady Margaret.”
“I wrote to Romsey. None were answered.”
Blythe pulled his head to hers. “Perhaps any reply was sent to the Lady Margaret.”
Tobias snorted and moved out of her grip. She curled her hands into fists, uncertain how to ease Tobias’ anger over what must be a cruel betrayal. To be sent away was one thing. To be unknowingly lost was entirely worse. It grieved her to see him in such pain. When they’d first met she’d thought him largely unaffected by the past. He was always ready with a wicked grin, vulgar words, or searing invitation to join him in bed. How wrong had she been about him? His depths were as scarred as his skin.
She set her hands to his broad shoulder just as the mechanism to the door clicked. She snatched her hands back as the chamber was bathed in brighter light.