“I thought the same thing so I made some inquiries,” Wells agreed. “He did, in fact, file a will years ago, but it was withdrawn from the probate court. Most likely in preparation for a new will to be filed. Which never was.”
Mr. Wells continued. “I decided to press further and contact the solicitor who once served both the lieutenant-colonel and his son, but unfortunately, Mr. Poole passed right after the late Mr. Haverleigh went off to war. Sudden illness, from what I was told.”
Dominic’s brow furrowed. “Was there any suspicion of foul play?”
“The coroner ruled it a natural death. A cold that progressed rapidly. The family said he worsened over the course of a week until he succumbed.”
Dominic exhaled slowly. “Unfortunate timing.”
“Indeed,” Wells replied. “Without a will or a surviving solicitor, it may be difficult to prove any claim or discrepancy regarding your wife’s inheritance.”
Dominic tapped his fingers restlessly against the desk’s edge. “Someone must know something. That man would not have left his daughter’s future to chance.”
“Agreed,” Wells said, taking a seat across from him. “Have you considered asking your wife? She may know if her father discussed the matter or left any indication.”
Dominic hesitated. “I could. But I do not want her to know I am investigating her brother—not until I have proof.”
“I do understand the need for discretion, my lord,” Mr. Wells said. “You have my word that I’ll continue looking into the matter. Rest assured, I will leave no stone unturned.”
“Thank you. I know I can rely on your thoroughness.”
The solicitor rose from his chair. “I’ll be in touch the moment I uncover anything of significance.”
With that, Mr. Wells offered a polite bow and exited the study, leaving Dominic alone. He had barely turned back to his desk when a voice carried in from the open window.
“Can I visit Lady Warwicke now?” Tristan asked.
Dominic turned towards the window. “No, she’s resting at the moment.”
A dramatic sigh echoed up from the boy. “Your house is boring without Lady Warwicke. She makes everything more fun.”
Dominic couldn’t suppress a smile. “My sincerest apologies that my household staff cannot amuse you.”
Tristan boosted himself through the open window. “They try,but it’s not the same. Lady Warwicke tells me jokes. Do you know any jokes?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Tristan gave him a hopeful look. “Could I at least have more biscuits? The maid said I’d ruin my supper, but I think she just wanted to keep them for herself.”
“I suspect the maid was exercising sound judgment.”
Tristan’s shoulders sagged. “I’m always hungry,” he muttered, clearly displeased with the ruling. “Will you fly my kite with me, then?”
Dominic’s gaze drifted to the ledger he’d just opened, the columns of numbers blurring slightly as guilt tugged at his conscience. “I have a great deal of work to finish, Tristan. Where is the maid I asked to watch over you?”
“We’re playing hide and seek,” the boy announced. “She’s not very good at finding me.”
Dominic gave him an amused look. “And are you making it easy on her?”
Tristan’s grin turned sly. “Not even a little,” he admitted with obvious pride. “Can we visit my mum today?”
Dominic looked at the eager little face turned up towards him, the boy’s eyes so open—so full of hope. A tightness seized in his chest. “Not today,” he said.
The light in Tristan’s expression dimmed. “Then maybe tomorrow?”
Dominic’s gaze shifted to the waiting stack of correspondence, the ledger still spread open, and the ever-growing list of responsibilities tied to his title. But none of it seemed to matter as much as the boy standing before him.
“Yes,” he said at last. “Tomorrow. I promise.”
