Where on earth do I begin?Julian glanced at Melissa and drew strength from her understanding look. Transferring his gaze to his mother and uncle, he said, “We’ve learned that Findlay-Wright is the person behind the attacks. He’s the one who’s been pulling the strings of the people he’d planted in our household. He tried to murder us again today, while we were out on the Ride, but we turned the tables and caught him instead.”
“Oh!” His mother shook herself. “I always knew he was a rotten apple. There was something dark and unhealthy inside him, even when he first came back to England with Helen and we all felt we had to be grateful for what he’d done for her. I’ve never felt entirely comfortable with him, although Helen still thinks he can do no wrong.”
Frowning, Frederick asked, “But why?” When everyone looked his way, he elaborated, “I can’t see what Findlay-Wright would gain by killing you. Any of you.”
Succinctly, Julian outlined the captain’s plan to remove him, preferably implicating Felix. “But in one way or another, he was determined to remove Felix as well.” Julian exchanged a swift glance with Felix and Damian, then looked back at his mother and uncle. “At that point, the situation became rather more convoluted than we’d anticipated.” He paused, but there really was no way to edge around the point. He drew breath and said, “Findlay-Wright maintains that, after Felix, the title moves directly to you, Frederick, bypassing Damian and making Gordon the heir.”
His mother’s expression blanked, then she paled. Her hand blindly reached for Frederick’s, and in a gesture Julian realized he’d seen a thousand times and never really thought about, Frederick—also without looking—gripped her fingers. She glanced swiftly at him, at his sober, set features, then looked across at Damian, sitting back in his chair, his features impassive and his eyes locked on her. “Oh, my dear, sweet boy—we hoped you’d never learn. That you’d never have reason to learn.”
“That I’m illegitimate?” Damian asked in a voice that was eerily calm.
“No.” Frederick’s voice carried a strength Julian couldn’t remember ever hearing from his usually quiet uncle. His gaze capturing and holding Damian’s, he stated, “You are a Delamere. Never doubt that. But you’re my son, not Vernon’s.”
“Did Papa know?” Felix asked, more, Julian sensed, as a diversion.
“We assume so,” their mother replied. “He and I hadn’t been together for over a year before Damian was born. But between us, we never referred to or discussed Damian’s paternity.”
Frederick sighed, but there was no sadness in the sound. He seemed almost relieved to be able to discuss the issue openly. “If you cast your minds back not all that long ago, you’ll recall that Vernon and I were always close. Closer than either of us were to our other brothers. Vernon married Veronica and brought her home to the castle, but”—still holding her hand, he turned his head and caught her gaze—“I was the Delamere who fell in love with her.”
Melissa watched Veronica faintly smile.
As if satisfied that she was all right, Frederick turned to the rest of them. “Vernon saw and…he understood. He recognized that I loved Veronica in a way he did not. He came to accept that, and once the two of you”—he nodded at Julian and Felix—“and your sisters were born, he stepped back and let love have its way. Vernon was an honorable man. He loved me, and he loved Veronica, too, in his own way. He was never heartless and unfeeling. He wanted us to be happy, and so we were. We all were.”
“But was Findlay-Wright correct in thinking that after Felix, the succession bypasses Damian and goes to you?” Julian asked.
Veronica and Frederick exchanged a look, then Frederick said, “I know of no reason why that would be so. As far as I’m aware, Vernon never did anything that in any way whatsoever threw doubt on Damian’s paternity.” Frederick met Julian’s gaze. “You’ve read your father’s will. There’s no codicil or amendment that bars Damian from his expected position in the succession.”
Julian inclined his head. “You’re right. I’ve not heard or seen anything on that point, which is why Findlay-Wright’s assertion so blindsided me.” He looked at his brothers. “Blindsided us.”
“What about the irrefutable proof he spoke of?” Felix looked questioningly at Frederick and Veronica. “He seemed very sure he had something that the family would move heaven and earth to keep hidden.”
Veronica and Frederick frowned. After a moment, still frowning, Veronica shook her head. “I can’t imagine what proof he might mean.” She looked at Frederick. “Can you?”
Frederick started to shake his head, but stopped. Then he grimaced. “He must mean the letters.”
“Letters?” Julian asked.
Frederick glanced almost guiltily at Veronica. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to worry you, but sometime around Vernon’s funeral, your letters to me—all those I’d kept—vanished from the secret drawer in which I’d hidden them.” He looked at Julian. “Findlay-Wright was here for the funeral. He stayed in the castle for those three days, remember? He could have found time to search my room.”
Julian nodded. “I’ve a feeling he’s the sort to know all about secret drawers.”
“What was in the letters?” Melissa asked. “Was there enough in them to prove irrefutably that Damian isn’t Vernon’s son?”
Veronica met Frederick’s eye. “Those were my letters to you, so no.” She glanced at Damian, then focused on Julian. “As I said, we three—your father, Frederick, and I—were always careful never to do or say or even imply anything that would bring Damian’s paternity into question. So even if the letters were made public—read out in open court, even—there’s nothing in them that can’t be attributed to a lady informing a doting uncle about her latest baby’s progress.”
“This was when I was called to London to assist with organizing supplies for the war effort,” Frederick said. “But both before and after, as usual, I was here, so the letters only spanned a matter of months.”
“Outside that period,” Veronica said, “there was no need to put anything on paper. We could stroll in the gardens or in the conservatory if we wanted to talk privately, and Frederick often went up to the nursery and played with you all.”
Julian nodded. “That, I remember.” He blew out a breath, then frowned. “But if Findlay-Wright couldn’t have learned of Damian’s paternity via the letters or, it seems, any other document, how did he come to know…something all the rest of us didn’t?”
Veronica waved. “That’s easy. He got the idea from Helen. And no, she doesn’t actuallyknowanything, but she was here when Damian was born. She was expecting Gordon and was living with Maurice in quarters, so I invited her to see out her confinement here.” Veronica paused, her gaze resting, not unkindly, on Gordon. “Most people think your mother chatters incessantly and tend not to listen to all she says, but although she does talk far too much because she’s very shy, she’s also one of the most observant people I’ve ever met.” Veronica looked at Damian. “When you were born, Frederick was frantic—far more frantic than Vernon.”
Frederick passed a hand over his face. “I still remember that day vividly. I’ve never felt so terrified in my life.”
Veronica patted his arm. “I heard Vernon explain to Helen that the difference was due to him—Vernon—being an old hand and that Frederick had simply got an attack of nerves. But I always thought Helen saw through that. So in her mind, she knows, but that’s solely based on her instincts on witnessing Frederick’s reaction. She has no actual proof to support her conjecture.” Veronica tipped her head consideringly. “That said, I can readily imagine Helen babbling on and including Damian being Frederick’s son as a known fact in her ramble. If Findlay-Wright picked that up, then went looking for proof, found the letters, and read them with the idea already in his head…” She looked at Julian. “Then yes, I can imagine he mightthinkhe has proof, but I assure you on your father’s grave that he doesn’t have anything that would withstand even the most cursory scrutiny.”
Julian’s eyes narrowed. “So if Findlay-Wright tried to publish the letters, thinking to shame the family—”
