Author’s Note: I find this one a bit of an interesting conundrum. That makes it kind of fun, if rather awkward for everyone concerned.

It makes for an interesting debate over which serial should stay on the site, too.

“I expect that he will send for an expert, and they must look for this man as a forger. Perhaps he is already known for that crime,” Violet said, rubbing at her back and wishing that her child was not as disagreeable as its father. She should like to have a few moments of peace. She did not need to be plagued constantly with this sort of pain. She had made a horrible mistake, and she had paid for it. This seemed excessive, despite what she’d told the true Mr. Winston yesterday.

“An expert? To contest the license and shame you in front of everyone. Oh, yes, girl, that is a fine idea indeed,” Beatrice said, and Violet sighed.

“It will soon be known everywhere that my marriage was not legitimate. I did not know any better, and I do regret how this has happened, but please do not act as though I shall be stoned the moment that it is known to all. I did not—I believed I was married and acted in good faith.”

“Your niece is the victim here, and I do not think she should be made to feel as though she was the one who did wrong. She did not know that he was not who he said he was, did not know that he was marrying her under a false name and therefore invalidating the marriage, so she is not at fault in any way. If you wish to censure her for trusting the wrong person, I suppose that is your prerogative, but I think it is unjust and unwise. She is suffering enough already.”

Violet forced a smile. “You have, I fear, missed my aunt’s point entirely, sir. I do believe she thinks that you should do the ‘honorable’ thing and marry me because of this whole misunderstanding. That way the child and I are not exposed to the harsh realities of an unwed mother and fatherless child.”

Winston stilled. He blinked, and she had to sit up before he had some kind of fit. “Please understand that I do not expect you to do any such thing. It was not you who seduced me, and it is I who must face the consequences of my actions. True, the child will be punished, and I cannot like it, but it is not to be covered over by some hasty decision made by your sense of obligation or anyone’s opinion. I did believe the man I met was single and honorable. I married him too soon, and it may well be my ruin, but I did have every reason to believe the marriage was valid at the time when I entered into it. That is what I must cling to whatever else may come.”

He swallowed. “It is an admirable sentiment, but I do not know that I—”

“If you asked me now, I would refuse you. Your conscience may be quite clear on the matter.”

“Violet!”

She shook her head. “I am sorry, Aunt Beatrice, but having married once disastrously, I cannot think of doing so again. Mr. Winston is a stranger to me, more so than the last one, and while all may assume it is his duty to pick up the pieces of my honor, it is not. I cannot go through with a second marriage, even if the first was never real.”

“Think of the child.”

“I am not dismissing the effect it will have on my child, but I cannot think that it is somehow better to force both of us into a marriage that should sour and is made only of obligation. Forcing Mr. Winston to accept a child that was sired by a man who stole his name is not any more right than what some ignorant fools would say about the baby. If the imposter was to be found, it would be his duty to marry me properly and claim his child as his own, but I confess, I do not want that, either. I would rather be unmarried and bearing a child than have such a man back in my life as I can see only more hurt down that path. There are decent men who can overlook a woman having had a child previously, and perhaps one of them might come into our lives later. You do not know that it will not happen, and I think that we should not discuss the matter further. I have stated my opinion, and you will not change it. I cannot agree to marry Mr. Winston even if he should ask, and he has not asked.”

He rose, rubbing a hand over his left arm, shaking his head. “I admit that I did not give much consideration to the idea of… presenting myself in the stead of the man who had betrayed you. I have little more than a name to offer, and it is not a good one, not now.”

Beatrice snorted. “A name. It would seem all this nonsense is about a name anyway.”

“I think it is a great deal more than that,” he said, turning around to face her. “It is a reputation and honor and far more than that. I consider what he did to your niece a crime even if no one else does. True, they will only put him in prison if he managed to steal something they consider valuable with his forgery, but in my opinion, he stole a great deal without ever touching any money. I can see why your niece would not want me for a husband, and there are more reasons for that than the ones that she voiced. To be honest, I do believe my father would forbid the match, and I am a cripple with no independent means. Would you prefer that for her?”

Violet looked at his arm, frowning. She’d seen him use it, though he had told her it was next to useless. She did not remember him calling himself a cripple at any time previous, though. Perhaps it hurt his pride too much to admit the extent of his weakness or to accept that word as applying to him.

Beatrice grunted, sitting down. “What good would it do to prove the license a forgery? You get your reputation back at the cost of hers, and whatever you might be, that is not just, either.”

