Page 89 of Marry in Secret
Thomas’s head was spinning. “But Uncle Walter had to know I was alive. At least—when exactly did he die?”
“Uncle Walter? Fourteenth of June, 1814.”
“Fourteenth of June, 1814?” Thomas turned to Rose. “My ship went down on the twenty-fifth of April. I don’t know how long it would have taken for the news to reach him, but I do know it took us weeks to cross the desert. I don’t know the exact date when I wrote to him, but by my reckoning it was early June.”
She saw the implications at once. Her eyes widened. “He can’t have received the ransom letter.”
“That’s right. He was already dead.” For most of May 1814, Thomas and his men were still battling to cross the desert. They hadn’t even reached Mogador. And when they finally did reach Mogador and sent off the ransom request, it would have taken weeks by ship to reach England.
But the letter refusing Thomas’s ransom had been signed by Walter Beresford, Earl of Brierdon. Thomas had seen it with his own eyes. A letter signed by a dead man. Two dead men, seeing that Gerald had died before Uncle Walter.
So who had sent the letters?
Thomas turned to Cousin Cornelius. “You bastard!”
Cousin Cornelius gave an indignant huff. “I’mnota bastard! My parents were married!”
“You sent those damned letters! I’m going to wring your scrawny neck!” He prowled toward his perfidious cousin, fists clenched.
“Letters? What letters? I don’t know anything about any letters! Don’t look at me like that! I didn’t do anything! Stay back!” As Thomas approached, Cousin Cornelius gave a frightened squeak and hid behind the Earl of Ashendon. The Earl of Ashendon gave him a distasteful glance and stepped away.
“You refused my ransom.”
“What ransom? I don’t know anything about any ransom. Help me, Lady Ashendon, he’s gone mad!” Cousin Cornelius dived behind the very pregnant Emm.
“Nobody is going to hurt anyone,” Lady Ashendon said in her calm way. “Thomas, you know perfectly well I’m not going to allow you”—she glanced at her husband—“or anyone else to wring any necks. I am in the middle of giving a ball, and I will not have my guests brawling, no matter what the provocation.”
She gave Thomas a flinty look that somehow combined sternness with understanding. “Thomas, sit down, you’re frightening the earl. Lord Brierdon, you sit over here, beside me. I promise, nobody will hurt you.”
“Yet.” Thomas sat down. He gave Cousin Cornelius a look that made him wriggle closer and clutch Emm’s skirt.
Thomas shook his head. “It sounds so wrong, hearing you addressed by Uncle Walter’s title.”
“That, my dear boy, is because itiswrong.” Lady Salter appeared from nowhere and inserted herself into theconversation with all the ease of a well-oiled adder. “That title correctly belongs to mydearnephew-by-marriage, the seventh Earl of Brierdon.”
Thomas blinked. “Who’s that?”
Rose slipped her hand into his. “I think she means you, Thomas.”
Lady Salter gave a tinkling laugh. “Of course I mean dear Thomas, you foolish child, who else would I mean?” She turned back to Thomas. “Walter Beresford was your uncle, and you are his nephew, his only nephew. A nephew takes precedence over a mere second cousin twice removed.” She made a gesture that effectively dismissed such lowly relatives.
“Onceremoved,” Cousin Cornelius said sulkily from behind Emm.
“Dear Thomas has always been my favorite nephew-in-law,” Lady Salter continued.
Thomas glanced at Galbraith, who until now had been the only nephew-in-law Lady Salter deigned to acknowledge. Galbraith winked.
Lady Salter glanced around the room and added, “You don’t imagine my niece would marry a complete nobody, did you? Rutherford ladies have always shown superior judgment.”
Rose giggled. “Watch Aunt Agatha rewrite history,” she whispered to Thomas.
But despite his amusement at the old lady’s completevolte-face, Thomas’s mind was still reeling. Uncle Walter hadn’t repudiated him at all. Neither had Gerald. They couldn’t have.
He hadn’t been mistaken. He’d been loved, as he’d always believed he was...
But who had sent those letters in their name? Who else could it be but the man who’d taken their place? By the time his ransom letters reached England, this white-clad popinjay was swanning around the place calling himself the earl.
He glowered at Cousin Cornelius. The bastard, he’d as good as murdered Thomas in order to steal the title.Thomas had never even thought of the title in relation to himself—why would he when it belonged to Uncle Walter? And then to Gerald when Uncle Walter died.
