AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A guffaw flew from Frederick’s mouth. So hearty and forced, it reeked pathetic. “Not this again. We both know you are nothing but an imposter—trying to lay claim to something you have no right to.” He turned around to exit the room. “I’ll send my footmen in to—”
“You’re done, Frederick. This time I have proof.”
Frederick’s feet stopped.
A moment passed, and then without turning around his hand flew in the air above his shoulder, dismissing Strider. “You have nothing.” He started forward to the doorway.
“Then you don’t want to see what will be your downfall?” Strider’s voice nonchalant, he stared at the back of Frederick’s greased hair. “You prefer to have it hit you, all at once then, the freezing snowbank I plan on kicking you face-first into? I would say I came with some thought of gentlemanly courtesy, but really it was to watch your face when your carefully coiffed world fell about you.”
That made Frederick turn around, his squinting eyes staring at Strider. “What are you talking about?”
Strider reached into his coat and pulled free a folded piece of vellum. He held it out to Frederick.
His cousin stormed across the drawing room, snatching it from Strider’s outstretched hand.
His hands trembled as he unfolded the paper, then clasped at the edges with his knuckles turning white. Frederick scanned the words, his eyes pausing at the signature.
He didn’t look up. “This…this is a fake—a clear forgery.” His glare lifted to Strider as a snarling sneer lined his lips. “A sorry excuse for a ruse.”
Frederick lifted the paper, ripping it in half. And again. And again. And again until he couldn’t tear the paper anymore because it was too strong against his fingers. With a growl, he threw the shreds of paper into the air at Strider. “Be gone with you and your malevolent schemes, trying to get into my family’s graces. Never, I tell you. You’re a charlatan.”
Strider crossed his arms over his chest, not allowing himself the smallest smile. There would be time for that later.
The shreds of the letter floated, fluttered to the floor between them.
But Strider knew the words by heart for how many times he’d read the letter in the last ten days.
March 14, 1808
My son,Strider Lawrence Hoppler,
I have held this from you, as you are still too young to understand, but at your mother’s insistence, I write this letter now in case you should ever need it.
You must know that you are descended from a long line of distinguished men.
I never wanted you to be burdened with what has been bestowed upon you, what is your birthright, and your mother and I left England after she was threatened. Our intention was that your grandfather would declare me lost at sea—dead.
That did not happen and I have reconciled with your grandfather. He knows of your birth.
Know that this does not mean you have to choose the path I have foregone. It is your choice, and your choice alone.
If you determine it so, you may contact your grandfather and take your rightful place in the family. He assures me you will be welcomed. You must contact the office of Graves and Simpson onSt. James Streetin London and ask for Mr. Thomas Graves, solicitor. Show him the turtle-shaped birthmark on the back of your arm and he will tell you all you need to know of the family and what would be your responsibilities within it. If you then desire to move forth, he will arrange for you to meet your grandfather.
With love and admiration for the boy you are and the man you will become.
—Your father,Wallace Ferdinand Hoppler
Strider waited until the last piece of the ripped paper curled onto the carpet, then shook his head. “You don’t think that’s the original, do you? Don’t be stupid, Frederick.” His forefinger flicked out from his clasped arms to point at the floor. “That’s a tracing. The original is already in the hands of the House of Lords. Your days here are numbered.”
Red flooded Frederick’s face, so crimson he looked to explode. His hands swung in front of him, pointing at the mess of vellum on the floor. “This—this is a forgery. Anyone can see that.”
“Except that this tracing also doesn’t include the seal of my father’s signet, which the original does. And the facts in the letter are about to be verified by eyewitnesses to both my birth and to my parents’ marriage.”
Frederick stepped forward, grinding his heels into the shreds of paper. “No—no—you paid people off. That is the only way.”
Strider shook his head. “No, actually. One doesn’t need to pay off anyone when the truth is what you want it to be.”
Frederick’s face went vicious and he started backing out of the room—cornered prey scurrying for cover. “This won’t work, I tell you. It won’t. It’s just a bloody piece of paper. It won’t work.”
