Her next quarry was Mr Hammond, the duke’s secretary. She found him in the duke’s study one day, with only his father for company, the two bending over a notebook filled with a straggly scrawl. They both rose as she entered.
“Miss Merrington,” Mr Hammond said. “What a pleasure! How may we help you?”
“I should like you to tell me who I am,” she said, with a little laugh, as Mr Hammond Senior ushered her to a chair.
“Um… I beg your pardon?”
“Which Miss Merrington am I?”
They did not dissemble, laughing too. “Oh, a home question,” Mr Hammond said, sitting back in his chair and steepling his hands. “What do you think, Father?”
“Maria?” his father said. “It could be Maria.”
“No, I think it is Charlotte,” Mr Hammond said. “Although… no, definitely Charlotte.”
“Thank you,” Sophia said, rising to leave. “You have answered my question perfectly.”
“Were we right… either of us?” Mr Hammond said.
“It is unimportant,” she said. “I wished only to determine that you cannot reliably tell us apart, and you have done so. Now all I have to do is work out how to remedy the situation.”
“Something to distinguish each of you?” Mr Hammond Senior said. “An interesting challenge. Perhaps if you each choose a certain colour for your gowns.”
“But we swap around our gowns, and jewellery, hair ornaments, gloves, shoes… There is nothing that is unique to only one of us.”
“A favourite piece of jewellery, then, that you always wear. That silver cross is very pretty, and if you were to wear it every day—”
“It belongs to Maria,” Sophia said. “Besides, it is simple enough for day wear, but no one would wear it for evening.”
“Then it will have to be ribbons,” Mr Hammond Senior said firmly. “You each choose a colour, and, whatever else you wear, you always bear a ribbon of that colour. A sash at the waist, a trimming at the sleeve, in your hair, holding a pendant at your throat… would that work?”
Sophia raised her eyebrows in surprise. Such a simple idea! “I think it might, Mr Hammond. Thank you.”
“You are very welcome… Miss Augusta?” he said as he held the door for her.
She smiled enigmatically, and left without another word.
***
With gold in his pocket from Thwaite, and the first tranche of a sizeable allowance from the new earl, Simon was keen to return to Staineybank and claim Sophia.
“I will not stop you, if you must go, brother,” Andrew said, as they sat over a bottle of brandy one evening, everyone else long since retired to bed, “but there is one more person coming whom you should meet — Luke’s wife. Well, not wife, of course, but you know what I mean. She calls herself Mrs Payne, anyway. She will bring with her some additional documents to prove once and for all that Luke left no legitimate heir, so that we can tidy everything up with the lawyers and you will be established as the next heir.”
“Will I?” Simon said, eyebrows lifted questioningly.
Andrew smiled at that. “I give you my word, brother. Lavinia and I have an arrangement that suits us both. There will be no surprise arrival of an heir.”
“Not even a Scottish one?” Simon said. “Lady Edlesborough is still young enough to make that plausible, even if you do not wish to perpetuate Father’s blood.”
Andrew laughed. “No! Definitely no more children. The earldom is a great burden to lay on a child, and you have already proved you are capable of meeting the challenge. And now you are to marry, it seems. Tell me about her.”
Simon was more than happy to comply, and for some while he described Sophia’s many perfections, and wondered wistfully what she was doing and whether she thought much about him, in her busy life. He wondered if he should write to her, to tell her of his new circumstances, but they were not yet publicly betrothed and a letter would be improper. Besides, he would be back at Staineybank in a few days, and what was the rush? They had their whole lives to be deliriously happy, in public as well as in private.
So he stayed on and the very next day, the party from Newcastle arrived. Sally Payne was a plump, smiling woman of around thirty-five, Simon guessed, who was accompanied by her eldest son, Archie, a well-grown boy of fourteen, as well as a local attorney. She brought with her a great pile of sworn affidavits from Sally and Luke themselves, his uncle, her parents, two magistrates, a baronet and the local parson, to the effect that Sally and Luke had never married, and that therefore all their children were illegitimate.
Much of the day was spent closeted with the lawyers from London, who meticulously went through every document and asked a great many questions, examining also the false papers which had convinced the late earl that a marriage had taken place.
“I still do not understand,” the oldest of the lawyers said querulously. “Why would any man do such a thing? Why render all his children illegitimate? Such a stain is impossible to eradicate.”