“I do not know. I had intended to ask if he had created debts in my name that must be repaid, and if so, I needed to deal with them. I had not expected the innkeeper to confront me with that signature that is so like my own. I know I was not the one who did it, but it is possible that no one else will see it that way. That paper might be, in some way, binding if it is not proved a forgery.”

Violet frowned. “How can that be? You were over fighting in the war at the time, weren’t you?”

He shook his head. “I’d been invalided out by the date on this paper. I didn’t think that it was the case, but I must have been in that hospital for longer than I thought. It may be possible to prove I was there or in the private clinic my father had me moved to, but I do not know yet.”

Beatrice’s mouth set in a grim line. “In that case, I say you marry her anyway.”

Author’s Note: After yesterday’s day off from posting new bits to the possible serials, (I was feeling rather down and fighting writer’s block on all my projects. It was snowing, and it felt like a day to do… nothing. That’s not what I ended up doing, of course,) I used Three Word Wednesday‘s prompts to get me back on track with both of them.

Today there’s little trace of the blizzard except the lingering snow, but there’s fic, so I suppose that’s an improvement.

Detailed information on the whole pick a serial idea here. Three words for today: bask, grief, and raise.

“Ah, there you are, Mr. Winston. I was hoping to catch you before you left, since I had a few things to ask before you departed for the day.”

Robert turned away from the wall, guilty at having been caught staring at the small shrine dedicated to a son that must have died in the same war he’d survived. He did not know how to address the innkeeper, not now. He should say something, but words failed him where the war was concerned. He could not talk of its horrors or the rare bright moments with his comrades. He thought they were all dead now, him having escaped that fate because of his arm and being shipped home early.

He did not deserve to be standing here, and there was nothing he could say in the face of this family’s obvious grief.

“Oh. I—I must be mistaken. You can’t be Mr. Winston.”

“I am, actually,” Robert said. He studied the innkeeper, wondering if the name alone had caused the man to think he was the one who had come before, the one who’d impersonated him. He’d seen the photograph. They did share a bit of a likeness. “I’m sure that must be confusing.”

“More than a little, sir,” the innkeeper said. He swallowed, his hand going to his cuffs, fiddling with them as he grew more nervous. “You see, I had been on the verge of asking the impertinent question of why you were not staying with your wife and her family now that you’d returned, but I am confused. You are Robert Winston? The third? And yet… you can’t be. I met the fellow, and you are not him. Close, perhaps, but not close enough.”

Robert grimaced. “I am, in fact, the man who was born Robert Winston the third. It would seem that someone else has taken my name and made a mockery of it and Mrs. Winston in the process. I am here to do what I can about that situation.”

“Dear heaven,” the innkeeper said, shaking his head. “Oh, that poor girl. Never had no father, and now you say her husband’s done her wrong? And her with child, too. Such a terrible thing. Who could do something like that?”

“I’ve no idea, but I hope to find him.”

The innkeeper nodded. “Of course, of course. You must, if what you’re saying is true.”

“I know that you met the other Winston first and might be inclined to assume that I am the liar, but I can assure you that it has always been my name, and if you do not believe me, perhaps I should have my commanding officer speak to it, since I was overseas fighting while this blackguard stole my name and betrayed you all.”

“That’s not all he stole, sir.”

Robert frowned, thinking the man spoke of Mrs. Winston’s condition, but the innkeeper moved to the desk, lifting out his registry. “You had better see this. I was not present when you came in, but when my clerk told me someone had checked in, I looked and made the assumption I did.”

“I did use my full name, yes, and that would lead to some confusion—”

The innkeeper raised the book to where it was almost right in Robert’s face. “This is your signature last night. Here, though, is the one from before.”

Robert found himself staring at the page. That signature was the same as his. An exact copy. He didn’t understand. He would have sworn he’d never met the man, but how could that bastard have known the precise way he signed his name? It only looked that way when he used the whole thing, included “the third,” so how did the man know? How had he known that when he came here? Even his letters to Mrs. Winston had not included that. He did not sign that way unless he had to, and he’d thought that this stay was one such occasion, given that his imposter had likely not used the whole name. He was wrong.

That looked like he had signed it.

“Are they all like this? Did he sign it like this every time he checked in or out?”

“Yes, sir.”

Robert shook his head. “I don’t understand. It would seem he’s an expert forger, too, but how did he get hold of my signature to forge? I don’t write my name like that often. Hardly at all, in fact.”

