“They’ll know.”

“They, ” he said firmly, “matter nothing compared to your health.” He kissed the top of her head. “I will not have you put at risk.” He got up, laid her down and lifted the coverlet to lay it gently over her. “Rest. Ring for Robinson when you’re ready.”

She had no choice, it seemed and she was only too glad to rest, if truth be told.

* * *

John left the bedroom more determined to care for Faith and ensure her well-being. The strength of the resolution surprised him, as did the sudden upsurge of joy when he realised he might become a father. He hid that from her as best he could, because it made her so concerned. Her temporary weakness helped, but he could not hide his pleasure from himself.

However he must retain his perspective. She was correct, although she appeared determined to believe the problem lay with her and not with her last husband. He’d never heard of the late John Smith fathering a child in or out of marriage.

He cut his thoughts right there, savagely refusing to believe it until it was proven. If it was ever proven. He would not show her his disappointment if she was right and the problem went away.

But he would care for her, and she mattered above all others.

Deciding to go into the study and get a little work on the ledgers done, he didn’t turn around when the doorbell clanged. At this short distance, the bell sounded loud, almost discordant. He’d have to have it seen to. If Faith was to get any rest, he’d have to deal with that bell.

“Lord Graywood!” The male voice sounded determined, commanding. He didn’t know it. Making a swift decision to meet the visitor, slowly he turned and faced the caller, who by the tenets of polite behaviour was not supposed to see him until bidden to do so. The demand in the voice intrigued rather than insulted him.

Standing on the threshold, not yet allowed on to the sacred marble floor of the entrance hall was a man who seemed vaguely familiar, although John felt almost sure he’d never seen him before.

John studied the stranger steadily and had his stare met equally indemonstrably but with a determination he liked. He nodded to the footman. “Let him through, Davis.”

The footman bowed slightly and let the visitor in. John stayed where he was, and let the newcomer approach him. He was dressed neatly and well, as befitted a gentleman, in dark coat, crisp white neckcloth and bottle green waistcoat, a gold pin nestling discreetly in the folds at his throat. “May I help you?” John said politely.

“I believe so,” the man said. Unlike most men of his rank, John had become used to meeting people on an informal basis. The last earl would probably have continued into the study, allowed the footman to bring him a card on a salver, and then made his decision. John couldn’t bring himself to behave so inconsiderately.

“My name is Edward Smith. Rather, Edward Dalkington-Smythe. I understand you’ve been looking for me?”

His eyes. That was it. Closer, John could see the eyes. He saw them in the mirror every morning. That wasn’t proof of anything, but for the second time that day anticipation rose in his chest.

“Have I?”

“Yes, sir. I may be a distant relative. In fact I’m certain I am. I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier. Yes, I do have proof and I sent copies, but when I visited your man of business he claimed to have never seen it. He said he’d searched for years. Called me an impostor.” He gave a derisory laugh.

Alerted and intrigued, John nodded. Was the man so uncaring of the position and fortune he stood to inherit if his claim were proved? “Please come through.” Changing direction, he crossed the hall to the back parlour. The servants had cleared the room of breakfast dishes. With the table folded and against the wall, had reverted to a small sitting room. He didn’t want to show the man any of the ledgers he had strewn about the study.

He bade the visitor sit. “Please explain.”

Edward Smith nodded and took a place on one of the Sheraton sofas pushed against the wall. The quiet elegance here didn’t appear to daunt him, as it might someone unused to luxury. He refused refreshment when John indicated the decanters on the sideboard. “I did not know anyone was searching for an heir until I read of the death of the previous earl and his brother in an article in my local newspaper. I am generally too busy to read a paper from end to end, but the name caught my eye.” He grinned. “Not Smith, but Graywood. I sent the proofs you would need, but I sent copies, so when I came to London on business, I decided to enquire personally.” He gave a short laugh. “I’m sorry, you must be unaware of who I am. My great-grandfather was your great-grandfather’s younger brother. Their father gave him a small parcel of land and told him to go when he refused to bow to his will. They were not friends and never saw each other again.”

