Page 3

One

“The aim of the wise is not to secure pleasure, but to avoid pain. ”

Aristotle

Aidan had not slept for the past two nights. Lily’s encounter with the footman had been a rude awakening, a mortifying reflection of his own negligence. The thought of harm befalling his sister was more than he could bear, which was why he now sat in Filminster’s study for the third time in as many days.

The room carried the scent of aged leather and the faintest whiff of pipe smoke. Heavy drapes, slightly parted, allowed diffused morning light to fall across dark wood paneling and a towering bookcase lined with calf-bound volumes. A ticking bracket clock on the mantel marked the tension with each precise beat.

“I need your help.”

Filminster’s declaration punctuated the silence like a dropped decanter, shattering Aidan’s fixed gaze.

Aidan straightened in his seat on the embroidered settee, eager to assist. The helplessness clawing at his chest had grown intolerable. Any action, however minor, would be preferable to the gnawing guilt that shadowed his every thought.

Across from him lounged the fool, Lord Julius Trafford, in his usual ostentatious attire. The sheen of purple silk caught the muted light as he stretched his legs across a delicate footstool, utterly unbothered by his surroundings. Aidan’s brother-in-law, meanwhile, stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back, silhouetted against the gauzy curtain.

“What has happened? Is Lily safe?” Aidan’s voice cracked with urgency. He had been drowning in guilt since abandoning his sister, as though every misfortune that unfolded stemmed from that single wretched decision.

“I have discovered the letter that my … father … wrote. I now know what led to his murder on the night of the coronation.”

Lord Trafford flicked at the lapel of his coat, the emerald in his pinky ring catching the light like a flare. He purred in a supercilious tone, “Your father … or your uncle?”

Filminster turned from the window to scowl at his friend. “You know of that?”

Trafford arched one brow in lieu of reply. Aidan leaned forward, his brows drawing tight with indignation. “What is Trafford talking about?”

Filminster sighed. “I suppose the gossip has been circulating, so I might as well speak the truth … The late baron was my uncle who married my mother to save the family from shame. My true father, his elder brother, died weeks before the wedding.”

Aidan pulled a face at this unsavory disclosure. “Faugh!”

His brother-in-law chuckled dryly. “Just so.”

“May I read the letter?” Trafford had straightened from his lounging position. His indolent air had evaporated, and Aidan glimpsed for a moment what it was that Filminster appreciated about his dolt of a friend.

Filminster pulled a folded page from inside his coat, walking over and handing it to Trafford to read. Aidan watched intently, noting that the other honorary lord, heir to the Earl of Stirling, grew solemn. Trafford whistled through his teeth, looking up to shake his head in disbelief, his affectation of wheat curls bouncing over his cropped brown hair. “This provides a serious motive for murder. This is both wealth and power at stake.”

Aidan held out his hand expectantly, and Trafford handed the letter to him without comment. It was covered in splotches of ink, which effectively censored some of the words, as if a censor had taken a quill to it. The parchment was slightly yellowed at the corners and smelled faintly of dust and iron gall ink. But what he read made his blood run cold.

Sir Robert Peel

London, July 19, 1821

Sir,

It has come - - my attention that the true heir to Lord - - - - - - - - has not been acknowledged.

I was speaking with his lordship before the coronation, and he informed me of his recent bout of ill health. He spoke fondly of his youngest brother, informing - - of his strength, intelligence, and wit at great length. There was no mention of his lordship’s middle brother, Peter, who you may be aware died near twenty years - - -.

Peter and I attended Oxford together, - - - his death was tragic - - - unexp- - - - -. I have thought of him often over the years, which is why I feel the need to pass this information - - - - - -u.

Before departing England, Peter married a wom- - of Catholic descent. She convert- - - - - - - - - were married - - - - - Church of England, before leaving our shores. I maintained correspondence with him until his death. He had written just months before his death to inform me of the birth of his son.

I cannot say for certain where the boy and his mother are - - - - - all these years, but he would be the true heir and I implore you to look into th- - matter. - - - - - - - - - is the true heir to the title of - - - - - and his father’s legacy cannot be ignored.

I understand the trials of being a second son, and I cann- - allow this matter to stand. Whether - - - - terrible injustice is a mistake due to ignorance of the child Peter sired, or a deliberate obfuscation of the facts, I must speak on my friend’s behalf. His son is the true heir and must be found immediately. I will locate our shared correspondence when I return to Somerset and have them forwarded to - - - - - - - - - - -

J. Ridley, Baron of Filminster