Only Mine

by Cheryl Holt

  “You don’t have the best reputation for veracity.”

  “My reputation for veracity is perfectly fine,” she fumed.

  “Your brother’s isn’t though. Have you discussed this with him?”

  “No. Once I retrieved Caleb from school, I sent him a message at Grey Manor to come to London immediately, but I haven’t heard from him. I figure he’s still there.”

  Benjamin rippled with a minor spasm of vexation. He’d ordered Wesley to end the party and Fenwick to depart his home, but he’d been so busy with Soloman that he hadn’t fretted over whether they’d complied or not.

  Was his house still full of gamblers and doxies? Were the two rascals making merry after Benjamin had specifically told them not to?

  “Swear to me, Annabel, that you haven’t talked to your brother about this.”

  “I haven’t,” she said.

  She looked deep into his eyes, and he was positive she was sincere, but where she was concerned he was a total sap. She could claim any wild detail, and he’d likely believe her.

  “How should we proceed?” she asked.

  “I need a few days to ponder over it.”

  “Promise me you’ll hurry. I doubt Peggy will keep quiet much longer.”

  “Meaning what? Is that some sort of threat? If I don’t act, will you blackmail me?”

  “No! She’s just determined to get it off her chest.”

  “Miss Jones’s confession will bring enormous trouble for your sister. Are you ready for that?”

  “I’ve thought about it, and I don’t care. Lydia committed a terrible crime, and Caleb has suffered all these years because of it. She should be punished.”

  She’d asked how they should proceed, and the probable answer was that he should kick her out and demand she take the false boy with her, but he couldn’t imagine doing that. He viewed himself as an honorable and decent man. If there was the slightest chance that Caleb had returned then Benjamin had to mull over all the ramifications.

  “I have to confer with Soloman,” he said.

  “Of course you should.”

  “I’ll ask him about the items from the cradle.” He pointed to the cap he was still holding. “May I keep this to show him?”

  “No.” She snatched it away and stuffed it into her reticule.

  “Why not?”

  “Why do you think?” she scoffed. “If I leave it with you, it might disappear.”

  “I give you my word that it won’t.”

  “I don’t exactly trust how you’ll handle this situation.”

  “Annabel...” he groused.

  “I might let you have it later on. I have to see how things wash out.”

  He could have grabbed her bag and seized the cap, but he didn’t want to fight with her. He simply wanted to be alone so he could come to grips with the information she’d provided.

  Could Harry be Caleb? If he was then Benjamin would never be an earl. The title would be yanked away—again—at the very last second. Was this Fate playing a cruel joke? Was he cursed? Maybe it wasn’t his destiny to be an earl, and it was time to recognize that fact.

  If Harry was really Caleb then Benjamin would have to surrender an incredible amount of wealth and power. With so much at stake, a lesser man might not have been able to rationally consider his choices. A lesser man might let greed and vanity get in the way.

  He’d always been rational and sensible, and he liked to suppose he would never steal from a child. Especially one to whom he was so closely related.

  Soloman’s father, Ralston Grey, had been Benjamin’s uncle. Ralston’s greatest earthly possession had been Caleb, his son and heir, and they hadn’t bothered to keep him safe. Perhaps Fate was giving him and Soloman the opportunity to redeem themselves. It was a pretty notion, and he liked to think it might be possible.

  He drew her to him and kissed her.

  “Does this mean you’re not angry?” she asked.

  “I’m not angry. I simply have to decide if I believe you or not.”

  “Believe me, Benjamin. It’s true. I swear it to you on my mother’s life.”

  “Your mother—who I hear was a Bramwell?”

  She stared at him then shook her head. “My mother wasn’t a Bramwell. Who told you that?”

  “Your brother.”

  “I have no idea why he would.”

  With her reply, all his worries about her veracity came shooting back. If she was a Bramwell, why lie about such an exalted connection? Didn’t she understand that it could only help her case?

  “We should get you back to Harry,” he said. “He’ll be growing impatient.”

  “He’s probably up to all sorts of trouble. And it’s Caleb. Not Harry. He was never Harry.”

