by Cheryl Holt
“Not right away, but soon.”
Felicia gaped at him and he glowered back, studying her in a way he rarely had.
“You’re upset,” he muttered.
“Who wouldn’t be?”
“I need your consent, Felicia—for the good of the family, for your mother and me. I need your help.”
It was a plaintive appeal, and to her disgust, she was deeply moved by it. Her father had never previously asked a favor of her. How could she decline to assist?
“Yes, I suppose I can do it,” she mumbled, having no idea why she’d think so.
“And he’s not a bad fellow.” Lord Stone flashed a ghoulish smile. “He’s a self-made man, a real bootstraps sort of chap, seized his destiny and all that. I’m sure, after you get to know him, you’ll be impressed.”
“Impressed? Seriously?”
“This is for the best, Felicia,” he said again. “For the family.”
“Then I’m certain it’ll be fine, won’t it?”
She swept out, so furious she was blinded by rage, and she bumped into someone in the hall, having to blink three times before she saw it was her father’s driver and guard, Mr. Blaylock. He’d once worked as a pugilist and was forbidding and scary, always lurking in the shadows, eager to carry out whatever task Lord Stone required.
It dawned on her that she’d like to have her father murdered. But no, not her father. Michael Scott. She was in such a violent temper that she wildly wondered if Mr. Blaylock could be bribed to commit such a heinous act. She suspected he might.
“Lady Felicia”—he reached out to steady her—“are you all right?”
“Yes, I just received some distressing news.”
He oozed commiseration, which was much more than her accursed parents would ever bestow.
“Is there anything I can do?” he inquired.
How about kill my father—and my fiancé! “No, there’s nothing.”
He leaned in and whispered, “Is it your engagement? Has he finally told you?”
Gad, was she the last to learn of it? Had the whole city been apprised? Were people tittering behind her back?
“Yes, told me. It’s a bit of a shock,” she incautiously mentioned.
“I dare say.” His gaze turned sly. “I know Michael Scott very well, and I’m very discreet. If you’d ever like to discuss him…?”
He let the question dangle, and she didn’t reply. He was a servant, and he had no business talking to her about Mr. Scott or any other topic, but she was intrigued that he knew Mr. Scott well. Yes, she thought, they would definitely have to have a private conversation—when she could escape all the prying ears in the house.
“If you’ll excuse me?” she murmured. “My mother is waiting.”
“Oh, my apologies. I didn’t mean to delay you.”
He stepped away, and she kept on, relieved that her father’s choice hadn’t been worse.
Lord Stone might have selected someone decrepit and elderly, might have wagered with someone blind or deformed. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t find a silver lining. In the coming weeks and months, how would she ever bear up?
What would she tell her friends?
* * * *
“What can you reveal about any of it?”
“Not much, I’m afraid.”
At Mr. Thumberton’s response, Evangeline Etherton Drake sighed. Thumberton was a renowned London solicitor who served the wealthiest clients. She and her brother, Bryce Blair, were in his office, requesting details about their past.
She’d been hoping she’d get lucky, that the answers she sought would be easy to attain, but there would be no simple resolution.
She had a convoluted identity, having recently learned that her maiden name had never been Etherton. Nor was her first name Evangeline. It had been pinned on her as a toddler, but she had no idea why.
She’d grown up believing she was an orphan, so she’d been astonished to accidently stumble on her older brother, Bryce. He’d explained that she’d been born Anne Blair and named after their mother. She’d been called Annie, and as a baby her three brothers—Bryce and the twins Michael and Matthew—had called her Sissy. She’d been the only daughter—the only sister—in a family with three sons.
Although she had vague dreams about the time when she was Annie Blair and Sissy to her brothers, she didn’t remember that period. In her earliest genuine memories, she’d been living at Miss Peabody’s School for Girls, and her name had been Evangeline Etherton.
It was bizarre to suddenly discover she was a different person from whom she’d always presumed herself to be. She hadn’t yet returned to using the name Anne Blair—and wasn’t sure she ever would. Evangeline was the sole name she recollected, and she was Evangeline Drake now, having married her husband, Aaron Drake, Lord Run.
Aaron was a viscount, heir to Lord Sidwell and would someday be an earl, so she was Anne, Annie, Sissy, Evangeline Blair Etherton Drake, Lady Run. Out of that long and elaborate list, how could any sane woman pick the correct moniker?
She’d been a charity case at school, her tuition paid by an anonymous benefactor, so it had definitely been a shock to meet Bryce and hear that her history was a lie.
They’d once had a loving, happy existence, their home filled with laughter, music, singing, and joy. Their mother had been extremely talented, likely an actress or singer, and their father a dashing sort, maybe a sailor or soldier who wasn’t often present in London.
But a misfortune had ripped them apart. Why had that idyllic life ended? What had ended it?
Their mother seemed to have been convicted of a crime, perhaps transported to the penal colonies. Bryce had a traumatic memory of them being at the docks and saying goodbye to her, but he’d been too young to fully understand what was occurring. Only with adult hindsight had he pieced together what must have transpired.
