The Sculpture And The Sculpted

Chapter 20

The rest of that night was spent by firelight, combing through every single paper in that vexatious stack. Every single letter that had his father's hand was pulled, examined carefully and then burned viciously.

Beverly stayed by his side, helping organize. They didn't speak. They simply worked. Separated, read, burned. Separated, read, burned. Separated, read, burned.

Anything and everything with the mention of a secret child or of Elizabeth de Bourgh. Everything else could be looked at at a later date. For now, the priority lay in scrubbing this woman off the face of the earth. She had to never exist. Any chance that she could be known was going to be washed away.

The moment Will returned home; he would do the same to any records they had. He doubted he could reach the records in Rhodes or in Germany, but England would be wiped clean of Elizabeth de Bourgh.

Her words always brought a pause to Will when he read them. There weren't many letters from her. Only two or three out of the many that had never been sent by his father. Each one was begging for Sanford to just reach out to her, send one single letter back. Will could only guess that his father could never send the letters in fear of hurting himself politically if they were ever found. He spouted his love like a poet loud enough, so Will couldn't find a reason for Sanford to do it out of spite.

Will pulled free another letter in the woman's handwriting and nearly wanted to chuck it directly into the fire, but stopped, his heart clenching in his chest as he read who it was addressed to.

My Darling William

His lack of movement must have caught Beverly's attention, because she set aside the paper in her hand and looked carefully over Will.

"What is it?"

Will swallowed around the lump in his throat, shaking his head. "It's to me."

"From Elizabeth?" Beverly rose to her knees to scoot closer to the prince, looking over his shoulder to see the letter. Will gave a small nod. "Do you need me to read it?"

"I..." The paper began to tremble like a leaf in his grip and Beverly pulled it carefully from his hand. She leaned closer to the fire to better see.

"My Dearest William," Beverly read, keeping her voice low to not wake her father who was asleep in the next room. "Today is your first birthday, my sweet child. My heart aches with a longing that words cannot adequately convey."

Will rose to his feet, hands resting on his hips as he paced the small space in front of the fireplace. He had to keep moving or he was going to shake apart. He couldn't listen to the words of this stranger without a million emotions swirling through him, each one far too complicated to pin down.

"I perfectly remember the day you came into this world, my precious one. Your tiny fingers grasped mine, and your eyes, so full of wonder, met mine for the briefest of moments. In that fleeting instant, I felt an overwhelming love that consumed my very being. It was a love like no other, a love that I had never known before, and one that I will carry with me until my last breath."

The words turned his stomach. He had never heard his birth mentioned before by either the king or queen. He had never thought to question it before. He assumed that it was something that was never spoken of, but now that he could hear the love coming from those few written words, his heart was shattering. This is what it was meant to be like. This was what his life was supposed to be. There was someone there who had loved him all along and he just hadn't known.

Beverly's words continued to flow through the kitchen as Will's pacing kept a steady beat.

"I hope, with all my heart, that you are safe and surrounded by love and care. I long to hold you, to caress your soft cheeks, to sing you lullabies, and to watch you grow. Though I cannot be there with you physically, please know that every thought, every breath, every beat of my heart is dedicated to you."