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Without you, Emeline, my life would have been a spinster’s meaningless, lonely existence, and although the reasons why I came to raise you were difficult, please know that I’ve treasured every day you’ve been a part of my life.

A tear dribbled down her cheek.

How often had she’d questioned if Aunt Jeneva held her in any regard? She’d always felt a burden to her aunt, but now she knew beyond a doubt that Aunt Jeneva had loved her in her own way. Sensing her distress, Prince crawled nearer and laid his big head in her lap, gazing at her with soulful eyes.

“I’m all right,” she said, more to convince herself than the docile dog.

Sniffing, she blinked to clear her vision and read on.

I wish I could end this letter on a positive note and tell you to be happy and to live your dreams, but you must be made aware that you have a younger half-brother, Jean Claude Gagneux.

Jaw slack, Emeline’s heart welled with joy. A brother? She wasn’t alone, after all.

He is not a good man, and that is why I encouraged you to marry a distant cousin in France.

Her euphoria dissolved as swiftly as salt in cock-a-leekie soup.

I have corresponded with our distant cousin, Pierre Durpreiz, intermittently over the years and hoped he could protect you in ways I could not. He is not aware I suggested a union between you, but if you should ever need help for any reason, do not hesitate to contact him. He will aid you in any way he can. He told me as much in his last letter.

I’m sure you’ve also found the second box. It contains several very important documents that only recently came into my possession. Pierre sent them, believing you should know the truth of your birth. I don’t know how he came to have them, but he was a good friend of your father’s. I can only conclude your father wanted you to have them and asked Pierre to assist in that endeavor.

I beg you to forgive me for not telling you. I was selfish and didn’t want to lose you. Live well, Emeline. You’ve been an exquisite gift, and I have loved you.

Aunt Jeneva

Great fat tears fell in earnest now, cascading down Emeline’s cheeks, and she fumbled for her handkerchief. She pressed the small square to her mouth. Shoulders quaking, she buried her face in Prince’s neck, weeping for the aunt who’d never told her she loved her until she did so in a letter after her death. Several minutes ticked past until she wrestled her grief under control. Giving a final shuddery sob, she sat up and dabbed her face with her sodden hankie.

Aunt Jeneva’s letter hadn’t only intensified her curiosity, but magnified her dread, too.

“I have a brother.” A not-so-nice brother, according to her aunt.

Emeline eyed the stack of letters tied together by a faded green ribbon. She’d reached to untie the silk tie, but the metal box beckoned. Shifting her position, she gingerly lifted the lid. An ordinary looking packet wrapped in brown leather lay inside.

Once more, Prince had spread out on the coverlet and succumbed to sleep.

She undid the string holding the rectangle tight and unfurled the leather. The scent of leather, ink, and parchment wafted upward. The first parchment named Tron Parish where a marriage record between Madeleine LeClaire and Antoine Gagneux could be located.

Emeline sucked in a ragged breath, nearly dropping the parchment as she reread the flourishing script.

Oh, my God and all the angels.

Her parents had been married. She wasn’t illegitimate.

She knew exactly where Christ’s Kirk at the Tron was. That’s where she and Aunt Jeneva attended Sunday services. Could it be true? Could the very same parish she’d been in so many times contain the record of her parents’ marriage?

Why, then, hadn’t her father ever acknowledged her?

She wrinkled her forehead, more confused than ever.

Was this why Aunt Jeneva had asked for her forgiveness? For keeping this monumental secret? At one time, Emeline would’ve been furious at Aunt Jeneva for this deception. Now, after everything that had occurred, she couldn’t bring herself to be angry at her aunt.

Brows pulled together, Emeline unfurled the next document. It contained the name of a solicitor in France who had a copy of Monsieur Antoine Gagneux’s Last Will and Testament. According to the scribbled note, as Gagneux’s only legitimate heir, she’d been named the sole beneficiary of his substantial estate.

Her lungs stalled as she absorbed the last line.

Och, now that is certainly reason for someone—likely my brother—to want me disposed of.

Heart pounding and her head reeling from what she’d learned, she picked up one of the two letters between her thumb and forefinger. She didn’t recognize the scrawling penmanship, yet she knew with absolute certainty her father had written it.