Chapter 26
Rupert was feeling fully recovered by that afternoon, and it was time that he and his mother trespassed on the kindness of the Ashfords no longer. He also had his appointment with his solicitor that afternoon and was eager to speak with him about what he had discovered.
Still, it was harder than he had thought it would be to say goodbye to Beatrice.
“I rather liked living under the same roof as you,” he said, giving her a small smile as they bid goodbye in the entrance hall.
Thomas was waiting in a carriage in the driveway, having offered to accompany Rupert to the appointment with the solicitor, but Rupert still lingered.
“It is too bad that we shall not actually get the chance to live together,” he added, trying, and perhaps failing, to keep things light.
Beatrice looked at him with a strange, hard expression. Behind her, her brother stood respectfully at a distance, allowing them a moment of privacy.
“What?” he asked, glancing around. Had he said the wrong thing? She knew as well as he that the engagement was fake.
But Beatrice merely shook her head and placed a hand on his arm. “Just… be careful,” she murmured. “We can discuss our engagement and marriage once we have gotten to the bottom of everything.”
Rupert frowned. What exactly was there to discuss? She didn’t want to end the engagement early… Did she?
His stomach quivered, and he forced himself to smile. “Very well,” he said. “I shall be in touch after my appointment.”
Gazing down at her, he had the very strong urge to lean forward and kiss her goodbye. Not even the kind of passionate kiss he sometimes let himself imagine with her.
This was something small and gentle that he desired right now, the kind of kiss you might settle on the lips of a woman you expected to see again later that night, whose presence you were so used to you it felt as familiar as your own name.
A real kind of intimacy, in other words.
Instead, he took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Until later, Miss Ashford,” he murmured.
And with a final smile, he left.
It was raining out in the drive, and he hurried over to the carriage where Thomas was waiting for him. His own carriage, carrying his mother and uncle, had already left for his townhouse.
Thomas looked very pale when Rupert entered the carriage, and there were dark circles under his eyes, as if he had not slept well.
“There you are,” Thomas said. “I was beginning to worry you would not show.”
“What do you mean?”
“I do not know…” Thomas glanced out the window as the carriage began to roll down the drive. “Only that I am beginning to see enemies everywhere. What if your would-be assassins had somehow found you again? What if they are watching right now?”
“My, my, you really are paranoid,” Rupert said, shaking his head.
“I do not know why you are not more afraid,” Thomas muttered.
Rupert looked out the window, back toward the townhouse they had just left.
“I do not know,” he admitted, but that was a lie. He did know. The real thing that scared him wasn’t a few bandits with a gun. Or even losing his title. It was what it would mean to lose Beatrice. What it would mean to leave her alone in the world, should his life actually be forfeit.
“Well, you are about to be,” Thomas said quietly. “Because I have news.”
Rupert looked up sharply. “Why did you not start with that?”
“We are barely out of the drive!”
“What is it?” Rupert asked. “What have you discovered?”
Thomas swallowed and leaned forward. “You know that my gaming hell will open soon, yes?”
“Of course.”
“Well, the opening shall be in just a few days, and as a way of preparing for it, I have been meeting more with London’s more… underground members.”
Rupert sighed. “Yes, I know you are in touch with London’s underbelly and criminal organizations. I choose to turn a blind eye.”
“They are the ones who have told me this,” Thomas said softly. “And they would know. But apparently Miss Isabella Thornton is not just spreading rumors about you and Miss Ashford. She is also running up large debts at the modiste and getting herself into all sorts of financial problems.”
Rupert frowned. “How do you know? Who told you?”
“One particularly well-connected criminal,” Thomas said. “He says that Miss Thornton approached him for a loan, which he gave her, at a high interest.”
“Good heavens.”
“But this is the interesting part, Rupert. When he offered her the bad interest rate, he was sure she would refuse him. Instead, she told him that she would have no trouble repaying, because soon she would be the Duchess of St. James.”
“What?” Rupert stared at his friend. “Has she completely lost her mind? I know she is delusional, but even she cannot believe that we will be married. I have never shown any inclination for her and have refused her advances again and again. Even these rumors about Beatrice… they have pushed Beatrice and me into an engagement, rather than into Isabella’s arms! ”
Thomas licked his lips, and when he spoke again, his voice wavered. “Apparently… Apparently she was not referring to you. She was speaking of the next Duke of St. James.”
“The… what?” Rupert wasn’t sure he was hearing things correctly at all. A strange buzzing sound had started to fill his ears, and he felt dizzy. The next Duke of St. James…
The one who would replace him, should his title be declared invalid.
“Did she say who that would be?” he whispered.
Thomas shook his head. “No, but apparently that is what she said to this acquaintance of mine, when he pressed her. He had heard of your engagement to Miss Ashford, you see, and he pressed her on this, and she arrogantly told him she would be wedded to the next duke.”
“But that can only mean…” Rupert’s brain was whirring. The next Duke of St. James, the one who would take over should he be declared a bastard, was his uncle.
Reginald.
The man that Beatrice had seen whispering conspiratorially to Isabella just the day before. After the attempt on his life.
He closed his eyes as the horror of it washed over him.
It could not be true… it could not. His mind refused to accept it, even as crushing certainty began to filter into his chest. It felt as if someone had reached inside of him, seized his heart, and squeezed with all their might. The pain was enormous and suffocating.
He opened his eyes again and saw Thomas watching him.
“I am sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings,” Thomas said quietly. “But I had to tell you as soon as I learned of this.”
“You did the right thing,” Rupert said. His voice sounded wooden, but he meant it. He had to uncover the truth, even if it was painful and unbelievable. “I am glad you told me.”
“What are you going to do?” Thomas asked after a moment.
