“Yes, sir,” said Lucinda—surprising Nick yet again. “Your father came from Liverpool. He was a ship captain. You own a gentleman’s club in London. You haven’t got a wife or children...” She hesitated. “As far as anyone knows.”
He couldn’t resist a startled laugh as Miss Greene gasped. “Nor have I got a secret wife or children.”
“Lucinda,” said her governess. “That was impertinent.”
The girl turned pleading eyes on her. “He’s my cousin. May I not hope to know him a little?”
Nick’s brows went up. Miss Greene seemed nonplussed. She shot a hesitant look at him, then glanced away the moment their eyes met.
After that they ate in silence. Lucinda seemed absorbed in not missing a single crumb of her tart, and Nick saw how she furtively took a second when Miss Greene wasn’t looking.
When breakfast was over, Miss Greene rose. “I know you’re a busy man, Mr. Dashwood, so shall we get to business?”
“Yes.” He followed, not surprised when Lucinda slid from her chair and came as well.
The drawing room was above the dining room, just as small but with better light. The sofa was threadbare, the chairs mismatched, but it was the tables that caught his attention. Four—no, five, Nick counted, arranged at angles near the front windows that overlooked Charles Street. One looked to be a lady’s dressing table. Every inch of their surfaces was covered with books and neatly stacked papers.
“Where would you like to start?” She laid her hand on the back of a chair pulled up to the center table.
He stared. She hadn’t been lying when she called it voluminous. He’d pictured a bundle of papers, when she had enough to fill a hay-wain. For the first time he wondered if she really did have proof. Until this moment, he would have wagered it would come to nothing in the end.
“At the beginning.” He took the chair she indicated. She pulled up one next to his, and Lucinda stationed herself on her far side.
CHAPTEREIGHT
Emilia had been striving toward this moment for months, and yet her hands shook with nerves as Mr. Dashwood sat down. What if she’d gone wrong somewhere? What if she’d missed something? She had this one chance to persuade him, and if she failed—
Beside her, Lucy whispered, “Start with the Bible, Millie,” and it jarred her out of her panic.
“Of course,” she whispered back. “Thank you.”
The Sidney family Bible was rather large. Mrs. Gregson, Lucy’s former nursemaid at Beaufort Hall, had once told her it was over two hundred years old, and had recorded the family since the first viscount received his coronet. That helpful bit of information had aided her search tremendously, when the crisis came.
She opened the cover gently, the aged leather giving a creak. “This is the family record of the Sidney family back to the time of King James,” she said. “Here is the first viscount, William Sidney.” She pointed to the spidery writing, barely legible on the thick old paper. “It’s difficult to read but you can make out his marriage record here, and his children here.”
She turned the pages. “Here we have the fourth viscount, Henry Sidney. His first marriage was to Genevieve Robart. The parish register from Dorset confirms it. Here is their son, Thomas. But here—” She moved her finger. “Here is his second marriage, to Catherine Clement after Genevieve died.”
“Would that he’d remained a widower,” he muttered.
Emilia’s mouth firmed. “His five-year-old son needed a mother.” She was very conscious of Lucy standing silently beside her. “There are three unnamed infants from this time buried in the family plot. I suppose Genevieve died doing her duty.”
He merely grunted.
She went on, pointing out Henry Sidney’s son by Catherine: William Henry. His birth, marriage, and death were recorded in the Bible as well, but nothing else. It was Thomas Sidney’s lineage the Bible enshrined, all the way down to Arthur Sidney and his only child, Lucinda Mary.
“William remained in Dorset near the family home.” She put aside the Bible and reached for the parish register she’d covertly borrowed when the elderly rector left her alone with it. This was another reason she wasn’t anxious to hand over her research. It was probably a sin to take the register from a church, even though she had every intention of giving it back. “He went into the church, and had a very prosperous living near Bournemouth. He had a large family, several daughters and one son, George. George went into the navy and became a captain.” She glanced at him. “Perhaps that’s how your father chose his vocation.”
He scowled at the register. “I didn’t come to hear speculation.”
“All right,” she said in a mingled surprise and offense. She was only trying to make this more interesting, since he looked grim and displeased. She and Lucy had whiled away long, tense hours wondering about the people they uncovered in the records and making up exciting histories for them.
“I located records at the Naval Office listing his postings. I was able to discover him in the parish register at Plymouth, where his marriage was recorded.” She spread out the letters from the vicar there, attesting to it. “By a stroke of good fortune, his first two children were also baptized there, a son named Percy and a daughter, Martha. Percy Sidney also went into the navy, rising as high as lieutenant. He wed Mary Blake, daughter of a Liverpool merchant. And their son Samuel—”
“Yes,” he said shortly. “I know the rest.”
She hesitated. There was more proof, reams of it, painstakingly coaxed out of elderly servants and parish vicars and former sailors and gossipy relations. She hadn’t wanted anything left to chance. “Then do you believe you’re the heir?” she asked cautiously.
Mr. Dashwood leaned back in his chair and ran one hand over his face. “I allow that it’s possible.”