John frowned, remembering something he’d heard once, long ago. “The old man was a disciplinarian, was he not?”

Edward gave a sharp nod. “So I’ve been informed. My great-grandfather refused a life in the church when offered because, he said, he had no vocation. Our relative didn’t see the problem.

Since my great-grandfather was one of seven children, four of them boys, he had no expectations of the title and made the most of his life. His branch of the family, mine, has since prospered. Believe me sir, I have no need of a title or entailed lands. I have enough wealth of my own.”

That remained to be seen. If he were posing as heir to a great estate, John would say that kind of thing. But the man had an air of prosperity, understated confidence that spoke of being used to command. “Are you in business?”

“Yes, sir, I am. My great-grandfather reverted to the simpler form of the family name, and set up making cloth for the foreign markets. From that we invested in shipping. We’re based in the north, from Newcastle-on-Tyne.”

Smith. That was the hell of it, such a common name. He knew of a business imaginatively named Smith and Sons who dealt in cloth and shipping. Definitely no relation of his. “You have brothers?”

“I do. Two. My brother has three sons.” Smith gave a shame-faced grin. “The title isn’t short of heirs.”

“If your claim is proved.”

John watched carefully but Edward Smith didn’t flinch. He nodded briskly. “Naturally. I can provide the necessary proofs. But may I speak frankly?”

“Of course.” John got to his feet. “But I’m forgetting my manners. May I offer you refreshment?”

Smith shook his head. “I don’t need anything, thank you.”

John sat down, leaned back. “You were saying, about being frank.” The offer of refreshment had demonstrated showing acceptance. That was the point in the conversation where he either offered hospitality or showed Smith his back.

He believed this man. His instincts had to be razor sharp. While they were not his only method of assessment, he had enough faith in his ability to assess a character to believe in this man’s honesty.

Smith nodded, and the corner of his mouth quirked in a smile.

Another gesture John recognised in himself. “I believe frankness is the best policy on most occasions. How well do you know your man of business?”

“It depends which one,” John said. “My personal agent and business partner is a person I would trust with my life.” Although not his wife. He wouldn’t trust any other with her. “However the man who deals with the affairs of the earldom, Roker, I hardly know.”

Edward raised a brow. “The article said you lived in Canada?”

“I did. When I joined the army I sold everything except one house and invested my money. I did well. In Canada I started in fur and developed the enterprise.”

Smith didn’t appear surprised. “I did some research. Smith and Pickering is one of the biggest trading empires in Canada these days. I asked a few contacts. Does Roker have the handling of any of it?”

“He does not. I wish to keep my business separate from the earldom for the time being. There is enough to assimilate without attempting that.” He could see no reason not to vouchsafe that piece of information, although he had decided to play his cards close to his chest for now. Only the other day he was wondering if a hidden heir could be responsible for the attacks on Faith and himself. Now, out of the blue, an heir appeared. Possibly fraudulent, possibly indigent. He want excellent proofs before he believed anything Smith said.

“I have no right to advise you, but I would say, take care with that man.” Smith shifted his attention, glanced out of the window that afforded a view of the garden beyond. In the distance, a gardener was doing something to a trellis of greenery. John guessed Smith was finding his confession difficult.

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s hardly my place.” Smith’s attention returned to within the room, to the portrait over the fireplace, a conversation piece from about fifty years ago. It showed the family drinking tea, holding their handle-less cups with great delicacy. John thought he discerned a resemblance. The shape of the head maybe, or the eye colour.

Smith looked straight at John again. “I came to London partly to see you. Understand, sir, I have no interest in the earldom, except from duty. I have my home, my family, and a prosperous business.”

He hesitated. “Extremely prosperous. I trade for the most part, and I own an share in several other enterprises. My brothers would be appalled if I suggested a move to London. We have no desire to change our lives. The first I knew the earldom was short an heir was when I read it in the paper.”