Page 86 of Who Cries for the Lost

“Not for hire, no; he certainly wouldn’t be doing it for money. But because he missed being a part of something larger? Missed the excitement and thrill of danger? I can maybe see that.” He walked over to pick up the first white pawn. “What if he killed Miles Sedgewick because the man was having an affair with his wife? Then he found Fouché’s list—completely by chance—and took it to Sibil?”

“That works for Sedgewick and Ternant, and for the two missing people. It might also work for our headless man if his name was on the list, although it doesn’t explain his mutilation.” She picked up the third of the white pawns and held it out to him. “And it doesn’t explain Hamilton Evans.”

He took the pawn from her outstretched hand. “What do we know about Evans, other than the fact that his parents died in India and he was raised by Lord Oakley?”

Hero met his gaze. “Obviously not enough.”

Dressed in a gown of deep blue satin trimmed with rows of beading and fringe and topped by a richly embroidered shawl, the Dowager Duchess of Claiborne was coming out of her front door when Sebastian pulled up behind her waiting carriage.

“Sebastian,” she said, pausing on her doorstep as he tossed the reins to Tom. “You’ve heard something from Belgium?”

“Sorry, not yet,” he said, hopping down from the curricle’s high seat. “I just have a couple of questions I need to ask you.”

“Good heavens, not now. I’m on my way to a card party.”

“This won’t take but a moment, I promise.”

“But I’ve already told you everything I know about Miles Sedgewick.”

He ran up the front steps toward her. “It’s not Sedgewick I’m interested in. What can you tell me about Hamilton Evans?”

Aunt Henrietta drew a deep breath. “Oh, dear.”

“What? What is it?” said Sebastian, searching her face.

She glanced over at her wooden-faced butler, then said to Sebastian, “Come inside.”

She drew him into a small chamber just off the front entrance hall and closed the door. “What do you already know about Evans?” she said.

He shook his head. “Not a great deal. I know that he was twenty-two and recently down from Cambridge, that he worked in the Foreign Office, and that he was raised by Lord Oakley after his parents died in India.”

She fixed him with a hard stare. “What I’m about to tell you must go no further. That’s understood?”

“Of course.”

She nodded. “It’s a disturbing tale. Oakley and his wife had one son and three daughters. I presume you know the son; he’s a ridiculous creature who basically spends his time dressing himself and kicking his heels while he waits for his father to die. The eldest daughter, Margaret, married Lord Selkirk, while the youngest, Beatrice, married Mr. Jeffrey Burns. But the middle girl, Grace, drowned twenty-one years ago under circumstances that were rather murky.”

Sebastian’s gaze met hers. “Are you suggesting she killed herself after giving birth to an illegitimate child?”

“Do I know for certain? No. But there were whispers. Grace was about a month into her second season when the family abruptly withdrew from London and went back to Ireland. And Oakley was always decidedly vague about which of his cousins Hamilton was supposed to have come from.”

“Any guesses as to who might have fathered the child?”

“Given the timing and the brevity of Grace’s second season, it’s assumed the child’s father was one of their neighbors in Ireland.”

“Where are Oakley’s estates?”

“County Meath. Near the village of Summerhill.”

Sebastian felt his heart begin to pound. “Near Dangan Castle?”

“The two estates march together.”

“Oh, Jesus,” whispered Sebastian.

Once, Dangan Castle had been the home of Garrett Wesley, the Earl of Mornington. He was such an improvident man—as was his father before him—that his eldest son and heir was forced to sell the family estates around the turn of the century. Yet so ambitious and ruthless were Wesley’s sons that they had succeeded—brilliantly—despite the family’s financial embarrassments. Of course, by the turn of the century the family had changed the spelling of their name to Wellesley. The eldest son, Richard, had been the British Ambassador to Spain before becoming Foreign Secretary and was now Marquis Wellesley. A younger son, Sir Henry, was the British Ambassador to Spain after his brother. And a third son, Arthur, was now the Duke of Wellington.

“Which one?” said Sebastian. “Which of the Wellesleys was likely the father of Hamilton Evans?”

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