Page 14 of The Lady Was Lying
Greydon nodded, and without acknowledging Danford at all, James silently led them down the corridor. It took all his willpower to keep himself from looking back and searching for similarities between himself and Danford.
The two men followed him into his study, and he gestured toward the cluster of chairs near the windows and then went to the sideboard. He didn’t ask if anyone wanted a drink, simply splashed a healthy amount of brandy in three glasses and wordlessly passed them out. Greydon toyed with his glass, spinning it in his palm, but Danford swallowed the contents in a single swallow.
James couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer.
He blinked once and then settled his gaze directly on Danford. The resemblance between them wasn’t particularly strong. Danford was taller and thicker with darker eyes and unruly curly brown hair that bore no similarity to his lighter straighter hair. In relief, James lowered himself into a chair across from them and tossed the contents of his glass straight down his throat.
The brandy burned, but not nearly as much as the silence. Why weren’t they saying anything? Was he supposed to ask why they had called? Or was he supposed to tell them what he had just learned?
Life had not adequately prepared him to navigate the conversation he needed to have, so the silence continued to stretch uncomfortably. Greydon glanced briefly at Danford, and James realized he was still staring at the other man. He hastily averted his gaze as Greydon finally spoke. “You’ve probably already guessed why we’re here.”
James didn’t want to feign ignorance because it seemed wrong somehow to pretend that he didn’t understand what had happened yesterday. At the same time, it would be foolish to reveal more than necessary before he’d worked out a strategy.
“Your countess believes I bear resemblance to her father,” he said.
“Indeed.” Greydon chuckled. “She is quite adamant that you are his very image. It was all she could talk about this morning. She insisted I introduce her brother to you so he could offer validation.”
Danford did not offer validation. He didn’t speak at all, so James asked, “Does she have a theory?”
“She has several. Each more outlandish than the last.”
James was spared from having to ask what they were when Greydon switched his attention to Danford. “Well?”
Danford remained quiet.
“Well?” James repeated, raising his eyebrow.
Danford finally looked directly at him, staring in a way that was completely unnerving, as if he could see straight into James’ soul. “I thought she must be exaggerating or misremembering our father, but I shouldn’t have doubted her memory. The resemblance between you and him is more than a little shocking. There must be a reasonable explanation, but I cannot think what it might be.” He inhaled and then exhaled slowly and deliberately. “The truth is, I don’t know if it’s my place to ask, and I’m even less sure I want the answer.”
James needed answers whether he wanted them or not. Thankfully, Danford’s honesty made his decision on what to disclose easier. There was just one thing he wanted to know before he explained. “Can I ask about your father?”
“Of course.” Danford paused. “He passed away a few years back. It was soon after he inherited the viscountcy. Before he became viscount, he was entirely dedicated to the church and the transition was hard for him.”
“What was his name?” James asked.
“Before he became viscount, he was Reverend Joseph Hart.”
James’ world tilted.
His biological father was dead. The man was nothing to him, and yet it was difficult to swallow around the lump in his throat. His hand rose to cover his mouth, as if it could somehow stem the wave of emotion that threatened to overflow. Both Greydon and Danford leaned forward as if he required comfort.
He didn’t.
Or maybe he did.
He dropped his hand into his lap and forced a breath through his mouth. Out and in. Out and in. Danford was not his cousin as he’d incorrectly assumed. The other man was his brother. He had so many questions. Hundreds. Thousands. They crowded his thoughts, begging to be spilled, but one stood out above the others. Could he reveal that Reverend Joseph Hart was his father too?
Would Danford knowing the truth make everything easier? Or harder?
Standing side by side in a crowded room, no one would suspect they were related. If he wanted, James could feign innocence and brazen his way through the remainder of the conversation without confirming or denying anything. The only person alive who knew the truth with absolute certainty was his mother, and she would be more than happy to pretend that she’d never even met Joseph Hart.
James could grasp the opportunity to chuckle and let the truth disappear, but apparently, he could not trust himself to keep a secret. Or maybe he simply didn’t want to keep the truth a secret, because he found himself saying, “My mother is Cecelia Waters. Her father owned Water’s Edge.”
Danford’s lips parted, but no words emerged.
“I’ve never been to her childhood home or the surrounding area. Her parents are deceased, and she had no siblings, so their home went to a distant cousin. However, it’s my understanding that it shares a border with your property.”
“It does.” Danford cleared his throat and asked, “Was your mother acquainted with my father?”