  Her vehemence rattled him. She didn’t hesitate about the name, didn’t equivocate. The whole affair made him unbearably weary.

  If the child was Caleb as she insisted, Benjamin would lose everything he’d planned to receive. But if she was lying—if he and Soloman determined she was—he would lose her. The prospect left him very sad.

  She stood and he stood too, and they went into the house.

  “What will you do now?” she asked as they strolled down the hall.

  “I’ll speak to Soloman.”

  “Today?”

  “Yes, today. He’ll want to meet Harry.”

  “Caleb,” she said again, but Benjamin wasn’t about to start calling him Caleb. Not unless and until the resolution was clear.

  They arrived at the parlor, but Harry wasn’t there. Mr. Addington was hovering though, and Benjamin asked, “Where is the boy who was waiting for us?”

  “He’s out by the carriage that delivered Miss Fenwick. He had a few...words with your mother, and she demanded he step outside.”

  “They quarreled?”

  “I wouldn’t describe it as a quarrel exactly,” Addington said.

  “How would you describe it?”

  Addington studied Annabel then shifted his gaze to Benjamin. He shrugged. “The child claimed to be Caleb Grey. He walked right up to her and introduced himself.”

  “Oh, no...” Benjamin muttered.

  Addington was gawking, desperate to have Benjamin confirm or deny the information, but Benjamin wasn’t about to.

  “I’ll fill you in in a bit,” Benjamin said.

  “Very good, sir.”

  Addington was typically stoic as hell, but his curiosity was raging. Had the news spread through the house? If it had, the servants had very likely carried it down the block already. If Benjamin ultimately decided that Harry was Harry and no one else, the rumormongers would fly into a frenzy, declaring that Caleb had returned and the Greys were hiding him from the world.

  What a disaster!

  He complained to Annabel, “I don’t suppose you could have warned him to keep silent.”

  “It’s his name, and he hasn’t been able to use it for ten years. I’m not about to have him continue pretending he’s Harry Boswell when he’s not.”

  Addington’s brows shot up so high that Benjamin was surprised he didn’t injure himself. He took Annabel’s arm and hustled her outside. Harry was in the drive, chatting with the groomsmen from the stable. He had a pair of dice and was showing them magic tricks. He was funny and charismatic and mesmerizing, and the men were enchanted.

  “Hello, Captain,” he said as they approached.

  “Hello,” Benjamin replied, but he didn’t refer to him by either of his possible names.

  “Did Annabel tell you about me?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes, she told me everything.”

  “What is your opinion?”

  “I’ll visit you tomorrow,” Benjamin said. “We’ll talk about it then.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” He bowed to the groomsmen with a grand flourish. “Later, gents. I will definitely be back.”

  He hopped into the cab, and Annabel climbed in after him. Benjamin leaned in and squeezed her hand, hoping to have a quiet goodb
ye, but behind him he could feel the footmen gaping with astonishment and struggling to eavesdrop.

  “I’ll stop by in the morning,” he advised her.

  “I’ll watch for you.”

  She noted the people lurking, and she asked the boy, “Did you tell them who you are?”

  “Yes. At first they didn’t believe me then one of them mentioned that I’m the spitting image of my brother, Soloman.”

  Benjamin wanted to reach over and clap a palm over his mouth, but he couldn’t bear to make the situation worse.

  “The news will spread like wildfire,” Annabel said to Benjamin. “Don’t wait too long to figure out what it is you wish to do.”

  She called to the driver, and he clicked the reins. Benjamin stepped back, observing as she vanished from sight. Then he spun around to find a veritable sea of servants. Their curiosity was palpable, and he owed them an explanation, but all he could manage was, “You may return to your duties.”

  He staggered into the front parlor and collapsed on a chair. Addington was extremely competent, and he sensed Benjamin’s conflicted condition. He headed straight to the sideboard and poured a tall whiskey then he brought it over and placed it in Benjamin’s hand. He tiptoed out and closed the door, leaving Benjamin alone with his tortured thoughts.

