Free Sylvia Andrew by Francesca Page A

grandfather gave them into my care just before he died.’
    ‘But Aunt Cassandra said…Did my aunt know of these documents, Mr Barton?’
    ‘Why, yes. We discussed them after Sir John’s death.’
    So Aunt Cassandra had lied to her, had lied to an eleven-year-old child about her parentage. For so many years Francesca had carried a burden of shame around with her, had worried over her future, had made no effort to be received into society or make friends with the surrounding families, sure that she would be rebuffed. Aunt Cassandra had done her bestto ruin her niece’s life in the way that her own had been ruined. How could she?
    Perhaps, in her twisted unhappiness, she had convinced herself that her lover had really not married her sister, in spite of incontrovertible evidence to the contrary. Or had she been exacting a terrible revenge on the child of those she felt had wronged her?
    ‘Miss Shelwood?’
    ‘Forgive me, I…it has been a shock.’
    ‘A shock? But why should you think…?’ His face changed. He said sternly, ‘Are you telling me that Miss Cassandra Shelwood, your own aunt, gave you to understand that you were not…not legitimate? I find that very hard to believe, Miss Shelwood. Your aunt was not an easy person to know, but she was generally respected throughout the neighbourhood as a just and upright woman.’
    ‘I am not telling you anything, Mr Barton,’ said Francesca, forcing herself to speak calmly.
    ‘But you have obviously been under a misapprehension—for many years. Why did you not consult me?’
    ‘It never occurred to me to do so. I never thought I had any sort of claim on the Shelwoods, except one of charity.’
    ‘But this is disgraceful!’
    With an effort, Francesca put aside her own feelings of outrage. Her aunt was dead—it would do no one any good to reveal how badly she had treated her niece. ‘Mr Barton, whatever…misunderstandings there may have been in the past, the truth is now clear and we will, if you please, leave it at that. The future is now our concern.’
    Mr Barton nodded. ‘You are very wise, Miss Shelwood.’
    ‘Do you…do you know why my father has remained silent all these years, Mr Barton? Unless…unless he is…dead?’
    ‘I have no reason to believe he is.’
    ‘Then…why?’
    ‘When your parents eloped, Miss Shelwood, Sir John Shelwood refused to have any further contact with his daughter Verity. But when she died, he asked me to write to your father, offering to bring you up in England, and make you his heir. This would be on condition that Lord Beaudon should have no further communication whatsoever with you, once you had arrived at Shelwood Manor.
    ‘I have to say that I disapproved of the arrangement, and was surprised that Lord Beaudon eventually agreed. Of course, the inducement was a strong one. You were motherless; as the Shelwood heiress your future would be assured, and—I have to say—your father’s previous manner of life was not one in which a young child could flourish.’
    Francesca said slowly, ‘I suppose so, but…’
    ‘However, your grandfather and aunt are now both dead, you are of age, and, in my opinion, it would not be improper for you to meet Lord Beaudon, if you wished.’
    ‘I…I’m not sure…Mr Barton, you must excuse me. I am…overwhelmed by what you have told me. This change in my circumstances has come as a complete surprise, as you see. But tell me, how many others knew of my grandfather’s will? Why did no one ever indicate something of the matter to me, even if my aunt did not?’
    ‘You said your aunt was a woman who kept her secrets, Miss Shelwood. She always said she was very anxious that your position as a considerable heiress should not lead others to court and flatter you. She required my silence, and led me to believe it was out of a desire to protect you. As you know, you both led a somewhat reclusive life here at Shelwood. I doubt anyone else knows.’
    With this Francesca had to be