“Where to?”
“To Whitehall.”
Philip stopped in his tracks; thunderstruck. “The Home Office? What would he do there?”
“To talk to Lord Henry Addington.”
“What, by Jove, would he want with Addington —” He broke off, as he understood. Then he slapped his forehead. “Of course.”
His son had gone to see the Home Secretary to get his invention patented.
They foundRobin slumped on a chair by the wall in a room with wood panelling. He clutched a roll of paper and looked tired.
“Papa!” He scrambled up when he saw them hurry into the room.
With shaking breath, Philip gathered him into a hug. “Robin. Thank God.”
“Miss Weston!” The boy’s face brightened as he looked over his father’s shoulder. “Did you return to us?”
“Oh, Robin.” Arabella shook her head. “What on earth has gotten into you, running away like that?”
“But I had to come here to make an appointment with the Home Secretary. It’s for a patent, you see.”
Philip didn’t know whether to laugh, shout, or scold. He ended up dropping into the chair beside Robin and felt the full force of exhaustion roll over him like a deluge. “Robert Benjamin Merivale. You are grounded for the rest of your life.”
The boy’s face fell. “But starting only after I talk to the Home Secretary.” That boy’s stubbornness was nearly as strong as his own.
A harassed-looking clerk appeared in front of them. “Is this your boy? He has been waiting here the entire afternoon and won’t go away. I told him well over ten times that Lord Addington has all his appointment slots filled. He can’t just show up here, wanting to talk to the Home Secretary. People need to make an appointment first. Some wait for nearly a year.” He pursed his lips in disapproval and made a motion with his hands, as if they were vermin, and he wanted to shoo them out of the room.
Something in Philip snapped.
He stood up straight. “My name is Threthewick.” His voice sounded cold and haughty. “The Earl of Threthewick. My grandfather —” his voice shook. “My grandfather is the Duke of Morley.”
The Earth didn’t shake, the walls still stood, as Philip finally claimed his heritage. He felt something unfamiliar pulse through his veins: pride.
“I am Lady Arabella Astley. The Duke of Ashmore’s sister,” Arabella said in a cool voice. “I believe you will obtain his lordship an appointment with Addington within the minute.”
The clerk’s eyes widened. “Morley? Ashmore?” he gulped. “It will be but a second, my lord. My lady.”
He scuffled off.
Philip couldn’t believe he had done that. He’d broken all his principles and used his grandfather’s name. He didn’t like that one bit. But, by Jove, if that was what would get him what he wanted, so be it.
“Brilliant,” Robin said, delighted.
The clerk came scuttling back. “He will see you immediately.” There were beads of sweat on his forehead.
Robin rushed forward, and Philip made a motion to follow him, when he noticed that Arabella lingered.
“I will say goodbye here,” she said in a soft voice, her hands clasped in front of her. “You are close to realising your dreams.” She looked at him for a moment.
There was something in her eyes, but he couldn’t read it. Was it sadness? Regret?
“Goodbye, Mr Merivale. God speed.” She turned to go.
His stomach knotted together as if an ice-cold stone had settled in it. He could call her back. Ask her to stay. Ask her to — what, exactly? His mind was fogged.
“Arabella.” His voice broke as he said her name.
