Page 115 of Miss Vincent’s Vow

He paused at the doorway and looked back at Mr Wade.

“Don’t you understand? I would care.”

“You’ll get over it—”

“For once in your life, think of someone other than yourself,” Jethro said. “Ask God to forgive you for the way you treated my mother—and me. Then, maybe, we can talk again.”

The stricken look on Mr Wade’s face tweaked Jethro’s conscience, but anger and humiliation had obliterated the gratitude he had previously felt for him.

The man didn’t deserve his sympathy. He had made his choices, and now he had to abide by the consequences.

“Goodbye, Mr Wade.”

Jethro turned his back on him without offering his hand and stormed out of the room.

Chapter 61

Once outside the hotel, Jethro chose to walk rather than take the carriage, hoping the cool night air would soothe his anger and help him think more clearly. He set off along the Promenade, crying out to God for wisdom. What was he going to do?

Though his words had been forceful, Jethro was far from convinced. Did he really believe Mr Wade was lying, or was he too proud to accept the truth?

His keen sense of justice forced him to consider the possibility that he was the man’s son. It would explain so much, and yet it still rankled.

He recalled what Cassandra had said before she left—before she had kissed his cheek—and knew he needed to examine the contents of his mother’s desk drawer. He had dismissed them before, not wanting to pry into her affairs, but now he must find out the truth. Was Mr Wade his father?

Jethro unlocked the warehouse and fumbled around in the darkness until he found the tinderbox. He lit a candle, its flickering flame casting shadows into the gloomy space before him as he pulled the door closed and made his way upstairs to his office.

Once in the room, he went straight to his desk and reached for the handle of the drawer where the answers to his questions lay. For a moment he hesitated, his fingers tightening around the metal loop, dreading what those answers might be.

Praying for strength to deal with whatever he found inside, he opened the drawer.

The miniature stared up at him in the gloom and he pulled it out to examine it in the candlelight. His chest tightened as he recognised the face in the portrait. Mr Wade. Younger than the man he’d met, but undeniably the same. The features were too similar to deny the likeness.

He turned it over and read the inscription on the back.

For Sarah Jane. With love. Granville

Jethro pushed the miniature to one side. It only confirmed what he already knew—that Mr Wade had loved his mother, and she had loved him enough to keep his portrait. The letters would determine if there was more to it than that. He hoped they would prove whether he was Mr Wade’s son.

He extracted the two bundles of letters from the drawer and untied the ribbon on one of them. He unfolded the first sheet of paper and perused the short missive addressed to “My dearest Sarah Jane” and signed “With all my love, Granville.”

A fresh wave of anger hit Jethro as he read the message of love and regret that they couldn’t be together. How dare the man write to his mother with such words when he chose to wed another?

He cast it aside and picked up the next. There was little variation in the theme—effusions of love and enquiries after his son, which made Jethro cringe.

The rest of the pile was just the same, and he despaired of getting any answers.

He undid the bow on the second bundle and spread open the first letter, expecting more of the same.

Instead, he saw his mother’s hand, and this time, there was no denying it. She was talking about their son and asking him when he would come back. He glanced at the date and realised she’d written the letter shortly after his birth. These must be the letters his mother had made Mr Wade return.

The more Jethro read, the more his heart ached. He could no longer deny the truth. He was Mr Wade’s illegitimate son.

His eyes welled up as he absorbed the mixture of love and hurt in his mother’s words to the lover who had abandoned her. As he neared the end of the pile, he found her letter demanding that Mr Wade return every word she had penned that did not sit well with his marriage to another.

It was far into the small hours of the morning when Jethro unfolded the last letter—a letter addressed not to Mr Wade, but to him.

My dearest Jethro