Chapter 1
One
“The aim of the wise is not to secure pleasure, but to avoid pain. ”
Aristotle
Aidan had not slept for the past two nights.
Lily’s encounter with the footman had been a rude awakening, a mortifying reflection of his own negligence.
The thought of harm befalling his sister was more than he could bear, which was why he now sat in Filminster’s study for the third time in as many days.
The room carried the scent of aged leather and the faintest whiff of pipe smoke.
Heavy drapes, slightly parted, allowed diffused morning light to fall across dark wood paneling and a towering bookcase lined with calf-bound volumes.
A ticking bracket clock on the mantel marked the tension with each precise beat.
“I need your help.”
Filminster’s declaration punctuated the silence like a dropped decanter, shattering Aidan’s fixed gaze.
Aidan straightened in his seat on the embroidered settee, eager to assist. The helplessness clawing at his chest had grown intolerable. Any action, however minor, would be preferable to the gnawing guilt that shadowed his every thought.
Across from him lounged the fool, Lord Julius Trafford, in his usual ostentatious attire.
The sheen of purple silk caught the muted light as he stretched his legs across a delicate footstool, utterly unbothered by his surroundings.
Aidan’s brother-in-law, meanwhile, stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back, silhouetted against the gauzy curtain.
“What has happened? Is Lily safe?” Aidan’s voice cracked with urgency. He had been drowning in guilt since abandoning his sister, as though every misfortune that unfolded stemmed from that single wretched decision.
“I have discovered the letter that my … father … wrote. I now know what led to his murder on the night of the coronation.”
Lord Trafford flicked at the lapel of his coat, the emerald in his pinky ring catching the light like a flare. He purred in a supercilious tone, “Your father … or your uncle?”
Filminster turned from the window to scowl at his friend. “You know of that?”
Trafford arched one brow in lieu of reply. Aidan leaned forward, his brows drawing tight with indignation. “What is Trafford talking about?”
Filminster sighed. “I suppose the gossip has been circulating, so I might as well speak the truth … The late baron was my uncle who married my mother to save the family from shame. My true father, his elder brother, died weeks before the wedding.”
Aidan pulled a face at this unsavory disclosure. “Faugh!”
His brother-in-law chuckled dryly. “Just so.”
“May I read the letter?” Trafford had straightened from his lounging position. His indolent air had evaporated, and Aidan glimpsed for a moment what it was that Filminster appreciated about his dolt of a friend.
Filminster pulled a folded page from inside his coat, walking over and handing it to Trafford to read.
Aidan watched intently, noting that the other honorary lord, heir to the Earl of Stirling, grew solemn.
Trafford whistled through his teeth, looking up to shake his head in disbelief, his affectation of wheat curls bouncing over his cropped brown hair.
“This provides a serious motive for murder. This is both wealth and power at stake.”
Aidan held out his hand expectantly, and Trafford handed the letter to him without comment.
It was covered in splotches of ink, which effectively censored some of the words, as if a censor had taken a quill to it.
The parchment was slightly yellowed at the corners and smelled faintly of dust and iron gall ink.
But what he read made his blood run cold.
Sir Robert Peel
London, July 19, 1821
Sir,
It has come - - my attention that the true heir to Lord - - - - - - - - has not been acknowledged.
I was speaking with his lordship before the coronation, and he informed me of his recent bout of ill health.
He spoke fondly of his youngest brother, informing - - of his strength, intelligence, and wit at great length.
There was no mention of his lordship’s middle brother, Peter, who you may be aware died near twenty years - - -.
Peter and I attended Oxford together, - - - his death was tragic - - - unexp- - - - -. I have thought of him often over the years, which is why I feel the need to pass this information - - - - - -u.
Before departing England, Peter married a wom- - of Catholic descent.
She convert- - - - - - - - - were married - - - - - Church of England, before leaving our shores.
I maintained correspondence with him until his death.
He had written just months before his death to inform me of the birth of his son.
I cannot say for certain where the boy and his mother are - - - - - all these years, but he would be the true heir and I implore you to look into th- - matter. - - - - - - - - - is the true heir to the title of - - - - - and his father’s legacy cannot be ignored.
