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“Has he a living?” Felicity tilted her head at the duke, and his eyes laughed at her. “Perhaps I shall see to that disbursement after all. As well as that of a schoolteacher. I understand that your servants do not have their letters?”
“Good Godde—God, woman, will you foment the revolution under my very roof?”
“The education of every man and woman is something to be striven for, and it would be a great leader who would allow such.”
“It is not I who will lead, my dear,” he said. He rose and nodded to Coburn, who moved to ring the bell.
He helped Felicity up from her chair and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Your passion is almost as intoxicating as your person. Perhaps we shall forego tea this evening?”
She looked up at him. “But our—your guests…”
“Ourguests can entertain themselves for the mere hour or two before…bed.”
She licked her lips and considered her answer, when Bates came thundering over the threshold.
“Forgive me, Your Graces. Lady Coleman.” He appeared befuddled by the latter’s presence, and his usual eloquence seemed to have deserted him. O’Mara cleared her throat. “Ah, yes, and O’Mara. Alph—Your Grace, if I might have a word?”
“I take it your news affects Miss Templeton?” Bates nodded. “Then proceed. Unless she wishes otherwise?”
“As I have no idea what this could pertain to…” Unless it was to do with the will, but how?
“It is to do with your father’s solicitors. Which were not in fact solicitors, I am afraid,” said Bates. “Your father most assuredly dealt with men of law. One assumes, his being a baron. But the address to which you wrote…and the truth of the document…” He appealed to the duke. “Your Grace, if I could speak with you in private before I disclose my findings.”
A bitter chill flowed through Felicity’s veins. “Mr. Bates,” she said, “as this concerns me, I insist you tell all.”
“It is terrible news, madam.” For a moment, it looked as though his eyes changed color to a bright gold, but she was surely mistaken. Mr. Bates glared at Alfred before continuing, “My man delivered your letter to the law office to whom you addressed your letter, but it was not a solicitor’s office to which that address applied. Miss Templeton, it is a slaughterhouse.”
“But when I went through my uncle’s desk—” She took a moment to look abashed. “I discovered correspondence from that address, from the firm dealing with my father’s estate.”
“I would hazard a guess he knew you were searching, Felicity,” Jemima said, all need for formality gone.
“I do not understand. Why go to such lengths to deceive me?”
“To prevent you from discovering that your uncle told you lies. Your father made no provision for an independent legacy should you fail to marry by this year’s birthday—it is entirely of your uncle’s own invention. I am so sorry to bring you this news, ma’am.” Bates dipped his head, as did O’Mara, in that now familiar tic.
“But how can you knowthat? About the legacy?” Felicity left off hanging on to the duke’s arm and stepped away. She would take this horrendous news standing on her own two feet. The will was false, her dreams were dust, and the choices she had thought she had were null and void. It was over. She had no means, nothing to count upon, nothing.
Bates looked angrily at Alfred again, and his teeth—Felicity thought his teeth looked transformed, long and sharp, but that could not be possible. “My men are very clever at winkling out information, by whatever means are most expedient. They located your uncle’s solicitors and appealed to their, er, higher natures for information. Your uncle’s solicitor confirmed that the whereabouts of your father’s true will remains a mystery to all who deal with the family’s holdings. It is why, despite numerous attempts, your uncle could not sell Templeton House.”
“Sell? My home?” A curious buzz filled her head, and Felicity took hold of the back of a chair.
“It is illegal to sell any chattels and appurtenances of a peer without directives from that peer or from the executor of his estate.” The duke’s voice was little more than a snarl. “Purcell is a fool, but he must not know where the true will is if he is trying to disburse the barony’s holdings.”
“My sources think this may be a double blind, that he must be the executor, as the only living adult relation, even by marriage, that he is publicly abiding by the law, but in secret has another plan. Forgive me, madam, how I wish I could spare you this.”
“Mr. Bates, I thank you, but I am a grown woman and must face facts.”
“Felicity.” Jemima’s delicate hand touched her arm. “Shall we go up? Perhaps this is enough for one night.”
“Is there any will at all?” she asked, patting her friend’s hand. She would see this through.
“It is impossible to believe Purcell does not have the baron’s testament, as it is the linchpin upon which this whole scheme turns. To risk the wrath of the law without having it in his possession is foolish.” Bates turned to the duke, who remained silent. “I’ve sent the magpies to Finsbury Square—”
“Magpies?” Felicity swayed at that.
“One for sorrow, two for mirth,” Jemima sang, “three for a wedding, four for a…search.”
“I—I hadn’t heard that particular version. How interesting.”