Their father had perished, then their mother’s troubles started. And as to the twins? There was no trace. What had become of them?
Mr. Thumberton had occasionally checked on her and Bryce over the years, so they’d come to speak with him. If he didn’t know the truth, who would? Yet so far, the visit had been pointless.
“Have you any information about our parents?” she asked.
“No.”
“How about the boarding schools where we grew up? How were they selected for us? How was the headmaster convinced to accept Bryce when he was so little? What about me and Miss Peabody? I was even younger than Bryce when I was enrolled there, and she always hated me. Why did she keep me as a student if she disliked me so much?”
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Thumberton said. “I simply don’t know. I wish I had better news for you.”
It had been Thumberton’s reply to nearly every question.
“Bryce and I made it to our respective schools, but why is there no record of the twins? What happened to them?”
“I don’t know. No one knew. It was a great mystery that always vexed Etherton.”
“Is there any tidbit you can share?” Bryce inquired. “If we had the smallest hint of a clue, we could begin our search.” He paused for a moment, studied Thumberton, then asked, “Were you paid to remain silent? Is that why you’re so reticent?”
Bryce had hit on something. Thumberton stared at Bryce, at Evangeline, at Bryce again. For the longest while, he pondered. Finally he stood and went over to a locked cabinet. He opened it, drew out a file, and came back to his desk.
“I checked on you for Mr. Etherton,” he said. “He retained me for that sole purpose.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Bryce muttered.
“I wasn’t told much about either of you. Mr. Etherton needed me to establish your welfare, that you were being taught and fed and housed adequately in accordance with the money he was tendering for your care.”
“Why didn’t he check himself?” Bryce asked.
“He was incapacitated in an accident, so travel was difficult for him.”
&
nbsp; Evangeline popped in with, “What about Miss Peabody? She hired me as a teacher after I was finished with my education. Why?”
“I believe she was paid to do that.”
“By Mr. Etherton?”
“Yes.”
“That must have made me a bargain as an employee—if he provided my salary.”
He nodded. “I’m sure it was a factor in your retention.”
“I don’t understand any of this,” Evangeline said.
“Neither do I,” Bryce agreed, and he turned to Thumberton. “You never met Etherton face to face?”
“Just the initial time when he retained me. After that, we corresponded through the mail.”
“To what address?” Bryce asked. “Is he here in London? Could we visit him?”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Thumberton said. “He passed away many years ago.”
And likely took his secrets to the grave!
Evangeline wanted to weep with frustration.
“But,” Mr. Thumberton added, “his niece has managed his affairs since he died. She’s in possession of his personal papers.”
“Where is she? Is she in town?”
“No. She resided in a village near Southampton—if she’s still alive and there. I haven’t heard from her in awhile.”
“We could locate her?”
“Yes, certainly,” Thumberton said, “but if I may offer a word of advice?”
“Of course,” Evangeline and Bryce replied in unison.
“I’ve been helping people with their legal problems for many decades, and I’ve learned that some secrets are best left buried. You should think long and hard about whether to reveal the truth. Someone went to an enormous amount of trouble to hide it from you.”
Evangeline and Bryce smiled at each other, and Bryce told him, “We’ll be happy with whatever we discover.”
“And I’m desperate to find the twins,” Evangeline added.
“Well then, I wish you Godspeed in your investigation,” Thumberton said, “and let me know if I can be of assistance in the future.”
“We will.”
She and Bryce made their goodbyes and Thumberton’s clerk escorted them out. They hovered on the sidewalk, their driver waiting in the carriage down the street.
“Are you free next week?” Bryce asked her.
“Why? Are we going to Southampton?”
“Absolutely,” Bryce said.
“What if I ran an advertisement in the newspapers?”
“To say what?”
“To say we’re looking for the twins. Maybe they’re living down the block. Maybe they’re together and safe and sound. They’ll see the notice and appear on my doorstep tomorrow morning.”
“I doubt it will be that easy,” Bryce gently stated. “Please don’t get your hopes up too high. I’d hate to have them dashed.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine—no matter what.”
“I know you will.”
“It’s worth a try, don’t you think? My contacting the newspapers?”
“I suppose.”
“Should I mention a reward?”
Bryce scowled, then laughed. “Gad, no. We’d have every confidence artist in the kingdom show up with a sob story and claiming to be our lost brother.”
Evangeline laughed too. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“But purchase your advertisement, and pack a bag. I can’t wait to meet the elusive Miss Etherton and ask her about her uncle. I intend to make her spill all.”
CHAPTER SIX
“I was reading the newspaper.”
“You were? I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”
“Very funny,” Ramsey muttered.
Michael glanced over at his friend and laughed. They’d been back in London for several days and were riding down the street toward his gambling club. As usual, a crowd had gathered behind them, mostly children, all of them eager for Michael to throw some coins or enlist one of them to perform a chore.
He and Ramsey had had quite a bit of schooling at the orphanage where they’d been raised, but it was a regular joke between them that Michael was a scholar and Ramsey wasn’t. Ramsey could read people and situations better than any man alive. But printed words? No. He’d been too restless to learn his lessons and always said that he liked to speak with his fists.
