Page 82 of Undercover Savior

“I went a bit off the rails, as they say. Drank too much. Blew through the measly stipend your father allowed.”

I bristled, not wanting to hear this part.

“Anyway. The Lord took your mother far too young. Your father too.”

“Gus reminded me that my grandfather was the only one to live much beyond his fifties. And you, of course.”

My eyes opened wide, and Brose nodded.

“Wait. Are you suggesting he was also Gus’ grandfather? My God, of course he was.” I shook my head. “I had no idea. Truly.”

“That’s the way he wanted it. I always felt bad for Mairi. And Agnes, of course. Living their life in secret. We had quite a row about it, in fact.”

“You and grandfather?” I recalled telling Sullivan earlier I’d never called him that.

“He was livid with me. Rightly so, I suppose.”

I poured more brandy for each of us and rested against the sofa. I’d avoided my uncle for most of my life, mainly because my father rarely had a kind word to say about him. Now, I felt terrible for it.

“I owe you an apology.”

He shook his head. “You do not. I deserved their ire.”

“Your brother stole your girlfriend, and your father had a child out of wedlock that he wouldn’t acknowledge. I’d say whatever your behavior was, was justified.”

“I tried to blackmail him.”

I’d just taken a drink and nearly spit it out. “Grandfather?”

Brose nodded. “That was the reason he was so angry with me. Tossed me out, in fact.”

“I’m sorry, Brose.”

“Again, it was my fault. We never spoke again.” I looked away when he teared up. How many times could I repeat how sorry I was to hear about a life I’d never given much thought to until now?

“There’s something I want to show you.” I dug in my pocket for the watch. “What do you know about this?”

I handed it to him, and when he opened it and read the inscription, he looked as though he might lose the contents of his stomach.“Where did you get this?”

I was astonished he’d raised his voice. “It was a gift from Sullivan. The, err, woman you’ve seen about. She said she saw it in an antique dealer’s advertisement.”

“I’ll be damned,” he said under his breath.

“Apparently, you’ve seen it before. Mrs. Drummond, err, Mairi had a similar reaction.”

Brose’s gaze remained fixated on the watch. “I took it.”

“Come again?”

A tear ran down his cheek. “You heard me.”

“And sold it?”

“Nah, it wasn’t worth anything, except sentimentally. That’s why I did it.”

I wanted to ask how it wound up in the hands of an antique dealer, but that wasn’t important now.

“I’ve treated you terribly, Ambrose, and I’m truly sorry for that.”

---