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“His countess doesn’t know of the connection?”
She shook her head. “George and I discussed it, and I could see no reason to confuse his wife or their children by introducing them to a sister-in-law and an aunt they would never be able to socially acknowledge,” she explained.
“That seems unfair to you.”
“Not really,” she dismissed. “I am used to being without any family except for my adopted father, nor do I have any wish to cause upheaval in George’s private life. I did ask if I might come up to London to live for a year or so, never having been there before.” She gave Alaric a pointed glance.
His gaze no longer met hers. “I apologize again for having made assumptions about your relationship.”
“And I have accepted that apology,” she dismissed briskly. “George and I spoke with my adopted father about the past, of course, and he was able to confirm that the Countess of Redding had sent a note to the vicarage asking him to visit the estate, only hours after her daughter was born. She wished him to baptize the baby and also hear her confess her sins before she died. Which he duly did. He did not see the countess again before she died, but the then Earl of Redding did arrive at the vicarage with the baby some days later, asking if they knew of someone who might take in the unwanted child. As it happens, the Vicar and Mrs. Sunderland were unable to have children of their own and so decided to keep the baby girl themselves.” She smiled fondly. “I could not have asked for better or more loving parents.”
“And that, my friends, is how I can now report to you with absolute certainty that Redding did not kill Plymouth,” Alaric concluded flatly as he looked about Lincoln’s study at his four closest friends.
“Good God,” Flint murmured.
“Damn,” Bristol understated, as usual.
“Not so good, old chap,” Forbes muttered.
Lincoln gave a rueful shake of his head. “Who would have guessed she was Redding’s half sister,” he mused.
“Yes, thank you for all your very unhelpful comments.” Alaric rose restlessly to his feet and began to pace. He had called the meeting of the five remaining Ruthless Dukes immediately after he returned to London earlier that day.
The hourlong carriage ride back to the city, with Grace seated opposite him and Finn seated beside her, had been made in complete silence. Uncomfortably so. She had not spoken to him even when the carriage came to a halt outside her home and she was able to disembark, one of his grooms carrying her portmanteau.
Alaric had accepted Grace’s coldness was the least he deserved after having so misjudged the relationship between her and Redding.
His stomach rebelled, and he felt a tightness in his chest whenever he thought of how badly he had behaved toward Grace in his determination to learn if Redding was responsible for killing Plymouth. To say he was now deeply ashamed of his actions would be a serious understatement.
To say that he ached to be with Grace again, with every particle of his being, even more so.
“Needless to say, Grace now hates me so much, she could not even look at me when we parted.” Alaric sighed heavily.
Flint eyed him mockingly. “I would hazard a guess that is not the emotion you feel toward her?”
Alaric glared at the other man. “What does it matter how I feel about Grace when she cannot bear the sight of me?”
“It matters to you,” Forbes insisted.
Flint nodded. “The fact Grace was so deeply hurt when she learned of your reason for constantly seeking her out would seem to imply she still feels that hurt for the way you have played with her emotions, rather than hating you.”
Alaric felt a seed of hope burst into existence deep inside him.
It was a hope he immediately squashed as he recalled how coldly Grace had looked at him as she alighted from the carriage earlier today. Along with the fact she hadn’t given even one glance back. Alaric knew this with certainty because he had told his driver to wait until Grace had unlocked and entered her house and closed the door firmly behind her before instructing the man to move on.
“I agree.” Lincoln nodded. “Leave it for a few days to allow emotions to cool, and then try calling upon her again.”
“I’m afraid His Grace would be wastin’ his time doin’ that.” Stanley’s familiar Cornish burr interrupted their musings as the man once again sat on the window seat in Lincoln’s study. “Miss Sunderland is no longer in London,” he explained when they all turned to look at him. “On His Grace’s instructions, I’ve had men watchin’ Miss Sunderland’s house these past two weeks. I had not received new instructions to cease those observations before my man reported that she had boarded a coach bound for Devon earlier this afternoon.”
Meaning Grace had now done exactly as Alaric had said she would when he had her write that letter to Redding!
Alaric felt the last of his hopes dash against the same rocks that dotted the Devonshire coastline.
“Which is fortuitous,” Bristol stated, “when that is exactly where you need to go too.”
Alaric eyed him uncertainly. “I do?” He sincerely doubted that Grace would appreciate him arriving on her father’s doorstep after making it so obvious she had no wish to see him again.
Bristol nodded. “I can see why Grace believed it was the right thing to do to not make her existence public knowledge. But if you think back to your narrative just now, you stated that the vicar in Barstockbaptizedthe countess’s newborn child.”