“I cannot tell you, sir.”

“I have to go. Please excuse me,” Robert said, turning away from the accusing mark on the line and heading toward the door. He pushed it open with his good arm, needing to see Mrs. Winston as soon as he could. This was an alarming prospect at best. He’d need to wire back to his father and have a handwriting expert check, but those signatures looked so alike that he thought he’d have a hard time proving that they weren’t his.

He turned at the corner, going down the block toward the quiet house he’d visited the day before. This town was small, rather picturesque, all things considered, and the day was fine, the sort of spring that made one want to bask in the fine weather and surroundings, but he could ill-afford that just now. He had a terrible suspicion about what he’d see when he asked Mrs. Winston for a certain document, and it was going to complicate their situation a great deal.

He hurried up the steps, knocking on the door, impatience getting the better of him. The maid opened it, and he almost shoved her out of the way, as agitated as he was.

“You are here rather early, Mr. Winston. I fear we are not quite in a state to receive guests,” Mrs. Winston said, her hand on the rail as another woman assisted her down the stairs. “You do not look well, either. Please, sit down in the parlor. I will be along shortly.”

“Before I do—Were you the one to retain your marriage license? Do you have it?”

“I do, yes. Winston—that is to say, the man I knew as Winston—left it behind when he left. Why is the matter so urgent that it causes you this kind of distress?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Do you have pen and paper that I might use?”

“Of course, but you are confusing me a great deal at the moment,” she said, her hand on her back as she crossed toward him. “Will you not explain what you mean by all this? You’re going to make my aunt so cross she’ll bar you from the house.”

“Violet, kindly do not speak for me. That is not your place.”

Robert took the younger woman’s arm, helping her the rest of the way into the parlor, to the couch she had used the day before. She gave him a slight smile as she sat, trying to make herself comfortable. He imagined that was rather difficult for her these days, as large as her stomach had grown. “Thank you. The license is—Oh. Aunt Beatrice has got your paper.”

He accepted the items, aware that the older woman was frowning at him. He set them upon the table and scrawled his name to the page. Done, he passed it to Mrs. Winston. “Does that look familiar?”

“That is—I fear you must get the license, Aunt Beatrice—but that looks like the way Winston signed everything, including the few notes we exchanged during our courtship. He did tell me he preferred Winston as the name he wanted me to call him, but that was the way all his letters looked before. I had thought perhaps your way of signing it was intentional, a means of furthering the lie I thought it was at first.”

Robert shook his head. “In most of my correspondence, I sign my letters the way I did the ones I wrote to you. For bank drafts and other more important documents, I sign with my full name, as you see it there.”

Her aunt gave him the paper, and he sighed as he saw it. “Damn.”

“Mr. Winston!”

“I beg your pardon,” he said, taking the paper back from Mrs. Winston and holding both of them out to her aunt. “Still, I fear you must agree that it looks very much like I signed that license.”

“So it does,” the older woman agreed. “What are you going to do about it, then?”

Author’s Note: I was dwelling a bit on the word for Sunday Scribblings, sharp, thinking I could use it for both of my possible serials. I thought it fit rather well with each of them, but perhaps more so with the fantasy than this historical fiction. It still works, though.

Since the website’s remodel is not yet complete, there’s still time for people to pick one or both of these serials as a permanent one on the site. There’s more information here.

Robert kept the woman braced against him, wishing that he had been able to make their first meeting easier, if only for her sake. He had seen some of what he admired so much about her letters—a frankness and forthrightness as well as a strength that surprised him under her present circumstances. She should be in bed, that seemed undeniable, but she had been able to meet him and had spoken with him with candor, not shying away from the unpleasant or awkwardness of their conversation. She had been all sorts of things that he thought should serve her well and see her through her current crisis. If he had thought he needed to come in as some sort of hero in a novel, rescuing a damsel in distress, he would have no one to rescue.

True, her circumstances were far from ideal, but she seemed to have all of that under control at present, and that control was considerable from someone so small—well, that stomach of hers was far from small—but overall she was rather petite. Her scent matched her name, like a gentle summer breeze carrying the hint of a garden, of violets and more, and he wondered if she’d done that on purpose.

“I know I asked you before, but do you need a doctor?”

