Then he nodded at Apple and she strode boldly into the room.
A gentleman sat at the table, a pen in his hand poised above a sheaf of paper on which he had clearly been writing, his head turned towards the door. He was of middle years with a pleasant face, just now wearing an expression of surprise.
Apple drew a breath for courage. “I am Appoline Greenaway, sir.”
Mr Vergette’s brows rose. “Indeed? How fortuitous.” He pushed back his chair and rose, smiling as he came forward, holding out a hand. “And how delightful. How do you do, Miss Greenaway?”
Apple took the hand, her nervousness giving way to bewilderment. “I didn’t think you’d be pleased to see me.”
“On the contrary. Won’t you sit down?” He set a chair for her at the round table and resumed his own, turning it so that he faced her. “I take it Lord Dymond does not know you are here?”
“No, and I can’t be long for Lady — I mean, his sister will start wondering what has become of me.”
“Ah, that would be Lady Georgiana? The lady Charlotte, I understand, is not in residence?”
Apple blinked. “Yes, but how did you know?”
“It is my business to know, Miss Greenaway.”
The smile was enigmatic, and Apple recalled Alex’s “havey-cavey” designation. Which threw her at once into speech. “Mr Vergette, why have you come? Why did you want to see Alex — Lord Dymond? There is something horrid to tell him about me, isn’t there?”
His eyes took on a veiled look, although his manner remained that of a kindly uncle. “My dear Miss Greenaway, you are jumping to conclusions.”
Apple’s instinct urged her to batter the man into revealing whatever it was he’d come to see Alex about, but if she’d learned anything in these weeks under his protection, it was to use a more cautious approach. “You will admit, sir, I have a right to know.”
“I should not dream of denying it, Miss Greenaway.”
“Then since I am here, you may tell me directly rather than using Alex as a go-between.”
Mr Vergette eyed her in silence for a moment, and Apple waited, apprehension mounting, her instincts on sharp alert. At last he sighed. “My errand here is to Lord Dymond himself, not to you, Miss Greenaway.” She opened her mouth to protest, and he held up a finger. “On balance, however, it may be more politic to open the matter to you instead.”
Apple did not wait for him to come to the end of his reasoning. “You are going to tell me I am not John Greenaway’s daughter, are you not?”
He was visibly taken aback. “Have you reason to think so?”
Apple let her breath go. “I’ve often thought so. It’s not only the existence of the trust. Papa brushed it aside, but I could never understand my lack of resemblance to him or my mother. Besides Papa so often insisting I must not think of doing this or that, as if certain tasks were beneath me. And then the secrecy! How could I suppose otherwise when there was so much unsaid, such mystery about the trust? I knew it had nothing to do with the winery, and why should that be so?”
Mr Vergette was drumming his fingers where they rested on his knee. “Yes, I can see how you might arrive at your conclusion.”
“Well then?”
A tiny sigh escaped the lawyer. “It is no part of my duty to inform you of these matters ahead of the time, but circumstances alter cases, my dear Miss Greenaway.”
He got up and paced across to the mantel, turning there to survey her. Apple watched him, her breath tight in her chest.
“The trust was set up by your grandfather. Not a Greenaway, as you surmise, but a gentleman of, let us say, some stature in the world.”
In spite of all, Apple quivered inside. She’d wanted to know so badly, but on the brink of the truth, she began to feel the shock of it seeping into her veins. The word he’d used replayed in her head. “Stature?”
He pursed his lips. “Status, rank, call it what you will.”
“You mean he’s an aristocrat?”
“Was, Miss Greenaway. Your grandfather died some years ago. My client, his son, is your father.”
Apple’s heart thumped. “I’m illegitimate.”
Mr Vergette gave a small bow of acknowledgement.
