The Mysterious Heir by Edith Layton Page B

consent for it to be done, when the physician said in passing the one thing that staged his hand.
    “Of course,” he had said, “you know that then marriage for her will be out of the question. For her husband would of course notice the alteration and would then have adequate grounds for divorce. There are some men,” the physician said, with a sad shake of his head for those less scholarly and scientific, “that would find a woman thus scarred repugnant to them.”
    But if the physician had removed one possibility of escape, he had implanted the idea of another. She was yet young, her father reasoned. He could not, as some had urged, incarcerate her in Bedlam; she was his only child. Perhaps marriage would be the answer. Marriage would mean a man at her constant service. Marriage to a man stern enough to contain her might answer.
    They went to London.
    “Papa wanted me to marry the Baronet,” she said at last, in the last hours of the night, “but I didn’t like him. He was old and ugly. I liked you, Morgan. I do. I told Papa so. Truly. And you are the best I’ve found. But I cannot help myself. I cannot. I didn’t mean to hurt you, you know. I will try harder in future. I will, Morgan, truly,” she said, and then curled up in peaceful sleep, while he sat up through the dawn and tried to understand all he had been told.
    They packed the next day and returned to London. Morgan could not bear to touch his wife; could not now bear the looks of admiration upon the faces of other men when they saw her glowing beauty, which had once pleased him; could not even speak with her. He paced and thought, went without sleep, and finally, his mind too full to bear it alone, left Kitty in London and rode back full tilt to Lyonshall.
    His father and brother wondered at his leaving his new bride alone so soon. Morgan spun them a tale of her exhaustion after their travels on their honeymoon, and they smiled knowingly. Perhaps, his father suggested gently, they would be seeing her soon again, perhaps then with his grandson in tow? A new terror gripped Morgan at his words.
    It was late night after dinner on the third day of his visit that Morgan decided to seek his father’s counsel. They sat before the fire and let a companionable silence fill the room, and Morgan had just cleared his throat to speak the unspeakable problem when his father sighed with contentment and spoke first.
    “Simon and I are pleased, Morgan, to see you so well settled. He would be here with us now, poor soul, if he felt sturdier. But the doctors have said he needs his rest, and so he does, so he does. And as for me, my boy, I suppose now that you have a wife and are about to start your own family, you can bear the news. For I have been told I have not much longer a race to run, either. It is my one solace, my dear son, to know that you are so fortunate in your life, and that you will ensure that Lyonshall remains as it is. You were a surprise to your poor mother, God rest her, and to me, coming so late in life. But the Lord is wise, and now I can know that when I leave and Simon must go, all will yet be well.”
    When Morgan Courtney returned to Town, he was a changed man. Marriage had matured him, his friends opined when they saw his set face, his new air of dignity, his sober aspect. He went to his clubs, he drove his curricle, he visited Gentleman Jim’s, he lived his life as befit any young man of his rank and station. He confided in no one and none knew that he did not touch his wife.
    “I cannot divorce you now,” he told her, “as I yearn to, for the scandal would kill my father. But I shall kill you, my dear, if you present me with a babe. For I will know it is not mine.”
    “Have no fear on that score, Morgan,” she had replied, unfazed, “for I almost had one years ago, and when I lost it, I was told there was little chance of ever having another. I didn’t lose it, precisely,” she said, watching him closely, for he had so changed since