“Lord Nathaniel Mortimer,” he said quietly. “Primarily. The late Duke’s cousin on the paternal side. He has… He had certain expectations regarding the succession before your claim was established. The duchy going to you rather than throughhis branch of the family was already a disappointment. The inheritance attached to the child compounds it considerably.”
“Because if Violet is removed from Ashbourne,” James said slowly, “if her connection to the family is successfully challenged?—”
“The inheritance would pass back into the estate.” Henderson bobbed his head. “And from there, through the standard line of succession, it would eventually?—”
“Reach Mortimer.”
“Or those connected to him, yes.”
James said nothing for a moment. The anger that flared within him was cold and very clean.
“Did he know about Mortimer?” he asked.
“There are notes,” Henderson said after a while, “in the Duke’s personal correspondence—which came to me with the estate deeds—that suggest he was aware Lord Mortimer had expectations regarding the succession. Whether he anticipated the specific nature of the challenge…” He paused. “I could not say with certainty.”
“But he knew someone would come.”
“He knew the inheritance would not go unnoticed, yes.”
“They do not even care about the circumstances of her birth,” James thought out loud.
“No, Your Grace.”
“The propriety. The family name. The concerns about what the acknowledgment means for the Ashbournes’ reputation?—”
“Are, in my assessment, largely incidental to the financial consideration.” Henderson paused. “I am sorry to be direct.”
“Do not apologize for it. It is the only thing I have patience for this morning.” James stood up. He could not sit still with this. It moved through him in a way that required motion, or it would simply burn where it sat.
He went to the window. Outside, the grounds were green and endless and unbothered.
“She is one year old, Henderson.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“She has just lost both her parents. Her mother, her father, everything familiar to her—gone. In an afternoon.” He pressed one hand flat against the window frame. “And there are men…men who stood at my cousin’s graveside, who are looking at her and seeing a number on a page.”
Henderson was quiet.
“That is what she is to them. A number.”
“I’m afraid that is an accurate summary.”
James turned away from the window. “How long before they can make a formal challenge? How would you assess the strength of their case?”
“That depends on several factors, like the stability of the household and the strength of the guardianship as it appears to outside parties.” Henderson folded his hands. “A settled household and a guardian whose fitness cannot reasonably be questioned would make a challenge very difficult to sustain.”
He hesitated, and James moved close to him.
“Their case is currently limited.” Henderson looked at his notes and turned a page. “The Duke’s acknowledgment is explicit. The will is sound. Your guardianship is legally established.” He looked up. “However…”
“There it is.”
“… a challenge does not need to be legally strong to be damaging, Your Grace. It needs only to be persistent and public.” Henderson folded his hands. “If Lord Mortimer’s solicitors begin filing questions about the circumstances of the child’s birth, about the validity of the acknowledgment, about your own fitness as guardian, the process itself will become the problem. The gossip, the uncertainty, the appearance of a household in dispute.” He paused. “Courts move slowly, but gossip moves very fast.”
“And an unmarried guardian with a reputation for recklessness makes it considerably easier,” James scoffed.
Henderson blinked rapidly. “I do not say this to alarm you, Your Grace. I say it so that you understand what is at stake.”
