Effie was graced with another lopsided smile. “Our father. He has said a few things I now see as evidence that he was planning something like this. But I believe he thought he had more time.”
“Yes, let’s talk about that.” Effie had momentarily lost sight of the fact that this conversation had begun with news of his father’s imminent death. “You will forgive me my lack of sentiment, but what is the matter with him, and do you know how much time he has?”
“He has a disease of the liver. Apparently his condition worsened when he was abroad initially. When he came back here, he said it was because he wanted to consult his London doctors. But he appeared at Highworth for a night. I now wonder if it was to place that”—he nodded at the document that still rested between them—“among his papers. I am quite familiar with the contents of his office, and I can confidently say it was not there before. He then announced his intention to return to Italy for the rest of the planned holiday. Your mother has since written me that he has worsened yet again and they are unable to travel and so have extended their stay. She did not outright say it, but the implication was that when she and your sister return, it shall be without your father. Our father. She told me he wished me to look in a certain drawer in his desk and that he trusted I would do the right thing with what I found there.”
“So you were meant to find the false document and use it to seize the title.” Effie paused. “Did my father know you at all?”
Kenver shrugged.
“Clearly not,” Effie said, “though in an ironic twist, if therewerea way for you to seize the title without ruining my mother and sister, I would be quite happy for you to do so.”
“Would you truly? It is difficult to fathom.”
“I would.” Effie, reasoning that he had already told Kenver almost everything, decided to finish the job. “I am in love with a woman named Julianna Evans.” He smiled, thinking of Leander’s recitations of the same. “She is completely unsuitable on a number of fronts. She is also completely wonderful on a number of fronts.”
He went on to tell Kenver the rest. Well, he omitted the details of their intimate encounters, but he told him about the letters, about having met for the first time in person in Brighton, about the age and class gaps, and about Julianna’s adamant opposition to the institution of marriage.
“Because of that last point,” he finished, “it matters not at all, but if I were a normal sort of man, not an earl, I wonder if I could convince her to . . . be with me in some fashion.”
“But you’re not a normal sort of man. You are a man in a cage, as surely as your macaw is in one.”
“Yes.” Kenver understood. “Which is why if you wanted to present your claim to the earldom and it was only I who would bear the consequences, I would be quite happy for you to do so.”
“I cannot lie to a committee of Parliament,” Kenver said. “I have taken genuine pleasure and pride in overseeing Highworth, but I don’t want any of it under false pretenses.”
Effie sighed. “I know you don’t.” He had been thinking earlier, how quickly Kenver had taken the measure of him. It seemed the reverse was true, too. They knew each other, somehow. Perhaps it was because they were brothers. He kept returning to that single astonishing fact.
“There is more,” Kenver said.
“Oh, splendid.”
Kenver smiled sadly and said, “Your observation about the parish and dates being plausible is correct. During our father’s sudden return to England a month ago, he also had me arrange a meeting with the vicar.”
Ah. “I grasp what you are implying.” The vicar at Highworth was new, a young man who had only recently been awarded the living—the living provided by Father. “The marriage lines would have been entered into the parish registry book.”
“And if they were not at the time of the marriage, which they almost certainly were not, I imagine they are now.”
“As if by magic,” Effie said wryly.
“Or by money,” Mr. Nancarrow said, matching Effie’s tone.
Effie couldn’t help but chuckle. He liked Mr. Nancarrow’s forthrightness. “Can you check the book?”
“I have been trying to figure a way to do so. I think I shall be able to manage something. In the meantime, I wanted you to know what was afoot, for I have no idea what more your father—our father—is planning. Will he indeed die in Italy? Will he somehow rally enough to come home and wreak havoc here? How much does your mother know?”
“To your last question, I expect she knows nothing. Historically, my mother has acquiesced to our father in all matters, but I can hardly see her aiding in the destruction of her own life and that of her unmarried daughter, so I suspect he has not made her privy to his plot. To your other questions, I know not. I suppose all we can do is wait and see.”
“Should I destroy this?”
“I think you should hold on to it. If he does come home, perhaps you can assure him that you have understood his intent.”
“I was thinking that would be the best course of action. Let him think his plot will be successful. Then when he is . . . gone, we will destroy this document.”
“Mm.”
“In the meantime, I had thought to give you this.” He handed over a leather pouch.
“What is it?”
