Page 47

Inhaling a bracing breath, she broke the wax seal. A seal that exactly matched the emblem on the ring and the etching on the satinwood box. Additional proof of her heritage.

While she mightn’t be able to muster anger for her aunt’s deception, molten anger and frustration simmered beneath the surface for the cowardly man who’d sired her.

It further raised her ire that she should care. That this man she didn’t know could cause such an unwelcome and unfamiliar reaction.

Didn’t this letter prove he knew of her existence?

Yet not once in over four and twenty years had he made a single effort to contact her.

Why?

Jaw clamped to still the weird chattering of her teeth, Emeline read the letter. Exhaling her breath in a whoosh, she flopped back onto her pillows in disbelief.

She’d never have guessed the truth. Never.

Her father had loved her mother. They’d secretly married in Scotland, because his family didn’t approve of a disgraced comte’s impoverished daughter for their son. Vowing to return, he’d left Mama with Aunt Jeneva and ventured home to tell his family the joyous news.

He hadn’t kept his promise.

He’d never returned. The unconscionable bounder.

Evidently, Antoine Gagneux had led a very privileged life and had wrongly assumed as the cherished only son, his family would come around and accept Mama as his wife.

However, threatened with disinheritance and banishment, he’d committed bigamy and conceded to an arranged marriage to a duke’s daughter. He’d sired two children with her: Jean Claude, two and twenty, and Jeannette, eighteen.

I have a sister, too.

Was she of the same caliber as their brother?

Sadness twisted Emeline’s belly. Her whole life she’d longed to know something of her father, and such overwhelming disappointment flooded her to learn he was a poltroon of the worst sort.

He’d been aware of Emeline’s birth through his lifelong friend, Pierre. Weakling that he was, however, Gagneux hadn’t the courage to contact her. Dear cowardly Papa hadna the valor of a turnip or a cabbage, it seems. Besides, indulged and selfish, he’d suspected how infuriated Jean Claude would be to discover the truth.

How could Jean Claude not be furious? He’d expected to inherit.

So, these many years, Emeline’s father had kept his despicable secret.

“What a bounder,” she grumbled, causing Prince’s tail to thump once. “Ye like that, do ye?”

Bounder. Cur. Blackguard. Coward. She was sorely pressed to summon a single positive moniker for her sire.

Haunted by his abandonment of Mama and her, he’d vowed to make it right and changed his will when his wife had died five years ago. By providing proof he’d been married before he exchanged vows in France, he’d relegated his other children to the status of bastards.

That had to have been awful for them. Unless—

Perhaps, it wasn’t public knowledge yet. Could that be why she’d been targeted?

More befuddled and bewildered than she’d ever been, she shook her head. Not only wasn’t she illegitimate, she was an heiress. She couldn’t find a great deal of compassion for a man who was so feeble in character, he deserted his wife and committed bigamy.

All because he hadn’t loved Mama more than his wealth and position.

Scant doubt remained who had the most to gain if she were dead. She remembered the second letter. Without rising, she stretched to clasp the crisp paper addressed to her. A distinctly feminine hand met her wary perusal.

The missive was short, but incredibly sweet. Jeannette was thrilled to learn she had an older sister and hoped they could meet soon. She apologized for their father’s dishonorable behavior and prayed one day Emeline could forgive him. She also hoped Emeline knew she didn’t begrudge her the inheritance. The flourishing inscription read:

Your adoring sister,

Jeannette