“I am quite happy to answer in far simpler terms as I would do so to a child, if it will help the layman understand,” he said cheekily.
The Regent’s eyes bulged and there was a murmur of consternation among the gathered entourage but Marcus went on.
“I am aware now of Captain Drummond’s claim and agree it would be quite legitimate in the event that neither of Jeffrey Roy’s sons had survived. But, you see, we both did.”
“Jeffrey Roy had only one son. Arthur. An opium fiend who is now dead,” Drummond spoke out-of-turn in a voice dripping with contempt.
“He is not dead but very much alive. He is also a guest here this evening,” Marcus said.
Selina fought the urge to gape. Marcus and Arthur had been alone for a long time at his cottage in Wilmington before they had returned to Valebridge. She had given the brothers space to talk and repair their relationship but Marcus had not spoken of what they talked of.
“He has not been invited. Why would we invite a dead man?” the Regent said, drawing a sycophantic round of laughter.
“You did not, but the Duke of Westerleigh did. He and my brother have a particular interest in philanthropy, in particular the treatment of those unfortunates who have lost their wits. A common purpose between them. I believe they have become good friends via correspondence. My brother shuns society these days, you see.”
“Ah, then he is not here? How convenient,” Drummond drawled, “your royal highness, I see no proof to deny my rightful claim to Valebridge…”
The door to the drawing room opened and Selina turned. She gasped as she saw Arthur striding into the room. Dai had now been completely shrugged off. He wore a fine suit of dark green and walked with the dignity and poise of a gentleman. His white hair was tamed and his chin, clean-shaven. Under one arm he carried a sheaf of papers bound in red silk and sealed with wax. The resemblance to Marcus was uncanny. The Regent sat up, looking outraged, but Arthur’s voice boomed out into the room over his.
“Your royal highness. Forgive the intrusion but I must prevent this shady confidence trick from being perpetrated. You are being manipulated by nefarious men who have seen an opportunity to use one of the great estates of England as a tool to acquire title and wealth that they have no right to.”
He sounded like an orator, as though he spoke from a stage. The Regent sat, mouth open, and when Drummond drew breath to speak, raised a finger of one hand and silenced him.
“I admire bravery. Such bravery as our boys showed on the field against the French. It is to be admired. So I will hear your case,” he said.
Arthur broke the seal and untied the silk.
“This is the lineage of the Roy family. It shows the last issue of the direct line, a son born to Jeffrey Roy and named Arthur. Alongside his birth, another son, named Marcus. This lineage has been notarized by the appropriate member of your father’s court, the Master of the Heraldry, and a copy is kept in Parliament. I am Arthur Roy and am vouched for by your very good friend the Duke of Westerleigh. This is Marcus Roy, whom I vouch for.”
The Regent got up and snatched the papers from Arthur, looking at them and then passing them to an equerry who examined them closely before nodding and handing them back.
“Why have I never seen you then?” the Regent asked.
“Because I fell under the spell of the Devil before I became Duke and fell from grace. My brother was sent away as a boy and our father did not maintain any records proving his identity. Our mother, on the other hand, cared for us deeply. This, she hid from her husband,” he held aloft the papers, “and entrusted them to the care of the only people who had shown her kindness, the doctors of the Streatham Asylum.”
Drummond scoffed. “Are we to take the word of a madwoman then?”
“Have a care, sir,” Marcus growled, “lest I have cause to call you out. With your royal highness’ permission of course,” he added.
“And it would be granted in a heartbeat. You assured me that your claim was watertight, Clive. I deem it to be extremely leaky! You have made me appear a buffoon in front of these good men!” the Regent scolded, “I could have stripped a man of his rightful title, and what a precedent that would set for my enemies. You don’t think there are scoundrels in the Commons who would dearly love to see me stripped of my income?”
Drummond colored, mouth opening and closing. Selina looked at her father who was turning puce. Finally, everything seemed too much for him.
“Your royal highness, may I speak?” he said, his German accent coming to the fore.
“Ah yes, Voss. Well, I will not deny a fellow countryman. Speak.”
“This man may be a Duke. But he and my daughter are not married. They claim to be but they are not. I ask that she be handed over to me to return to Sawthorne. I am her guardian. Her life with this man is one of sin and wickedness.”
The Regent arched an eyebrow and looked at Marcus and Selina. “Yes, well, a Duke can hardly be living in sin now, can he? Not openly anyway. You really must be married, old chap.”
“I would marry Selina tonight if I could,” Marcus said.
“Splendid! Well, I thought tonight was going to be dreadfully marred by some godawful argument over a title. But it seems we have resolved everything. Except, according to Captain Hamilton, Arthur Roy was born a day prior. How can you be Duke of Valebridge if he is the elder?”
He pointed from Marcus to Arthur.
Arthur gave a nod and a wink to Marcus. “It ishewho is in fact a day older, your royal highness.”
