The injustice of it burned.
Her aunt would benefit from Dominic’s generosity and whatever remained in the will. Even in death, her father meant to punish her.
“I couldn’t possibly ask Mr Hawke for such a favour.” Yet the thought of repaying him in kind was tempting. “He believes you know something about his mother’s death.”
“Me?” She clasped her chest and stumbled back. “I never knew her. I met your father months after he ended his affair with Mrs Hawke.”
Questions filled her mind, but she focused on the one that might prove her father’s innocence—at least in this.
“You were his lover for a decade, yet never had a child.”
Mrs Foster paused. Her throat worked before she said, “After his riding accident, he was incapable.”
That was the answer Daphne had hoped to hear.
But why the hesitation? Why the strain?
“You know what was said about my father and Mrs Hawke.” She had to tread carefully. It wasn’t her place to repeat such a guarded secret, though Dominic had accused Lord Templeton outright.
“He swore it wasn’t true.”
Daphne needed her to be specific. “You believed him?”
“He had no reason to lie.”
“Other than Mr Hawke might kill him for it.”
Mrs Foster stepped closer. “We spoke about it at the time. Before Mr Hawke built his sordid empire. Before he stormed into Lord Templeton’s ball to ruin you.”
Ruin? Daphne remembered Dominic’s hand closing around hers, the music fading as he led her from the floor. In that moment he had felt less like a scandal and more like salvation.
She forced the image aside. “You’re avoiding the question. Did you believe him?”
“Yes. He blamed Lord Templeton. There was some question about the timing. Your uncle acted as mediator. He took the physician’s report to Shadowmere as proof.”
She resisted the urge to gasp. “Proof he couldn’t be?—”
“The child’s father.” Mrs Foster raised her hands as though calling for calm. “It was a long time ago. The details scarcely matter now.”
They mattered to Dominic. More now than ever.
“What did Lord Templeton say at the time?”
Mrs Foster’s composure cracked. “I don’t know.” She gripped the pillar and glanced towards the house. “You need to leave. I’ll not give Lord Ainsley a reason to raise the interest.”
Interest. “Tell him you won’t pay.”
“I can’t. He’s covering the rent.”
Charlotte leaned towards Daphne. “If we’re finished, we should go. Lord Ainsley has stepped onto the terrace. He’s one to avoid.”
Still, Daphne had one more question. “There were ligature marks on my father’s wrists when they found his body. Was it a game gone wrong? An accident you made look like murder.”
Mrs Foster paled. “I hated what that man made me do.” She shuddered with revulsion. “But you’re looking in the wrong place.”
“Lord Ainsley is coming this way—” Charlotte stopped abruptly. “Wait. Hawke has called him back. They’re talking on the steps.”
Daphne looked at Mrs Foster. “Once I have the truth and my father’s killer is in custody, I shall find a way to free you of the debt.”
