Edward stared. “That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“If there was another heir, Katherine’s hopes would be dashed.”

“Yes, well, as clever as that is—” she rolled her gaze toward the ceiling “—you don’t have a son and I doubt that you can come up with one by tomorrow.”

“But when a man has the kind of reputation I had, it’s not at all uncommon for a previously unknown heir to pop up.”

“Edward—” she chose her words with care “—it’s one thing to spread a few rumors about the state of your finances. Those will easily disperse when it’s obvious your fortune is sound. But gossip about an heir will cling to you forever and cast doubts about your right to the title.” She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s the least bit wise.”

“Probably not.” He thought for a moment. “Unless...”

“Dear Lord, I know I am going to regret asking.” She braced herself. “Unless what?”

“Unless it’s not my heir.” A slow, satisfied grin spread across his face. “It’s brilliant and it will work. I’m certain of it.” He narrowed his eyes. “Katherine doesn’t know anything at all about my family, does she?”

“I have no idea, although I suspect the only inquiries she might have made would have been about the size of your income.” She drew her brows together. “I haven’t noticed her taking any particular interest in Danby itself or asking about any of those endless portraits of ancestors you have hanging on the wall.”

“Excellent.” He beamed.

“Why?”

“You shall see. Just remember—” he chuckled “—the play’s the thing.”

The annoying man was certainly enjoying himself.

“Very well, Edward, as long as you remember, at the end of Hamlet—” she crossed her arms over her chest and met his gaze directly “—all the principal characters are dead.”






Day Six


CHAPTER FIFTEEN


“HAS YOUR BROTHER told you what this is all about?” Mrs. Blodgett said quietly to Henry. Once again, she was seated beside him for luncheon.

“I’m afraid not.” What was his brother up to now? “I would imagine this is all part of his plan.”

A table had been set up out-of-doors under a billowing canopy some distance from the front drive. An unfamiliar carriage waited near the front entry.

“As no doubt is his insistence on having luncheon here.” Her brow furrowed. “But why on the front lawns rather than the terrace? Although, with Danby in the background, it is rather scenic.”

“All he said to me was that the day before my wedding was a special occasion. It should be spent under blue skies in front of our ancestral home.”

“That’s rather poetic of him.”

“I know. I find it highly suspicious.” Henry shook his head. “Ned instructed me to behave as normally as possible but also said I should keep my mouth shut, no matter what happened. That I should not question, deny or confirm. I should act as if I know absolutely nothing, which shouldn’t be difficult as I know absolutely nothing.”

“Oh, that doesn’t bode well.”

“Apparently, my brother doesn’t think I’m particularly good at deceit.”

Mrs. Blodgett cast him a worried look. “I do hope Edward is as clever as he thinks he is.”

“My dear Mrs. Blodgett,” Henry said drily. “Nobody could possibly be.”

“He wouldn’t give me any details but he is shockingly smug about whatever he has in mind. He did ask me to make certain everyone was in attendance.” Mrs. Blodgett glanced down the long table. All those staying at Danby were here including Celia. “And he said I would know what to do when the time came.”

“And will you?”

“I have no idea. I hope so.” She frowned. “He does tend to be a bit theatrical but I do wish I knew exactly what he was planning. One does like to be prepared.”

“Apparently, my brother has a great deal of confidence in you.” He chuckled. “He describes you as diabolical, you know.”

“Does he really?” She grinned. “How perfectly lovely of him. I quite like that.” Her smile faded. “Edward also told me that if his plan doesn’t work, you were prepared to do what was necessary.”

He tightened his jaw. “I will.”

“You know, Henry—” she laid a hand on his arm and looked into his eyes “—it’s not dishonorable to go back on your word when abiding by it would cause more harm than good.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Blodgett.” He shrugged. “I keep telling myself that.”

His gaze wandered to Celia. She had not once looked in his direction. When this was all over, when he was free...

“Who do you think that is?” Mrs. Higginbotham said from across the table. She peered around Henry for a better view of the house.

Everyone at the table turned and stared.

Ned stood on the front steps accompanied by a red-haired woman and a young boy. Was it the same woman his brother had met at the ball? The American? Henry clenched his teeth. This was not the most appropriate day for Ned to be engaged in a new flirtation. But why on earth would the woman have a child with her? Ned escorted them to the carriage and they exchanged a few words. At this distance it was impossible to tell if their conversation was amicable or merely polite.

