Page 9 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

“Yes, my lord. I verified the state of the property afterward. I spoke to the land steward when needed. I took no liberties.”

“You took the liberty of silence,” Sebastian said icily.

Peabody’s mouth pressed flat. “I did as I was instructed, my lord. I had no other intention. I beg your indulgence and forgiveness.”

Sebastian let the quiet lengthen. Cold pushed under his ribs, a slow, brutal tide. He thought of his father and the looks exchanged with his mother across the dinner table. Duty and love had been a coat put on and taken off with ease. Part of him might have forgiven the infidelity; life had taught him that many men yielded to their baser urges. But the ruin and pain this would visit upon his mother was something Sebastian could never forgive.

“Give me particulars,” he said. “The vicar who christened the children. The physician or midwife who attended their births.”

He meant for everything to be investigated and confirmed. If they were truly his father’s illegitimate issue, Sebastian could not leave them to cold and indignity. Yet he must be cautious; greater frauds had been contrived with the aid of solicitors and men of business, costing men their fortunes, reputations, and honor.

“I will have everything prepared with care and haste, my lord.”

Sebastian pinned the man with his hard stare. “Why did my father leave no provision for his children, bastards though they be?”

Peabody sat very still. “I… I… cannot fathom why the late earl⁠—”

“Where is it?” Sebastian asked coldly.

There was the smallest pause. Color rose in the solicitor’s face, an unbecoming blotch. “There is none, my lord.”

“Try again.”

“There is none,” Peabody repeated, faster now. “The property is strictly entailed. No codicil was lodged with me, nor with the London agents. I am sorry to say that upon the late earl’s death, there was nothing to be done for those persons beyond the ordinary charities. The cottage forms part of the Hertfordshire estate and could not be granted away. I was obliged, indeed constrained, to issue notice for them to quit.”

“Yet you only thought to evict them after Miss Whitley contacted you. It seems you forgot their existence, Peabody, and when you saw their desperation, you acted with rank dishonor. You pressed the eviction to drive the eldest into accepting your protection, and from there into your bed.”

The man’s mouth opened and closed like a landed fish. Desperation entered his eyes. “My lord, if someone has leveled an unjust accusation against me, I ask to meet them so I may refute it with honor.”

A humorless sound escaped Sebastian. “Honor? You have mistaken the word for a cloak you may put on when convenient.”

Peabody’s flush deepened. “I only informed Miss Whitley that the cottage was entailed and therefore beyond any private arrangement. There was no income to cover their maintenance once remittances ceased. I… I could not manufacture a trust where none existed.”

A low scoff left Sebastian. “How quick you are with your answers.”

“My lord, I⁠—”

“By the end of the day, I want the account books for the Hertfordshire estate before me, and the statements for the private account from which you drew. Then I shall see precisely how much money you misapplied while believing those ladies had no protection,” Sebastian said, his tone so flat it took the solicitor a beat to comprehend it.

Peabody’s head jerked. “My lord, I… I…” His words failed, and he looked as if he might choke.

“You are dismissed.”

Peabody rose. His hat wobbled where his fingers gripped the brim. “Yes, my lord.”

“One thing more,” Sebastian said. “Henceforth, you will regard those young ladies as persons under my protection. If any harm comes to them through negligence or malice, I will assign the blame to you first.”

The man bowed, pale and damp. “I understand, my lord.”

“Get out.”

He hastened out and closed the door. Sebastian stood and crossed to the window. The perverse weather persisted, a fine misting rain falling for the third day in succession. Rivulets ran in thin silver threads down the glass. He watched them fall until the lines blurred.

“Three sisters,” he murmured. “And one…Good God, what the hell is she? Sister to my sisters. Miss Whitley is nothing to me, except that she is everything to them.” He let out a low oath. “Which makes her my responsibility as well.”

The whole affair was a damnable mess.

He set his palm to the cool pane and tried to reconcile the man who had written so tenderly to this woman with the father he had revered. The pieces would not fit. Who had given his father the right to leave such a tangle for him to mend? That his father had left him to care for three young girls and one woman old enough to marry, all while concealing them from his mother and sister, offended every value Sebastian held.