“And yet, something tells me I’m not going to be happy having them in my hands.”
“Take them, Mrs. Sloane. We’ll discuss their contents in a moment, but be assured, you’ll find them invaluable at some point.”
Charlotte reluctantly took them. After a brief hesitation, she untied the ribbon and slowly unfolded them, setting off a scarlet wink of official wax seals.
It took her several long moments to read them over. When she looked up, her expression was . . .
Impossible to fathom, decided the earl. He waited for her to speak.
“In the name of all that’s unholy, how did you manage to get these?”
“I deal with several very skilled legal practitioners for my estate matters. I’ve always found their expertise and experience to be exemplary.”
“B-But Wrexford . . .” Her hands tightened on the documents. “These are patently false.”
“They are impeccably official,” he corrected. “Anyone seeking to corroborate them will find everything in order.”
“Ye gods.” Closing her eyes, Charlotte expelled a harried exhale.
“Come, Mrs. Sloane. In this case, pragmatism must assuage any twitches of tender conscience. At some point, you may be asked uncomfortable questions about the boys. These documents show you and your husband took on official guardianship of Master Thomas Ravenwood Sloane and Master Alexander Hawksley Sloane during their infancy.”
“But . . .” She read over the ornate script a second time. “But Anthony had no such gentry relatives in County Durham.”
“He does now,” replied Wrexford calmly.
Charlotte looked to be struggling for an answer.
“It’s all in the best interest of the lads,” he murmured.
“I know that. And I’m grate—” Another sigh. “That is, it’s extraordinarily kind of you to have anticipated what problems might lie ahead.” She smoothed a palm over the thick parchment. “I confess, I’ve been worrying about how to deal with this. It’s the first question that will be asked by my relatives.”
“And now you have a perfectly good answer.” Wrexford allowed a small smile. “Put the documents away in a safe place. If anyone ever demands proof of your relationship to the boys, it’s there in all its bureaucratic glory.”
She looked up. “Thank you, Wrexford.”
“You are most welcome.” He sat back. “I’ll have a private word with the Weasels and explain the importance ofunderstanding the facts contained in the documents, and the need to repeat them unerringly whenever asked.”
“Yes, but you know Raven can be . . .” She bit her lip. “He can be stubborn about these things.”
“You may leave Raven to me,” replied Wrexford.
At last, a smile from her. “In this case, I shall gladly do so.”
“Then it’s settled.”
“Yes.” Charlotte carefully smoothed a crease from her skirts. “Now, if only the rest of the evening proceeds without a wrinkle.”
* * *
“Well, well, what have we here?” As he entered the parlor, Henning eyed the bottle of Scottish malt on the sideboard and promptly went over to pour himself a glass. His habitual untidiness seemed even more pronounced—bristly jaw, hair sticking up in spiky tufts, a dark smear of some unpleasant substance on his coat.
Charlotte, who had just returned from fetching the boys, also noted the lines of fatigue beneath his scowl. It looked as though it had been a very bad day at his clinic for the poor.
“Slàinte.”The surgeon took a quick swallow and looked to her. “Spirits usually signify a solemn occasion. Has someone died?”
Wrexford shifted in his chair. “Stubble the humor and take a seat, Baz. Mrs. Sloane will explain once—”
“What’s this—another dead body?” quipped Sheffield as McClellan escorted him into the parlor.
