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Miss Doyle sucked in a deep breath. “Mary Doyle is the only mother I’ve ever known, and I’ve never had reason to question it.”

“What did she look like?” Alexander asked.

“She was blonde haired and blue eyed.”

“And Mr. Doyle?” Alexander pressed.

“He . . . he has dark hair and eyes,” she said.

“I see,” Alexander said, the atmosphere heavy with what he did not say.

Jonas moved to stand beside the painting again, studying it more carefully this time. He’d never seen such likeness between two different individuals. Isabella Allerton’s hair color was the same as Miss Doyle’s. The shape of their faces and their features were virtually identical, except for the color of their eyes. While Mrs. Allerton’s eyes were brown, Miss Doyle’s were hazel—coincidentally, the same color as Mr. Allerton’s and Alexander’s.

As his gaze moved to take in Isabella’s cream-colored gown, he noticed the pendant hanging around her neck, and his mouth went dry.

“There is something more than their similar appearances,” he said. Returning to Miss Doyle’s side, he pointed to her reticule. “Would you show the earl your pendant?”

Giving him a trusting nod, she loosened the strings of the reticule, withdrew the necklace, and handed it to Alexander. He turned it over and studied the oval disc lying on his palm.

“Do you know what this is?” Alexander asked, sounding as though he was battling his emotions.

“No, my lord. My mother—” She paused, her voice breaking. “My mother gave it to me on her deathbed.”

“This fleur de lis is the symbol of the Brossard family of Dordogne, France. Although she married an Englishman, Isabella was fiercely proud of her French roots and wore this as a constant reminder of her heritage.” He turned the gold disc over again. “I was only a boy when she died, but even I remember seeing it glistening around her neck.”

There was a moment of silence in the room as each of them attempted to grasp the significance of what they had discovered. Jonas moved to the window and gazed unseeingly outside. Was it possible that Miss Doyle was actually Miss Allerton and that Alexander’s young cousin had survived the shipwreck? After so many years spent working as a servant at the inn, should she have been living the life of a noblewoman at Bloxley Hall or Claremont House? He turned to look at her. Tears were trickling down her cheeks.

In four short steps, Jonas crossed the space between them. He took the seat beside her and reached for her hand. She grasped it and held on tightly. With his free hand, he offered her his handkerchief. She accepted it with a watery smile.

“How . . . how can a lifetime of certainty be undermined in a matter of minutes?” she said. “I do not know what to believe anymore, my lords.”

Alexander ran his fingers through his hair again. “We must be sure. For everyone involved, but for your sake, in particular.”

“You do not believe Miss Doyle’s uncanny likeness to your aunt and the fact that she carries her pendant is sufficient?” Jonas asked.

“A transfer of a substantial sum of money will be involved if Suzanne Allerton is found alive, and the solicitors will want more proof than we currently possess.”

“Even if I am not his child, I do not think my fa—Cyrus Doyle—knew of any connection with your family. If he had, he would surely have tried to extort money in exchange for a child for whom he had little to no patience.”

As unfair as it was, Jonas recognized the truth inherent in her assessment. Doyle had already proven his avarice by trying to sell her off to Cummings.

“What of a baptism record?” Alexander asked. “Is that a possibility?”

Miss Doyle looked thoughtful. “My mother took me to church every Sunday, and the old vicar, Mr. Crawford, took particular interest in me. He even went as far as to teach me to read and take me bird watching. I once asked my mother why he was so kind to me, and she told me he was my godfather.” She shrugged. “I do not know if it’s possible for a vicar to stand in as a godparent, but her saying so would suggest that I was baptized, at least.”

Jonas gave her hand an encouraging squeeze and released it. “We must go to the church at Little Tilbury right away,” he said.

“What of our plans to trap the Midnight Master?” Alexander asked.

“Rather than riding as far as Tonbridge today and continuing on in the morning, we could take a carriage and travel through the night. Doing so would put us at the coast in twenty-four hours, which would give us time enough to check the church’s records before going to The Fox and Hare.”

Alexander stood and started for the door, fresh determination in his stride. “I will send word to Bow Street and have their men meet us at the inn in Little Tilbury tomorrow rather than at Claremont House this afternoon.”

“I should like to go with you.” Miss Doyle’s voice halted Alexander.

“Uh . . .” Alexander looked to Jonas for help, but before either man could speak, she continued.

“It is my history you are attempting to uncover, after all.”