“I will be direct,” Mortimer said. “I believe you would prefer that.”
“I would,” James confirmed.
Mortimer folded his hands. The gesture of a man who had rehearsed his speech.
“I have come out of concern,” he began. “For the child.”
The room held its breath.
“Out of concern,” James repeated evenly.
“She is family, after all. Whatever the circumstances of her birth, one feels a… uh… a responsibility.” Mortimer’s expression arranged itself into something that resembled care, and James clenched his fist over his knee. “Which is precisely why, when certain information came to my attention, I felt I could not remain silent.”
James said nothing. He had learned that silence was frequently more useful than any question.
“I have come into possession of certain letters.” Mortimer nodded to Calder, who produced them from the satchel. “Written by Miss Clara Bennett, the child’s mother, in the months before the child’s birth.”
Isadora looked at the letters.
“Where did you obtain them?” she asked.
Mortimer looked at her with mild surprise, as if he had not expected her to speak directly. James wanted to wipe that look off his face.
“They came to me through Miss Bennett’s family. Her aunt, specifically, who felt that the contents were… relevant to the current situation.”
“Relevant in what way?” James probed.
“Her aunt,” Isadora repeated. “Who has come forward now. Some months after the deaths of both Miss Bennett and the former Duke. With letters?”
“As I said, she felt the contents were relevant.”
“I imagine she did,” Isadora said pleasantly. “Please continue.”
Irritation flickered across Mortimer’s expression, and James almost smiled.
“The letters suggest,” Mortimer continued carefully, “that Miss Bennett was involved in another relationship in the months before the child was born.”
James rubbed his jaw. “Another relationship?”
“Another gentleman. The letters are quite clear on the matter.” Mortimer’s tone did not change. It remained concerned, warm, precisely calibrated. “I understand how difficult this is. I want you to know that I raise it only because the implications are significant. If the child is not my cousin’s daughter?—”
“If?” James frowned.
“—then the inheritance he left her must be challenged. A sum of that magnitude, settled on a child who may have no connection to the family?—”
“Stop.”
Mortimer’s expression did not change. “That is not the spirit in which I raise this.”
“I know exactly the spirit in which you raise it,” James bit out.
Mortimer looked at him for a moment. Then he nodded to the solicitor again, who produced a second set of documents.
“Regardless, we have filed a petition requesting that, until the child’s parentage is properly established, her current placement at Ashbourne be reviewed.”
“Reviewed?” Isadora repeated.
“She would be placed temporarily under church supervision,” the solicitor said smoothly. “Or an appropriate charitable institution. Until the investigation?—”