She grimaced. “Please do not say that so loudly. My mother would take you up upon it in an instant, and I do not want to be fussed over further. It is true that I feel poorly, but I have ever since my condition presented itself. It is as if it cannot stand acting as though it were not my conscience, stabbing me over with many sharp pains.”

He looked at her. “I don’t understand. The man did present himself as single and honorable, and he did marry you. What have you done that is so terrible?”

“I was a fool, wasn’t I?” She asked, opening her door. She pushed it open and hesitated in the doorway. “Thank you very much for your assistance. I do believe I shall make it to my bed alone, and I would—that is—I do not feel comfortable letting you into my bedroom, even if I cannot possibly be… Well, I am not appealing in this state, nor would I think that you—oh, heaven. Listen to me being so ridiculous.”

“I do not know that you can consider it ridiculous. You know very little of me, and I do believe I may have misspoken when I said that you are… That is, he did use my name, and there might be others who would think that… entitled them to something from you.”

She nodded, reaching to place a hand on her back. “I do hope you maintain that opinion. I do not want to create any difficulties between us—and I rather hope there is something that can be done if you do find Winston. I did not want to hear of him doing this to any other woman. Imagine if he went about ‘marrying’ all of them with a false name. That is… horrible.”

“He should be the one getting the sharp pains.”

“I doubt his conscience troubles him any.”

Robert nodded. Any man that could steal another’s name and use it to defraud everyone, including one woman to the point of marriage, to impregnating her and abandoning her, that sort of man could not have a conscience. If he had, he would never have done any of it. “You are right.”

“I wish I had not been so… blind. That I had seen what he was and not fallen for his charm. He seemed so sweet—not cunning or cruel—but how can he not have been all those things?”

“I do not know,” Robert told her. He did not think that he could explain it as anything other than a malicious act. “There is some possibility that this Winston of yours was genuinely in love with you, that he did not intend to leave you, but that seems unlikely.”

She closed her eyes. “That is what cuts the deepest, you know. It is not so much that I am in this condition or that I have been betrayed, but the idea that he came here always intending to do so… That I let myself be a part of that, that I was so stupid and foolish, that I lost all practical sense…”

Robert wished that he had some kind of comfort to give her, but he could summon no words of wisdom, could find nothing to help her. Her pain was raw and visible, all over her face and her posture, and he was more helpless now than he had been when he was dragged to the field hospital. “I think you should lie down now. That was the idea behind getting you up these stairs after all.”

She looked at him. “Yes, of course it was. Thank you again.”

He forced a smile, backing away so that she could take those final steps by herself. “I… I have no right to ask this, but did… did you love him?”

She stopped, leaning against the bedpost. “I thought I did. It is strange how quickly love can sour under the circumstances. Had he stayed, perhaps the illusion would have lasted longer. Since he left me, it has faded into nothing more than another one of my many pains. Time, I think, will continue to dull that one, though I fear I cannot ever be allowed to forget.”

The child would be a living reminder of everything when it came. Robert nodded. “I am sorry.”

“For what? None of this was your doing.”

“I keep thinking there was a reason why he used my name among all of those that he could have chosen, and if that is true, then I must in some way be responsible for it. Even just the use of my name in such a way…”

“You are not him. You proved that when you walked in the door.”

He smiled at her words, but he could not take comfort in them. She had her pains, and he had his. He would not be able to deny the way he felt any more than she did, and he could not escape the feeling that nagged at him, the one that told him that he should have been able to prevent this somehow, that he could have spared her if only he had stopped this man before he got to her. He had tried to explain it, but the more that he thought about it, the more he thought that someone had done this to punish him, not her, and she was caught in the middle of a horrible game that she didn’t even know she was in. He should know, should be able to say who hated him that much, but he did not know.

He would find out, though. That was the only way to satisfy the sharp pangs of his conscience.

Author’s Note: So, this wasn’t quite how I expected this scene to go. It works. It’s just not what I thought it would be.

There’s still time to pick this serial as the one that stays. Get more information here.

“Violet, I do not think this is a good idea at all.”

“He sent a telegram to say he was coming. That means he could be here very soon, and I refuse to see him in my bedchamber or let anyone else do it for me. You know that it is not proper, nor could I trust anyone else to know the man better than I did. At least… that is…”

Violet felt herself flushing, and she could not believe she was doing it. Of course, when she remembered just how intimate her acquaintance with the man was—coupled with the lack of a legal marriage—she could not help but feel ashamed. She knew others had gone for a different morality, that “free love” was the banner call in some places, but she had been raised with all those values in her, and now to have them betrayed… She would have less guilty if she had chosen to do so, perhaps, for she would have reasoned her way past these ideals of her youth, but she had not. She had done it without intending to, and she felt all the more foolish for doing so—she had been tricked, and she did not think she should have been, no matter how many times she tried to convince herself that she could not have known Winston’s intentions.

