THE LORD’S UNWANTED BRIDE

Part 3 — A Husband Who Hid the Truth

Adrian ordered every entrance to the castle sealed.

Servants hurried through the corridors, guards searched the stables, and no one was permitted to leave the grounds without his personal approval.

Anne stood in her chamber, staring at the empty space on the wall where her mother’s portrait had once hung.

Someone had known about the hidden compartment.

Someone had known enough to steal the portrait rather than the jewels in her dressing room.

“What could my mother have hidden?” she whispered.

Adrian stood near the window, watching the guards patrol the courtyard.

“Something valuable enough to frighten your father.”

“You keep saying that, yet you still refuse to tell me everything.”

He turned.

“I have told you what I know.”

“No.” Anne’s voice trembled, though she forced herself to meet his gaze. “You have told me what you are willing to reveal.”

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then he walked to the desk and opened a drawer.

Inside lay a leather-bound journal, its edges worn and cracked with age.

“This belonged to my father,” he said. “Before his death, he wrote that the accusation against him had been arranged by someone he trusted.”

“Who?”

“My uncle.”

Anne’s eyes widened.

“Lady Beatrice’s husband?”

Adrian nodded.

“He died under mysterious circumstances shortly after my father was accused. Beatrice has always insisted that he was innocent, but she has never explained why the royal court refused to investigate his death.”

“Then why do you allow her to remain here?”

“Because she is my father’s sister, and because I have no proof of her involvement.”

Anne thought of Beatrice’s warning that Adrian never protected anyone without a reason.

Perhaps the woman had been trying to frighten her away from the truth.

Or perhaps she had been warning her about a danger she herself understood.

Adrian opened the journal to a marked page.

“My father wrote about a witness who possessed the original land records. He never named the witness, but he mentioned a silver rose.”

Anne reached for her throat instinctively.

“My locket.”

“Possibly.”

She pulled out a chair and sat down, struggling to arrange her thoughts.

“If my mother knew the truth, why didn’t she tell me?”

“Perhaps she was afraid someone would use you to find it.”

Anne looked at him sharply.

“And now you have married me for the same reason.”

The words struck harder than she intended.

Adrian’s expression became still.

“At first, I agreed to this marriage because your father offered me the alliance I needed to protect my estate. I believed you knew nothing about the old dispute.”

“And now?”

He looked at her for a long moment.

“Now I regret that you were brought into it.”

“That is not an answer.”

“No,” he admitted. “It is not.”

Anne rose.

“I will not spend my life being passed between powerful men like a piece of property. My father made his decision without asking me. If you intend to do the same, then tell me now.”

Adrian approached her, stopping far enough away that she could choose whether to remain or leave.

“I cannot undo what your father has done,” he said. “But I will not imprison you in this marriage.”

She searched his face.

“Even if I discover something that threatens your family?”

“Especially then.”

For the first time, Anne saw something beneath his cold composure that resembled exhaustion. He had spent years defending his name, his lands, and the memory of a father whose reputation had been destroyed.

Perhaps he had forgotten what it meant to trust another person.

Perhaps she had, too.

A sudden crash echoed from the corridor.

They hurried outside and found Margaret standing beside a shattered vase. A guard held a young servant by the arm, accusing him of attempting to flee.

“I did not steal anything!” the boy protested. “I was ordered to carry the portrait to the east wing.”

“By whom?” Adrian demanded.

The boy trembled.

“Lady Beatrice.”

Silence fell over the corridor.

Adrian released the servant with a sharp gesture.

“Where is my aunt?”

“In the chapel, my lord.”

Adrian strode away, but Anne followed close behind.

The chapel was dim, illuminated by rows of candles beneath stained-glass windows. Lady Beatrice stood before the altar, her hands clasped as if she had been praying.

She did not look surprised to see them.

“Adrian,” she said calmly. “Have you come to accuse me of something?”

“You ordered Anne’s portrait removed from her chamber.”

“I ordered it moved to a safer place.”

“Where is it?”

Beatrice’s eyes shifted toward Anne.

“Your mother was a dangerous woman.”

Anne stepped forward.

“Do not speak about my mother as though you knew her.”

“I knew her better than you think.”

“Then tell me what she hid.”

For the first time, Beatrice’s composure faltered.

She turned to Adrian.

“Have you told your wife why your father truly died?”

Adrian went rigid.

“My father died of a fever.”

“That is what the physician wrote. It is not what happened.”

Anne looked between them, her heart hammering.

Beatrice continued, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Your father discovered that the land records had been altered. He intended to expose the people responsible. Two nights before he died, he received a visitor.”

“Who?” Adrian demanded.

“Anne’s mother.”

The words seemed to drain the warmth from the chapel.

Anne shook her head.

“No. My mother would never have harmed anyone.”

“I did not say she harmed him,” Beatrice replied. “I said she was the last person to see him alive.”

Adrian stepped closer.

“Why have you concealed this for twenty years?”

“Because the truth would have destroyed you before you were old enough to defend yourself.”

“And now?”

Beatrice’s gaze settled on Anne.

“Now the woman who holds the final piece of the puzzle has entered this house.”

Before Anne could respond, the chapel doors flew open.

A guard hurried inside, carrying a small silver object.

“My lord, we found this beneath the eastern staircase.”

Anne recognized it instantly.

Her mother’s locket.

She snatched it from the guard and turned it over with shaking fingers. The tiny rose on its front was still intact, but a thin line had appeared along the edge.

Adrian took a small knife from his belt and carefully pressed the hidden catch.

The locket opened.

Inside lay a tightly folded strip of paper, so small that Anne could barely unfold it.

There were only seven words written in her mother’s hand.

The true heir lives beneath a false name.

Adrian read the sentence over her shoulder.

Then he looked at Beatrice.

“What does this mean?”

For the first time, Lady Beatrice looked truly afraid.

“It means,” she whispered, “that someone in this castle has been lying about who they are.”

A bell rang somewhere in the distance.

Then another.

The guards rushed toward the chapel doors as a shout echoed through the courtyard.

“My lord! A rider has arrived from the royal court!”

Adrian took the paper from Anne and read it again, his expression darkening with every passing second.

The message bore the royal seal.

It announced that an investigation into the Blackwood inheritance would begin within three days.

And at the bottom, beneath the king’s signature, was a name that made Adrian’s blood run cold.

Lord Edmund Vale.

The very man his father had accused of stealing the Blackwood lands.

The man everyone believed had died twenty years ago.

Anne looked at her husband.

“Who is he?”

Adrian folded the letter slowly.

“The man who should never have returned.”

And from the shadows behind the chapel, someone listened to every word.

Someone who had spent twenty years making certain that the truth remained buried.

Someone who now knew that Anne’s arrival had changed everything.