I understand the trials of being a second son, and I cann- - allow this matter to stand.
Whether - - - - terrible injustice is a mistake due to ignorance of the child Peter sired, or a deliberate obfuscation of the facts, I must speak on my friend’s behalf.
His son is the true heir and must be found immediately.
I will locate our shared correspondence when I return to Somerset and have them forwarded to - - - - - - - - - - -
J. Ridley, Baron of Filminster
Aidan absorbed what he had just read before slowly exhaling, the implications setting in.
The letter crackled slightly as he adjusted his grip, its brittle edges catching the sleeve of his coat.
“Lily is in serious danger if the killer believes his secret might be contained within the walls of Ridley House.”
Trafford snorted. “And the culprit would be correct, considering the letter you are holding.”
“There is insufficient information to reveal his identity!” Aidan’s protest was met with a twist of Trafford’s lips.
“There is enough. An elderly lord, suffering from a recent bout of ill health, with a younger brother named Peter who died some twenty years ago, and an even younger brother set to inherit his title. Who has likely killed the baron to conceal the knowledge of the true heir in order to secure his inheritance? It drastically reduces the number of suspects.”
“Precisely,” Filminster responded. “Lily and I spent last evening and this morning comparing a recent copy of Debrett’s to a copy from thirty years ago to compile a list of peers.
The runner, Briggs, is investigating what happened to each of the Peters to learn the circumstances of their deaths.
Thus far, we have a list of six heirs who might fit the description, which is why I need your help. ”
Aidan was brought back to the declaration that had started this conversation. Filminster needed his assistance to secure Lily’s safety. “What do you need?”
Filminster cleared his throat, twisting the toe of his boot on the bright Aubusson rug adorning his study floor while his dark chestnut curls fell forward over his brow. The room was quiet but for the creak of a leather chair as Trafford shifted beside him.
“It is much to ask …”
Trafford smirked. “That has not stopped you before.”
“This is different, Julius. My bride is in danger.” Filminster inhaled deeply before continuing. “If anything happened to Lily, I would never forgive myself.”
Nor would I.
Aidan could simply not imagine how he would ever recover from putting Lily at risk. If harm befell her, his guilt would consume him entirely, and there would be nothing in his bleak future to console his soul. This was a matter of life and death.
With that realization, Aidan reached a decision.
It was time to stop resisting this new relationship with his sister’s husband.
They needed to band together for Lily. His sweet young sister deserved their cooperation and protection.
Rising to his feet, he interrupted the tête-à-tête between Filminster and Trafford.
“Whatever you need, I will do it.”
Filminster’s brandy eyes flickered to Aidan, and he nodded. “Thank you … Aidan.”
Trafford heaved a heavy sigh. “I am in. What is next?”
Returning to the window, Filminster leaned against the deep sill carved with floral scrollwork.
The light streaming in fell across the gleam of the ormolu clock beside him.
“I need your help to investigate these six men. Lily and I are still considered scandalous for our supposed tryst on the night of the coronation. Although the scandal is abating now that we have wed, it is difficult to be discreet when all eyes are upon us. You two gentlemen, as single young bucks about Town, will be welcomed into the homes of polite society with high hopes you might make a match with their daughters or nieces. That access will allow you to search for information that might shed light on their involvement.”
Aidan rubbed a hand over his face. The fine wool of his coat scratched his jaw. In the normal course of things, he would never agree to such unethical conduct. Gaining access under false pretenses was not the behavior of a man of character.
But this is for Lily.
He accepted the truth of it. A man of character would take steps to correct his mistakes, regardless of what he might be required to do. It was a matter of restoring his honor, and if he needed to dirty his hands for the greater good, then so be it.
“Where is the list?”
Frederick Smythe was the most irritating of men, Gwen decided, resisting the urge to clench her fists and stamp her slippered foot against the Axminster carpet beneath her.
“We cannot afford it, Papa! I am five and twenty! On the shelf! A spinster! Pray tell, what is the point of spending money on yet another ball when none of the young men wish to dance with me?”