“But it is the truth. Easy to mistake a resemblance across a dark room or in the shadows of a garden. But I think we can all agree that Mrs. Bean’s wordsmustbe true. There is no other explanation. Your distinctive eye color alone is enough to put that question to rest. You sound alike, save for the accent. The shape of your hands, your nose, the color of your hair. All identical. Alexander, we must concoct a story of how Lord Fletcher came to be. We cannot simply say he was raised in The Devil’s Acre.”
“No,” the duke mused. “But possibly we don’t veer from the truth too much. The duchess, in running from her life, gave birth to us both in The Devil’s Acre. The location of my birth is no great secret. We’ll say…he was my twin, thought to have died.” He looked at his wife. “Sophie?”
“I think that might work. I’ll think on it later.”
“Pardon me,” Helen interrupted. “But you are atriplet, Your Grace. We simply don’t know where the third babe is.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Helen walked acrossthe floor of the room she’d been given, trying not to trip over the skirts of her borrowed gown. Roxboro’s duchess was slightly taller and rounder than Helen, and the dress ill-fitting, but she was grateful to have anything clean to wear. The events of the day had been exhausting, enlightening and disturbing, to say the least. She’d only just come up the stairs after a lengthy discussion with the duchess.Sophia.
The four of them had eaten supper together, in the enormous dining room. The duke didn’t bother to hide his disgust as Fletcherattackedhis food. He had manners. Some. But not of the same caliber as Roxboro. He was deliberately attempting to annoy his older…brother.
Freeman, the duke’s solicitor, had been summoned to attend the duke the following day, but given no other information. The presence of Roxboro and Fletcher, seated side by side, would speak volumes. The duke had wanted to send word to his uncle immediately, but the duchess disagreed. There was no point in informing the rest of the family until Fletcher became more settled and they had consulted Freeman.
After the meal, which was frankly the best roast Helen had in ages, Fletcher and Roxboro disappeared into the duke’s study.
“They’ll probably arm wrestle each other to the ground,” Sophia, as she asked to be addressed, claimed. “I’ll have Barstowcheck on them in a bit. Come, let us enjoy a sherry. Or whatever you prefer.”
The former Lady Sophia Simmons was highly intelligent, bold in a way that Helen could only hope to be one day and deeply protective of Roxboro. She briefly alluded to an accident after her marriage to the duke in which Roxboro had nearly died, the only time Helen saw her careful façade crack a bit.
The assailants were never caught.
“That is why we must proceed with caution, Helen. There are far too many coincidences. Accidents. Tragedies and such. And while it is unfortunate that this Mr. Lark has the book, I believe I know where it can be found. I doubt Mr. Lark will survive his attempt at blackmail, if I’m correct.”
Bean’s Book had been discussed while they supped, with Fletcher regrettably having to inform Roxboro that it was missing. He glossed over the events leading up the book’s disappearance, mentioning Lark and his goal of blackmailing the perpetrator, briefly touching on Helen’s abduction. Thankfully he left out the more…bloody parts of the story.
“You know, don’t you?” Helen asked.
Sophia had looked away. “I have my suspicions, but they are at present, without merit. The proof we need is in the book. I am considering how best to retrieve it, but I wish to speak to Freeman first. Don’t ask me anything more. I’ll…tell you when I am able.” There was a stark, washed-out look to the duchess. Worry. Fear. “We must move forward with every caution.”
Helen considered that for a moment. “I wish no harm to come to Fletcher. Or the duke, for that matter.”
“On that, we are in agreement.” She took Helen’s hand. “You and I are to be allies, I think. Which is good. We’ll both need one.”
That wasn’t the least unsettling.
“Where do you think the third is?” Sophia had finally asked while sipping on a glass of madeira, which they both agreed was preferable to sherry.
“I’ve no idea,” Helen had answered. “Mrs. Bean either didn’t know, or didn’t want to know.”
“I think the latter,” Sophia replied.
“I agree. Twins would be remarked upon. Triplets, even more so.”
Sophia set down her wine. “I’m sure you noticed at dinner that the duke does not indulge in spirits. He was a sot, but isn’t any longer, though it is not common knowledge. No one is aware other than Barstow and now you. Fletcher as well. Alexander carries about a well-watered glass of wine in his hand so none one suspects. It is of the utmost importance no one else know.”
“Why keep up the illusion?”
“It is better to be underestimated, Helen. I think you realize as much. If you were a duke whose entire family and friends keep tragically leaving this earth too early, wouldn’t you want every advantage?”
“What about Lord Damon. Surely, Roxboro’s uncle is aware.”
“He is not and we don’t dare destroy his assumptions. Besides, Damon is about to propose to a lovely young woman. He’s been widowed a long time. I do wonder about his timing.” There was something else hovering in Sophia’s words.
“You don’t like him, Damon Viceroy.” Helen could read it in every line of Sophia’s body.
“The feeling is mutual, I assure you. I imagine his dislike will extend to you as well, Helen.”