“What was the article about?” he asked Ramsey. “If it attracted your notice, it must have been shocking.”
“It wasn’t an article. It was an advertisement.”
“About what?”
“Someone is searching for Michael Blair—approximately thirty years of age, dark hair, blue eyes.”
“Michael…Blair?” Michael carefully inquired. “What has that to do with me?”
“What has it to do with you? Don’t be an idiot.”
“It’s a common enough name. There are likely thousands of Michael Blairs in the kingdom.”
“They’re hunting for one in particular.”
“Who would look?”
Though he went by the name Michael Scott, he had a faded birth certificate and some other papers that proved his real name was Michael Blair. His parents had been Anne and Julian Blair, which meant nothing to him. The documents were in a crumpled brown envelope in his safe. He remembered someone stuffing them in his shirt on the tumultuous night of the fire when he’d been very tiny.
An adult had bent down and told him they were important, to never part with them, and he never had.
“Maybe,” Ramsey mused, “you have a rich grandfather who’s suddenly dying to find you.”
“If I have a doting relative, how was I lost in the first place? Wealthy people’s children don’t get lost.”
“You’re such an obnoxious ass. Perhaps they thought they wanted to be rid of you, but they forgot how insufferable you can be and they changed their minds.”
For all of Ramsey’s violent ways, he was actually a very romantic fellow. He believed in happy endings, and while he had no information about his own family, he’d always claimed Michael’s father must have been a prince or a duke. How else could Michael’s imperious tendencies be explained?
When they were small, Ramsey would weave stories about how Michael’s aristocratic father would locate him someday, how he’d arrive in a gilded coach drawn by six white horses. In case it had ever happened, Ramsey had made Michael promise he’d take Ramsey along and not leave him behind.
“The advertisement didn’t mention a reward,” Ramsey said, “but I was wondering if I shouldn’t turn you in myself. You might be worth a pretty penny.”
“I doubt it. Who would pay to bring me back?”
“I agree. Who would?” Ramsey shrugged. “It probably wasn’t you.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t.”
“The person was looking for a Matthew Blair too. Twins, it said. Michael and Matthew Blair. You didn’t have a twin brother, did you? Not one you ever talked about anyway.”
For the briefest second, the Earth seemed to stand still. Michael’s horse paused in mid-step, birds halted in flight, voices hushed, passersby froze in their spots.
He might have been staring into a mirror at a little boy who looked just like Michael. They were nose to nose, smiling, whispering in a secret language no one understood but them. The most terrifying wave of anguish swept over him. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t keep his balance. Frantically he grabbed for his arm, feeling as if it had been hacked off and was no longer attached to his body.
“Hey!” Ramsey snapped his fingers in Michael’s face. “Where were you?”
“I was…daydreaming.”
“Seeing what this time?”
“Nothing but myself in a mirror.”
Michael physically shook himself, the peculiar vision providing the distinct impression that he was missing a precious treasure in his life. Since he had no idea what it was, he had no idea how to get it back.
Ramsey was used to Michael’s abnormal hallucinations. He was use
d to them, but didn’t like them. As children, he’d often had to awaken Michael when he was in the throes of a nightmare.
“You know I hate it when you wander off in your mind,” Ramsey complained. “I’m always afraid you won’t return.”
“Don’t worry. If I ever vanish completely, I’ll find a way to haunt you.”
“Just my luck.”
Michael glanced around, not surprised to discover they were directly in front of the Vicar Sterns Rescue Mission.
After Miss Wells had fled Cliffside, Michael hadn’t stopped thinking about her. The lengthy kiss they’d shared on her balcony had rattled him, and she’d wedged herself into his head like an irksome gnat. For some bizarre reason, he felt as if they were connected, as if she was his now, which made no sense at all.
He didn’t even like her, and considering her line of work—and his—they had naught in common. What would be the point of fraternization? If he spent any extended time with her, she’d drive him batty.
But he reined in his horse.
“What are you doing?” Ramsey asked.
“I thought I’d visit Miss Wells.”
“Are you mad?”
“Very likely.”
“Our shipment is at the docks.”
“I know.”
“You wanted to check it.”
“I know, Ramsey.”
Ramsey studied the ramshackle building, the crooked sign. The whole place was a stiff wind away from collapse. He chuckled. “She might be worth it.”
“Worth what?”
“Worth…whatever you’re contemplating. Did I tell you her sister lured me out into the garden at Cliffside.”
Michael scowled. “No, you didn’t tell me.”
“She begged me to tumble her in the grass, but I refused.”
“You better have. I can’t have you involved with her.”
“That’s what I said, but she insisted I shouldn’t listen to you.”
“I hope you told her to stuff it.”
“Rebecca Wells is as loose as I imagined.” Ramsey gestured to the mission. “Perhaps her sister is too.”
“I’m not here to seduce her.”
“Why are you here then? Are you claiming we just happened to ride by?”
“I promised her a donation.”
“Sure you did, Michael. Sure you did.” Ramsey urged his horse into a trot. “I’ll check the shipment for you,” he called over his shoulder, “and meet you at the club.”