Ned handed the woman and the boy into the carriage. He clasped his hands behind his back and watched as it drove away. Even from here, there looked to be a distinct edge of defeat about him.

“What is he doing?” Miss Quince asked.

“Well, he’s watching the carriage drive off, obviously.” Mrs. Higginbotham scoffed.

“He doesn’t look at all happy,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore said.

“No, he doesn’t, does he?” Mrs. Blodgett cast Henry a pointed look.

Ned strode toward them looking remarkably ill at ease. Even distraught.

Henry got to his feet. “What is it, Ned?”

“I’ve just had some, well, disturbing news.” Ned shook his head in a mournful manner.

Viscount Bromley stood up. “Would you prefer to be alone, Danby?”

“No, no, we’re all to be family soon enough. You should hear this as it affects all of us.” Ned heaved an overly dramatic sigh.

“What is this about, Edward?” A hard note edged Katherine’s words.

“It’s about...” Ned paused in the manner of a master storyteller. His gaze flicked to Henry’s. “Charles.”

“Charles?” Henry said without thinking.

Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore gasped. “Not your Charles, Gwen?”

“No, no, of course not.” Mrs. Blodgett looked at Ned. “It isn’t my Charles, is it?”

Ned stared. “You have a Charles?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Blodgett huffed. “My husband’s name is Charles.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Ned shook his head. “It’s not that Charles.”

“Then which Charles is it?” Louise asked.

“How many Charleses are there?” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore’s gaze skipped around the gathering as if she expected Charleses to come out from every corner.

“Apparently at least two. But the Charles I’m referring to is—” he slanted a quick look at Henry and sighed again “—our older brother.”

Shocked gasps swept through the gathering except for Mrs. Blodgett, who—while looking as somber as possible—could not quite hide the twinkle of amusement in her eyes. Ned was right—she would know what to do when the time came.

“Ah, yes.” Henry shook his head woefully, assuming that was the right thing to do. He might be the good brother but he was no less clever than his twin. Unless he was sadly mistaken, he had a fair idea of what Ned was doing. “Poor Charles.”

“What older brother?” Katherine jumped to her feet. “You don’t have an older brother.”

“Not anymore.” Ned sniffed back a tear.

Mrs. Blodgett choked then wiped her eye. Her dramatic bent was as pronounced as his brother’s.

“Charles was five—”

Mrs. Blodgett cleared her throat. Ned was terrible at mathematics.

“—fifteen years our senior and left home more than a decade ago. He and father had a dreadful falling out. Father disowned him—or threatened to anyway. And Charles left, went to America. A few years later we heard he was dead.”

“And was he?” Celia stared, fascinated.

Ned looked appropriately startled. “Well, yes.”

“So who was that woman?” Louise looked every bit as fascinated as Celia.

“It appears...” Again Ned paused. He was getting very good at this. “That woman was Charles’s wife.”

Miss Quince clapped a hand to her cheek. “Surely not.”

Ned shrugged. “I’m afraid so. She has all the appropriate documentation.”

Katherine’s face paled. “Then you’re not—”

“The earl?” Ned shook his head. “Apparently it’s the boy. That was—” he hesitated in the manner of an overly dramatic storyteller about to reveal a point of great importance “—Charles’s son.”

A sharp intake of breath sounded from nearly everyone at the table. Celia’s gaze met Henry’s, her eyes wide with shock.

“I don’t believe you,” Katherine said staunchly. “I’ve never heard of any brother.”

“Come now, Katherine. It’s understandable that they don’t talk about him. He left under difficult circumstances,” Mrs. Blodgett said coolly. “And he’s dead.”

“But...” Katherine’s gaze darted from Ned to Henry and back. “But I saw you talking to that woman at the ball. You certainly didn’t look like she was telling you anything of importance at all. In fact, it looked a great deal like you were engaged in a serious flirtation.”

“And I was.” He shook his head. “I found her most delightful. But I had no idea who she was. She didn’t reveal her true identity until she arrived here today. With Charles’s son.” He swallowed hard. “The Earl of Danby.”

For a long moment no one said a word.

“This is absurd and I have had quite enough.” Katherine glared at Ned. “Edward, you are an idiot.”

Ned stared. “I beg your pardon?”

“Katherine,” Henry snapped. She was still his fiancée, after all. “I will not have you speaking to my brother in that manner.”