Page 73

The viscount reached for the books and set them on the table next to the earl’s. Elizabeth went to stand beside him.

“We start at the beginning, I suppose, Miss Doyle,” he said.

“Very well,” she said, and taking a deep breath, she began skimming the names on the first page.

Time marched on. The only sound in the vestry was the whisper of turning pages and the occasional shifting of feet against the stone floor. Elizabeth’s back was beginning to ache from being hunched over the table. She’d already reached the entries made in October 1767, and it appeared that the noblemen were even closer to the end of their registers.

Lord Bloxley finished first. He closed his book with a thud. “Nothing,” he said. “Should I ask the vicar to produce the register for 1768?”

Lord Langton frowned. “How much more do you have, Miss Doyle?”

Elizabeth paused, leaving her finger on the sheet of paper to mark her place. “Half a dozen pages, my lord.”

He thumbed through the last of his volume. “I fear time is not on our side. We may have to return tomorrow.”

Battling her disappointment, Elizabeth stared at the page before her. In truth, she did not know for certain that she’d ever been baptized. Perhaps there was no record to be had at all. She read the last of the names beneath her finger and turned the page. Eight lines down, her swiftly moving finger came to an abrupt halt. With a pounding heart, she read the name again to be sure.

“My lords,” she said. “I have it.”

The gentlemen were at her side in an instant. Elizabeth pointed to the entry as Lord Bloxley read it out loud.

“Elizabeth Doyle. Baptized October 29, 1767. Father: Cyrus Doyle. Mother: Mary Doyle. Age: About two years.”

“About two years,” Lord Langton repeated. “They did not know. They were guessing at her age.”

“They were indeed,” Lord Bloxley said. “And for a churchgoing woman, that is quite a time to wait before baptizing a child—unless the child had been with her for only a few weeks.”

Elizabeth gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white. It was true, then. She was not Cyrus and Mary Doyle’s daughter; she was the orphaned child of Frederick and Isabella Allerton. But how? How had she come to be at the inn?

“I must speak to my fa—” She caught herself, and a load she’d not known she was carrying lifted off her shoulders. Never again would she need to call the vile innkeeper her father. “I must speak to Cyrus Doyle. Only he can tell us how this came about.”

Lord Langton frowned. “He’s not a rational man, Miss—” Then he, too, paused as the significance of the baptismal record truly hit him. “Miss Allerton,” he said slowly. At his side, Lord Bloxley grinned. “Who knows what he would do if you were to reappear at the inn. Bloxley and I can question him this evening.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I must do this myself, my lord.” She stepped away from the table, her hands in fists. “I must know why my life was spared when so many others were taken, why I was raised never knowing that I was not Mary Doyle’s child by birth.”

“She has a right to ask those questions of him herself, Langton,” Lord Bloxley said. “And the best time for her to do it would be with us at her side.”

The viscount paced across the room and back. “To say that Doyle is an unscrupulous villain would be an understatement, Bloxley.”

“I believe you,” the earl said. “And once she’s heard him say his piece, she’ll have no need to ever see him again.”

Grateful for the earl’s unexpected support, Elizabeth watched the emotions play out across the viscount’s face. She understood his reluctance. Truth be told, she was terrified of facing the man who had treated her no better than a slave most of her life and who had had no qualms about kidnapping her, injuring her, and selling her to the magistrate. She was well aware that she may gain nothing from confronting the man, but the reverse was also true. She might miss out on much-needed information and understanding if she was unwilling to try.

“You are not to go anywhere with him alone,” Lord Langton said.

“Yes, my lord.”

He gave a defeated sigh. “Very well. But we must make haste. If we are to tackle Doyle about your past, it must be done before the smugglers’ ship comes in and before the Midnight Master and the Bow Street runners make their appearance.”

Chapter 25

The Fox and Hare’s courtyard was unusually quiet as the earl’s driver guided the horses back onto the London road after dropping off Jonas, Alexander, and Miss Allerton. They had determined that the Bloxley carriage was too conspicuous to leave parked in front of the inn all evening. There could be no hint that either Jonas or Alexander had been here when Forwood arrived. All being well, once the Bow Street men appeared, either Jonas or Alexander could ride out to their designated meeting place at the inn in the neighboring village of Lydden Green and retrieve the conveyance so Miss Allerton could be taken to Langton House.

“Are you ready, Miss Allerton?”

Jonas turned from watching the disappearing carriage to see Alexander offer the young woman beside him his arm. He bit back his irritation. Now that they’d all but determined that Miss Doyle was actually Miss Allerton, he should not begrudge the earl the chance to escort his own cousin, even if Jonas would rather the honor fell to him.

Her eyes flickered his direction. He gave her a small smile, and she responded in kind. It was likely wishful thinking, but he did wonder if she would have felt more comfortable walking into the establishment on his arm.