  MILLICENT GREY WAS IN her sitting room, working on plans for the party she’d host after Benjamin’s investiture. She’d yearned to hold it at Lyndon Hall, but he insisted it was too decrepit and she blamed Soloman for its deteriorated state.

  The irresponsible cur had let Lyndon Hall go to rack and ruin, and now she couldn’t use it to celebrate the greatest moment of her life. They’d have to have the fete at Grey Manor which was a beautiful property but it wasn’t Lyndon Hall. It wasn’t the Lyndon family seat. It seemed an ill omen.

  She had no idea what drew her over to the window where the view was down into the garden at the rear of the house.

  Benjamin was there, talking to the most gorgeous female Millicent had ever seen. It was obvious they were intimately acquainted. Sparks sizzled between them, their passionate connection so strong she perceived it clear up where she was standing.

  To her stunned surprise, Benjamin kissed the woman soundly. Millicent was so shocked she could have fainted. Benjamin? Kissing a strange woman in the garden? He was about to wed Veronica! Was he insane?

  He was aware of how the servants gossiped. The story would be down at the Mason’s mansion before the hour was over.

  Once the embrace ended, they engaged in an intense conversation. From their expressions and mannerisms, a very dangerous event was transpiring, and she had to find out what it was.

  She hurried downstairs, and Addington was at the parlor door. She walked over to discover that a boy was inside.

  “Addington,” she said, “Benjamin has a young lady visiting.”

  “Yes, it’s Miss Fenwick.”

  “She is...?”

  “I assume she’s a friend of the Captain’s, Mrs. Grey. I wasn’t apprised as to the status of their relationship.”

  Millicent forced a smile. “And who is this?”

  As he turned toward her, she blanched. He looked just like Soloman and Benjamin when they were ten, and she suffered an instant of panic as she wondered if she wasn’t staring at Benjamin’s natural born son. Was the woman his mother? Had Benjamin had a bastard all these years and kept it a secret?

  Compounding her alarm, she’d asked Addington his identity, and the butler was flummoxed for what had to be the first occasion ever.

  “Well, Mrs. Grey...ah...he claims he’s...ah...ah...”

  Addington’s cheeks flushed a hot shade of red, raising her terror even higher as she had to conclude the boy was definitely Benjamin’s son.

  “For pity’s sake, Addington,” she chided, “what is wrong with you? Spit it out. Who is he?”

  The impertinent child came over and gave a polite bow. “I am Caleb Grey, ma’am. Are you my Aunt Millicent?”

  She actually shrieked with dismay and had to grab the sofa to steady herself. “What did you say?”

  “I am Caleb Grey, and I’m finally home. I’m home for good.”

  Time seemed to stop. The Earth ceased spinning on its axis. Traffic halted out on the street.

  She gaped at him then scoffed. “Don’t tell lies. Caleb Grey is dead. How dare you show your face here, you little charlatan.”

  “I’m Caleb, Aunt Millicent. I really am.”

  “No, you’re not,” she seethed, “and I most certainly am not your aunt.” She glared at Addington. “Evict this imposter! I won’t have him in the house!”

  “He’s with Miss Fenwick, Mrs. Grey. Captain Grey wouldn’t want me to make him leave.”

  “Addington!” she sharply said.

  But the boy merely grinned at the butler. “It’s all right, Mr. Addington. I don’t mean to create a fuss. I can wait for Annabel outside. It’s no bother.”

  He strolled out, appearing very much as if he owned the place. There was such an air of possession about him that she worried for a moment if her heart might simply quit beating.

  He couldn’t be Caleb Grey! He absolutely couldn’t be!

  What game was this Miss Fenwick playing? Whatever the woman’s scheme, Millicent would put an end to it quickly enough.

  She whipped away and raced upstairs so she could continue to spy as Benjamin chatted with Miss Fenwick, but they had finished their discussion and were no longer in the garden.

  Her maid came in, and Millicent was gasping for breath.

  “Fetch me a glass of sherry!” She never drank in the day, and when the stupid girl dithered she barked, “Are you deaf? I need a glass of sherry. A very big glass. At once!”

