Page 127 of The Meaning of Love
Findlay-Wright’s smile flashed briefly. “Well, there was India, after all. But as it happened, I returned to England with a vague notion of sponging off the family in one way or another for some time. Until I found a better target, at least. But then, through escorting Helen to family gatherings—she does talk so very freely, you know—I learned of the situation here, the true facts, and then your father died, and I realized the possibilities.” The captain leaned forward, adopting a patently false, confiding manner. “And in large part, realizing those possibilities hinged on the one fact none of you in this room seem yet to have learned.” He caught Damian’s gaze. “Namely, that Damian is not in the line of succession. He’s illegitimate.”
Julian felt the shock that rippled through them all, heard the indrawn breaths. But they all contained their reaction, and not one gave Findlay-Wright the joy of seeing how much he’d shaken them.
Could it be true?
Julian fought not to look at Felix or at Damian.
With his taunting smile blooming anew, Findlay-Wright sat back and returned his gaze to Julian. “And that, my lord earl, is the lever I hold overyou. If you put me on trial, I will destroy your little brother and your mother, too. Just imagine what that will do to your own prospects, let alone those of the rest of the family.”
He paused to let his words sink in, then went on, “And that’s why, after you’ve retreated and thought matters through, you and all your family are going to let me walk out of here a free man. More, you’re going to guarantee me safe passage out of England. Although I would prefer to remain in the land of my birth, sadly, I suspect I would fear for my continuing health.” His smile deepened. “Especially knowing how easy it is for accidents to occur. All in all, the Continent will, I feel, be safer, at least for a time.” He fell silent and looked at Julian expectantly.
Holding Findlay-Wright’s gaze, Julian drew in a slow breath. He suspected they were all mentally reeling, trying to absorb the bombshell the man had let fall.
“Ah.” Findlay-Wright held up a finger. “Before we descend into a futile round of what-ifs, I should perhaps lay all my cards on the table.” He dropped all lighthearted pretense, his expression hardened, and his voice grew steely. “I have proof. Irrefutable proof. In my possession, but not here. Indeed, that proof—my insurance, as it were—is secreted in a very safe place, one you will never find.”
“Who’s my father?” Damian sounded as if he was barely holding in his fury.
Findlay-Wright arched a condescending brow. “Haven’t you worked it out yet?” He sighed. “I’ll give you a clue. The three of you look like brothers, yet you aren’t. You’re half brothers, yet there is a reason you look so alike.”
His expression turned openly taunting again. “Surely you can work it out from that?”
Julian felt sure all of them had. Indeed, the obvious had been staring them in the face—not that Damian was illegitimate but that if he was, who his father had to be.
And if that was true and proven, and the knowledge became widely known…Findlay-Wright was correct in thinking the family, root and branch, would be ruined socially and politically, too. Julian and Melissa’s future would be nothing like the one they’d started to frame and build. And all the hopes they and the elite of the ton had been nurturing would turn to ashes.
With a thoroughly satisfied smile, Findlay-Wright leaned back on his throne, crossed a leg over his knee, and in an easy manner, swung his booted foot.
Julian fisted his hands. He needed to get out of there before he gave in to the urge to throttle the man.
As if sensing that, Findlay-Wright waved them back. “Go. Think. I’m happy to wait here while you do.”
“Good.” Damian turned and marched out of the cell. Gordon quickly followed.
Julian gave Melissa his arm. With one last, severe look at the captain, she turned and, with Julian, swept from the room.
Felix was the last to leave. He swung the door shut behind him, turned the key in the lock, then handed it to Julian. “Now what?” Felix whispered.
Julian took the key, slid it into his pocket, and murmured back, “Now we do as he suggested and figure out our best way forward.”
They took refuge in the library. Despite the mental trauma of the past hour, it wasn’t yet six o’clock.
Gordon slumped into one of the armchairs and gratefully accepted the glass of brandy Julian offered him. He took a gulp, then exhaled. “My God—if he’d ever succeeded in making me heir, my life would not have been my own.”
As the others settled in the armchairs gathered before the fireplace, Gordon looked around the circle and admitted, “As the dear captain intimated, he’s been sponging off Mama ever since he returned from India with her and the pater’s body. Whenever I’ve tried to broach the matter with her”—he grimaced, sipped again, then mumbled—“she defends him as if he’s, quite literally, her savior. And as soon as he heard of my recent windfall, he started making plans to ‘borrow’ most of it from me, which is why I went out and bought the phaeton-and-four. I didn’t want him to get Mama to put me in a bind to hand over the money to him.”
Felix frowned. “Would she have done that?”
“Oh yes.” Gordon nodded emphatically. “He has her wrapped around his little finger. He has a large suite in the house and pays nothing in room and board. Mama wouldn’t hear of it, of course.”
Damian had already drained the glass of brandy Julian had given him. “What I want to know is what his ‘irrefutable proof’ of my illegitimacy is.”
Julian grimaced, but before he could respond, the door opened, and his mother came in, followed by her devoted shadow, his uncle Frederick.
As those seated all rose, his mother swept up, paused to touch cheeks with Melissa, then turned to grip Julian’s sleeve. “My dear, Frederick heard that you have that wretched creature, Findlay-Wright, locked up in the dungeon.” Glancing around, she saw Gordon, and her eyes widened. “And Gordon’s here, too.” She returned her gaze to Julian’s face. “What on earth’s going on?”
At Julian’s signal, Felix and Gordon had moved back their armchairs. Together, they fetched the sofa from farther down the room and set it so that it faced the fireplace. Julian waved his mother and his uncle to the sofa. “It’s a long story. You’d better sit down.”
His mother and Melissa sat, and the men followed suit.
