“Which means...”He paused and dipped his head.“He was already...on the way...the night we kissed.At the Morganfield ball,” he struggled to get out.“In September.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” she said, her blonde brows furrowing in confusion.
“Who...pray tell, who is the father?”
Helen once again blinked.“Well, Father, of course,” she replied.
Tom inhaled sharply.His subsequent groan and a sound of disgust was loud in the quiet room.“Oh, God,” he whispered.
“Tom, whatever is wrong?”she asked.
He scoffed.“You don’tknow?”he asked, disbelief evident in his voice.
Helen swallowed, wondering if he had heard some rumor suggesting her mother had been involved in anaffaire, which would suggest Bradley’s father was someoneotherthan her father.Given her parents amorous behavior, she knew it was rather unlikely, though.
Which left only one other consideration.
“Well, if you’re saying my mother is too old to be having a babe, then let me be the one to inform you that Queen Charlotte was still having babies when she was nearly forty.”
It was Tom’s turn to blink, and he did so several times.“Your...yourmother?”
Helen nodded.“Who did you think...?”She widened her eyes as realization dawned on her, and she stepped back as her mouth dropped open in shock.“Thomas Forster!”she scolded.
“Bradley is...is yourbrother?”Tom asked, only a moment before her open hand made contact with his cheek.
Hard.
The slap was so loud, Helen winced at the thought it might have awakened everyone in the hotel.From the expression on Tom’s face, she didn’t know if she had truly hurt him or simply knocked some sense into him.
Either way, she was fairly sure it had worked.