  The girl skittered out to get it, and Millicent fell onto a chair and gripped the arms so she didn’t slide to the floor in an astonished heap.

  OU’RE NOT SERIOUS.”

  “I’m serious as an apoplexy.”

  Benjamin glared at his mother, and she glared back. They were sequestered in his library with him behind the desk and his mother in the chair across.

  “I forbid you to investigate it,” she said.

  “It’s not up to you, Mother.”

  “But...but...” Millicent stammered, “that boy could be any urchin in the world. Merely because he says he’s Caleb Grey, why should we listen to him?”

  Benjamin sighed, hating the entire imbroglio. Annabel hadn’t been gone for ten minutes, and his mother had already accosted him.

  “He’s not just saying it, Mother. His aunt has proof of who he is, plus a witness who can verify their story.”

  “Anyone can lie or be bribed, Benjamin. Any person can claim to have witnessed an event, but it doesn’t make their tale true.”

  “This might be, Mother. We need to prepare ourselves.”

  “Never, Benjamin,” she seethed. “We have waited all our lives for you to become Lyndon. We won’t permit an interloper to swoop in at the very end and seize what has always been ours.”

  “Mother, that statement is wrong in so many ways that I’m not sure where to start in addressing it.”

  “Name one thing that’s wrong with it!” she snapped.

  “First of all, you have been waiting on pins and needles. Most of the time, I couldn’t have cared less. And second of all, if he is Caleb he’s no interloper so he could never seize anything from us.”

  “I could have predicted you’d be ridiculous about it.”

  “I’m not being ridiculous. I haven’t decided how to proceed, and it’s not up to me. I’ve sent an urgent message to Soloman, and once he arrives he and I will figure out our next steps. I will do what he wants to do, not as you wish I would do.”

  “You would bring that cur into it.”

  “He is Caleb’s guardian, and he’s trustee of the estate lands. How could you expect me to hide any of this from him?”

  “He let the property fall to ruin so why he’s been allowed to maintain his place a
s trustee is beyond me. The authorities should have removed him years ago, and as to his being Caleb’s guardian, we saw how that worked out. I hardly think he’s the man to manage the boy’s best interests.”

  Benjamin blew out a heavy breath. “Soloman didn’t kidnap Caleb out of the nursery. Stop blaming him.”

  “You don’t know what really occurred that night. You imagine Soloman wasn’t responsible simply because he insisted he wasn’t, but that doesn’t mean he—”

  He cut her off. “Don’t finish that thought, Mother. If you do, I will pack you off to the country and you’ll never come back to town.”

  She bristled with offense, but bit down the derogatory comment she’d been about to share.

  “Who was that girl anyway?” she asked instead. “Addington told me her name is Miss Fenwick.”

  “She’s an acquaintance.”

  “I’d say she’s a tad more than an acquaintance.”

  “What are you implying, Mother?”

  “While she was here, I glanced down in the garden—quite by accident—and I saw you with her. I’m shocked, Benjamin. Shocked! There’s no other word for it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re about to marry Veronica!” she hissed. “We can’t have strange women visiting you and you carrying on assignations in our garden.”

  “It wasn’t an assignation, Mother, and let’s review. Whose house is this?”

  This was an old argument, and he couldn’t exactly blame her for chafing under his thumb. She’d been in charge for most of a decade, and it was difficult for her to have her authority usurped, but she’d had several months to get used to it. He was growing weary of bickering over every little detail.

  Apparently, she wasn’t keen to hash it out again either for she changed the subject. “How did you meet Miss Fenwick? How is it she just happened to have this child to push forward? She has evidence that supposedly proves her case, but have you paused to wonder how convenient that is?”

  “Yes, Mother, I’ve been roiled by her allegations.”

  “You can’t have forgotten how many confidence artists showed up with babies, claiming they were Caleb.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “And we’ve constantly received letters from boys pretending to be Caleb. They beg for assistance and tell us they’re hungry or alone or imperiled. A certain class of common people have very cruel hearts. How can we be sure this isn’t simply another attempt at a swindle?”