She could find no evidence of his deceit prior to the moment he left, and even then, she didn’t know if he had meant to leave forever when he departed. Not all of his clothes had gone with him—she’d wondered for a bit if he was a victim of some sort of crime and that was why he had not come back—but her answer had been far from the one she expected when a letter finally came.

“Still, the doctor said you were to remain in bed. This is not in bed.”

“No, it is a fainting couch, but it shall have to do,” she said, not caring if her mother thought it was a poor choice. She’d been in her bed for long enough already, and her constant poor health had kept her from doing much at all during the pregnancy. The idea of staying in bed all the time held no appeal. She could not bear it a moment longer.

“I think you will make yourself sick again, and I do not want you to do it.”

“I will be careful, but I cannot possibly sit in bed all the time. I wish to meet him when he comes. After that, I shall lie down again. That I promise.”

Her mother folded her arms, snorting as she did. When her aunt came back from the market, she’d stand next to her with the same expression, both of them disapproving of Violet’s choice. She would not fight the two of them if it was not this important. “You do not know that he will come today.”

“I do not, that is true, but I will be prepared nonetheless. I will retire early if he does not present himself today.”

“I am worried about you.”

“I know you are.” Violet leaned back against the chair. “I am not unaware of my precarious situation. I have not been able to forget how much this pregnancy has affected me.”

“Then why will you not—”

“A visitor, ma’am.”

Her mother started at the maid’s words, but Violet was relieved. “Show them in, please, Harriet, and thank you.”

She ignored the look her mother sent her way, wondering if she should rise to greet their guest. She would have tried, she thought, if not for the first glimpse of him. Her stomach twisted, and she felt an ache inside her chest that made her still, trying to calm herself with slow, deliberate breaths. The initial shock over, she could see that he was not so much like Winston as she might have thought. This one was taller, thinner, and he moved with an awkwardness that Winston had not had. Everything about that man was smooth, honeyed and silk and so deceptive, but this one was a rather stiff sort of mess from his hair to his loose laces.

“Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you.”

“I… I should not have stared. I was simply lost in trying to find the differences between you and the man who used your name,” she said, putting her hand on her side. Her back had started to ache now, not one to be left out of the complaints. “You do have a resemblance, but your manner is not at all similar to his.”

The true Robert Winston nodded, and she pointed to the other chair, inviting him to sit. They had so many things to discuss, she knew, but she did not know how much longer she could stay here. “I imagine I am rather lackluster in comparison.”

“I think, in what little I have to judge your characters by, you are the better man, but I do not know you very well at all. You were willing to come, and that is more than can be said for him.”

The man across from her grimaced, reaching over to move his arm into his lap. “I would like to find the man who has done this to you—to both of us—and stop him from any further crimes, but I do not even know where to start.”

She shook her head. “I cannot tell you where he is. I only wrote because he left me almost seven months ago, and I discovered that I was… Well… I thought he should know, that it might bring him back or it might… end things between us once and for all, but he did not respond. You did.”

“Have you a good doctor? Is there anything you need at this time? I do not have much in the way of independent means—there is a certain problem with being the heir, one is rather forced to wait for that inheritance to be of much use to anyone—but I would offer all I have.”

She blinked. “Why? You do not know me. You do not have any reason to believe that I am telling the truth. I could have married some other man that abandoned me, one that never claimed to have your name.”

“Is that what you did?”

“No.”

“To most people, then, I suppose I would be considered the man responsible for your troubles. It was my name he used, after all, and I do assume your papers say you are married… to me, as it were. In principle, then, it is my duty.”

“I am not an obligation, nor was I trying to be when I wrote to him—to you. I do not want your money. I want—Oh, hell fire,” Violet cursed as the ache grew sharper. “I think I must lie down again. I swear this child is trying to kill me before it comes out.”

“I hope it does not succeed,” he told her, rising. “I do not dare lift you—my arm can be as good as useless half the time—but I can let you lean against me if you should like assistance. After we have settled you and you are feeling better, you may reach me at the inn. I think we have a great deal more to discuss.”

“Yes, indeed, we do.”