“It’s not.”
“I was too young to remember—”
“Beckett,” she said, grabbing his arm. “I remember when I was about the same age and they put me on a ship for Ireland. My mother was dead. My grandfather had just died. And I was placed in the hands of a woman from our church who was returning to Britain. I can tell you what the captain looked like, what the weather was for that day, who was at the pier when I left, what we ate for meals... it is all burned into my memory because it was that important. I was leaving the only home I knew. I felt lost and frightened, and I will never forget.”
“But I did.”
“No, your mind protected you. It helped you survive. I was traveling toward a family who cared for me. You had nothing.”
He shook his head. “What would have happened if I had run for help...?”
“This Winstead would have caught up with you and wrung your neck to protect himself,” she answered briskly. “The question is, did he act on his own? You said he was the marquess’s man?”
“I don’t believe the marquess is behind this. After all, at some point, he learned I was alive and sent me to school—”
He broke off, struck by a new realization.
“What?” Gwendolyn asked.
“The current Lord Middlebury is not my father.I’m not a bastard.” This thought was truly novel. He slowly lowered himself to the nearest chair as the implications began to sink in.
Gwendolyn pulled a chair around to sit next to him. She appeared as stunned as he was.
She broke the silence first. “You are the true Marquess of Middlebury. The title was stolen from you.”
This was almost too much for Beck to grasp after years of shame, of feeling unwanted.
Another memory stirred. There had been a portrait in the main house. It was in one of the family rooms. His mother would point out his father.He was so very proud of his son.
She’d say that to him.
His son... the heir.
Beck shook his head. It was too much. “I’m not certain. What if the murder is my mind playing tricks with me? Or the head wound has me mixed up inside my brain?”
“What we need is confirmation,” she agreed. “I don’t believe we can ask Lord and Lady Middlebury for this information. Because if your memories are correct, one or both plotted a murder.”
“But why had they kept me alive? Why did Lord Middlebury send Winstead to put me in a school?”
“Those are excellent questions,” she said. “Especially since everyone thought you were dead.” She sat a moment and then said, “You also are not Beckett Steele. You have another name.”
He did.Beck searched his mind. “I don’t remember it. I also don’t think I can ask the marquess or anyone at the house party what it is. Infact, we need to keep my identity a secret more than before.”
“Lord Ellisfield referred to his cousin as Robbie.”
Beck scowled, not liking the sound of it. The name didn’t even feel familiar to him... or did it?
Gwendolyn rose to her feet. “There is a place where we can find answers. I believe we need a trip to St. Albion’s.”
“St. Albion’s?”
“It is the village church. One of my dinner companions last night, Reverend Denburn, is the rector there. I’m certain your birth was recorded in the church register. Shall we go? It can’t be far.” She started moving to the door.
Beck came to his feet. “I believe I should see you back to the house. I don’t want you involved in this.”
“Too late, Beckett,” she replied. “I already am involved. I’m half in love with you, remember? Now, are you coming, or do I need to go by myself? I’m curious even if you aren’t.”
She marched out the door, ready to do battle—and that was when he fell in love.
