After thorough and extensive research, we have discovered that you are the 6th cousin of one
Oliver Henry Harrington, 4th Earl of Knox, and next in line to inherit his title and estate should he have no sons of his own. As such, we would like to meet with you as soon as possible. Please contact us by replying to this letter or by paying us a visit at the offices of Huxley and Bailey, 79 Fleet Street, London.
Yours sincerely,
Huxley and Bailey
Solicitors at Law
Oliver put down the letter.
“The landlord said he was going to write to you so you could take possession our belongings since he wasn’t able to locate any other family members. And that is how I discovered that I wasn’t alone in the world. I had—have—a cousin.”
“I’m pleased to hear that you are, indeed, alive and well, Miss Harrington, and, of course, I am terribly sorry about your brother. If I remember correctly, your parents died when you were young?”
“Yes, Mathew was sixteen and I fourteen. Ever since then, I’ve relied on him to take care of me. Now that he is dead, I have nothing—no money, no home, and no family—except for you.”
“Your brother didn’t leave you any money?”
“My brother didn’t have any money. Our father gambled everything away, and unfortunately, Mathew suffered from the same problem.”
“I see.”
“But we learned to fend for ourselves,” she said. “And now that my brother is dead, I must do whatever it takes to secure my future.”
“If I am indeed your only family, I am obliged to help you. I believe I can arrange a safe place for you to stay and perhaps give you a small allowance. My lawyers will want to verify your identity before they arrange anything—I am sure you understand.”
“I believe your wife, Kate, can do that for you.”
“My wife?” Oliver said. “How do know—”
Miss Harrington cocked her head. “Do you not know? Kate was betrothed to my brother—your heir.”
Oliver felt the blood drain from his face. “What are you talking about?”
“Before my brother’s death, he proposed marriage to a young lady, who also happened to be a dear friend of mine. They werevery much in love, and I’m afraid they were rather careless and foolish with their passion. By that I mean, they expressed their love for one another fully—in a marital sense—before marriage. The young lady in question informed my brother that she was with child, and he proposed. She knew my brother by his childhood nickname, Theo. And her name is Katherine Sheldon, daughter of Sir Henry Sheldon of Yorkshire. So, you see, the babe your wife is carrying is my brother’s child.”
Oliver couldn’t believe his ears. “That’s ridiculous. If my wife had previously been betrothed to a Harrington, I think she would have told me as much.”
“She wouldn’t have known. Theo and I despised my father. He was a drunk and a gambler whose reputation preceded him, so we often used our mother’s maiden name, Thurston.”
Oliver clasped his hands together. “You’re telling me that my wife was betrothed to a man who used a false name?”
“They were secretly betrothed. And he didn’t use a false name. As I said, Theo was his childhood nickname; he preferred it to Mathew because that was our father’s name. For that same reason, we preferred to use our mother’s surname.”
Oliver shook his head. “I’m sorry, but this is all sounding a bit too strange.”
“Didn’t your lawyers tell you anything about your heir and his parentage?”
They had, but truth be told, Oliver hadn’t paid much attention. He’d still been too lost in the fog of grief to care. “One moment,” he said and bent to open his bottom desk drawer from which he extracted a roll of papers tied together with string. He removed the string, unraveled the documents, and scanned the letter from his lawyers for the details he wanted.
Your sixth cousin, Mathew James Harrington, born 1790, only son of Mathew Frances Harrington (died 1799) and Mary Jane Thurston (died 1802).
Oliver lowered the document. “It doesn’t say anything about Mr. Harrington having a sister in here.”
“That’s because women aren’t important. We cannot inherit titles or entailed estates, so we are not worth mentioning. Why do you think I am here today, appealing for your help?”
She was right. His lawyers had not even bothered to tell him that his heir had a sister, nor had he cared to ask. Yet, here she sat, all alone in the world.