“I do not know yet,” Rupert admitted. “We need proof. Not just hearsay. And your acquaintance’s word will not count for much, considering his… criminality.”
Thomas nodded, and they did not speak again until they had arrived outside of the solicitor’s office.
Rupert was not sure he could speak. He was in shock, and nothing felt real.
Staring out the window, nothing looked real, more like a painting than the real world.
Was this what it felt like to be stabbed in the back by someone you had loved and trusted your whole life?
Like you were trapped inside of a nightmare?
They exited the carriage and made their way up the narrow steps to the solicitor’s office, which was lodged inside of a three-story terraced house. Rupert was glad, at least, that he had thought to make this appointment at the office and not at his townhouse.
Reginald is there. He would have sat in on this meeting.
As he was ushered into the solicitor’s small office by the secretary, however, all thoughts of Reginald were temporarily driven from his mind by the appearance of someone he had not been expecting.
Sitting in the chair across from the solicitor, a grim expression on his aging face, was the Viscount Hastings.
Rupert stopped in the doorway, his lips parting in surprise as he stared at the Lord Chancellor. His solicitor, who was sitting across from him, rose slowly.
“Your Grace,” he said, bowing quickly. “I hope you do not mind, but when the Lord Chancellor contacted me about meeting with you, I thought it best that I invite him here to this meeting. Please forgive me for not informing you beforehand, but the matter is of great delicacy, and we could not risk anyone knowing that the two of you met here.”
Rupert took an unsteady step into the office. “What is going on?” he asked.
The Lord Chancellor stood and bowed. “Your Grace,” he murmured. “Please forgive me for dropping in on you like this without warning. But it was imperative that I see you at once. There is something of a very grave nature that I must discuss with you.”
Rupert nodded, then sat shakily into the empty chair next to Viscount Hastings, while Thomas stationed himself near the door. Viscount Hastings sat as well, then slid several pieces of paper across the desk toward him.
“There is something you need to see,” he said. “This is a letter of the most serious and shocking nature, which I received about a month ago, and which I have been investigating ever since.”
Dread pooled in Rupert’s stomach as he lifted the piece of paper and began to read.
It was a letter from his father, in which he claimed that Rupert was not his son and he wished that he would not inherit the dukedom.
In it, his father expressed regret about not saying something sooner, but now, knowing it was too late, he was simply communicating his regrets to his brother.
He urged his brother to say nothing, as it would compromise the future of the dukedom.
If Rupert had been shaking before, he was very still and strangely calm when he looked up at Viscount Hastings.
“This is not real,” he said, surprising himself with the strength and clarity of his words.
“I do not know, Viscount Hastings, the truth of my parentage. How can any man? But I can tell you one thing: my father would never wish for me not to inherit the dukedom. He loved me very dearly and believed I would make an excellent Duke of St. James. He taught me everything he knew. From the youngest age, he made sure I knew everything about what it meant to be the duke, that I took my responsibilities seriously. And even if I was not his trueborn son, I was, in his eyes, his true heir.”
Viscount Hastings blinked very slowly. “As it happens, Your Grace, I agree with you.”
The relief that flooded through Rupert then was so immediate that he felt tears spring to his eyes, which he hastily blinked away.
Resisting the urge to say, You do?, he said instead, “You have proof that this was forged?”
The Viscount hesitated. “The hand does look like your father’s,” he said after a moment, and Rupert looked back at the paper.
“Yes,” he admitted. “It does. But the signature…” his hands traced the curling letters at the end of the letter. “That does not look right.”
“That is part of why I am here,” Hastings said. “I wanted to compare the signature on the letter to the signatures that your solicitor has on file. If anyone were to have many examples of his signature, he would. And I did not want to go to your townhouse because…”
He coughed, then straightened his shoulders. “Well, I have reason to believe that your uncle is behind this fraud.”
“I do as well,” Rupert muttered. “And this letter is addressed to him… Is he the one who gave it to you?”
“No,” Hastings said, frowning. “That is part of why I began investigating this whole affair. It felt suspicious to me, the way I received the letter. It arrived from Miss Isabella Thornton.”
“What?!” Rupert stared at the Viscount.
“We have reason to believe she may be engaged to Sir Reginald,” Thomas said, stepping forward.
“She told us as much herself,” Viscount Hastings said.
“She said that she discovered this letter in the writing desk of her fiancé, and that she felt she had a duty to bring it to us. But everything about it felt off. The letter… it is too convenient, too perfect… and does not at all sound like the late Duke of St. James, whom we all knew, admired, and respected.”
Rupert felt a rush of gratitude toward the Viscount in that moment.
The man was not just following procedure, but following his instincts.
He knew, just as Rupert did, the absurdity of this letter.
Of course he had to look into it, but he had known Rupert’s father, and he knew how unlikely it was that he would ever pen something like this.
Then again… It was in his hand.
Could Reginald have faked that himself, plagiarized his brother?
“The signatures,” Thomas said. “Did you check it against the late duke’s? Is it a match.”
The Lord Chancellor shook his head. “It is not a match.”
Rupert looked at Thomas, and his friend’s face said it all.
“It seems that my uncle is trying to steal my dukedom,” Rupert said, barely believing the words even as he said them.
“And that he has enlisted Miss Thornton to help him. I believe he may even be the one behind the attacks on my life. I suppose that a dead duke is even better than a disinherited one. An even surer way to make sure that I do not get my title back.”
And perhaps that was why he and Isabella were arguing. She does not want me dead, I do believe that. She cares for me. She just wants to be the duchess.
When he looked back at the Viscount, he was watching him very seriously.
“What do you want to do, Your Grace?” he asked. “Do you want to have your uncle arrested?”