I searched my memories and the many conversations Ginny and I had.
“Who raised you as a child?”
“My aunt took care of me. Well, she wasn’t exactly my aunt, but that’s what I called her. She taught me German.”
Had she been an illegitimate child, who had been newly discovered by her family? But Constable Jones hadn’t claimed she was illegitimate.
“How old were you when your aunt Helen died?”
Her brows drew together. “Thirteen…no, twelve.”
“How did you survive?”
“The neighborhood protected me for a couple years. I took turns sleeping on the floors of homes. Helping around the houses for food and a roof.”
“And then?”
“And then…I became an adult.”
There were illegitimate children all over England. Their identities and lineage never to be known. It was the only possibility. One didn’t just misplace a sister, for no reason. But then hadn’t Lady Whitfield mentioned her in the park?
“She was my husband’s sister.”
“Was?” I’d asked. “What happened?”
“Yes, well…”
Lord Whitfield’s sister. The drawing that had looked like Ginny as a child. A child everyone assumed had died. Why the bloody hell had they thought her dead?
“Isn’t she wonderful?” Miranda had called out. “Miss Lamier? You must visit her, before everyone in London is vying for her attention. That’s where you’ve seen her, Gabriel. The girl in the drawing, she looks like Miss Lamier’s assistant.”
Hell, whether it was true or not, they believed that Ginny was Lord Whitfield’s sister. Ginny was the daughter of an earl. I sank into the chair behind my desk. If they were correct, if those rumors were true, Ginny was at Lord Whitfield’s estate even now.
My heart flip-flopped wildly in my chest. I knew where she’d gone. Knew where she was hiding. I’d found her. After all these months, wondering, waiting, I finally had the answer I’d been desperate to know. “Bleedin hell.”
“Why, that’s no way for a lord to talk.” Chris sauntered into the library, looking disheveled and weary. “What has you so upset, brother?”
I didn’t bother to respond, barely glanced at him. “Alfred!”
Immediately, the old man appeared, as if he’d conjured from thin air. “Yes, my lord?”
I surged to my feet, eager to leave, despite the ice that covered the lane. I’d chance it. Hell, I’d chance blizzards, floods, hurricanes to get to her. “Pack my bags.”
“Yes, my lord. For how long?”
“At least a fortnight.”
He bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
“Why are you still searching for her, Gabe?”
Chris was reading the paperwork Constable Jones had left on my desk. Damn him, it was none of his business. I snatched the paperwork from the desk and slid it into the top drawer. “She has my child.”
I locked the drawer.
Forget her, my mind had told me over and over. Forget Ginny.
But I couldn’t.
He rolled his eyes and collapsed into a chair. “A mere daughter, and a bastard at that.”
I clenched my jaw, refusing to react. He reeked of the clubs. Hell, was I as pathetic as my brother? No doubt Ginny thought so. I would prove her wrong. I must. “Drinking again so early?”
“Why not? Nothing else to do.”
“Your marriage with Miranda not going well?”
“Wonderfully! A brilliant success.” He leaned his head back and laughed, a manic laugh. “Thanks to you.”
My hands curled. “Don’t blame me because you fucked my fiancé.”
He frowned, glaring at me. “Give up your search, Gabe. Marry a lovely, titled lady like you were supposed to. Carry on that family name.”
How desperately I’d tried. Suddenly, it all made sense. If I stayed, if I married another woman like Miranda, I would end up as desolate as Christopher. Like most of my acquaintances. A life with privilege, but of no substance. Miserable. Numbing the pain with drink. Women. I’d thought I’d gotten lucky when my father had inherited my uncle’s title. That my life would change for the better. But I’d gotten lucky when I’d run into Ginny at the Landcaster library. She’d changed my life for the better.
“I’m leaving.” I started to the door. “Stay if you wish.”
“Just to warn you, Mother is planning to visit to discuss possible future wives.”
“Unfortunately, I won’t be here.”
“Where are you going?” Chris demanded.
“Bath.”
“It’s not the season. What the bloody hell is in bath?”
“Everything.”
Chapter Two
Ginny
It was a strange experience indeed to be standing in a ballroom decorated with Christmas flare, including a massive fir tree covered with beautiful glass ornaments and glowing candles, but not to be peeking from behind curtains as a maid. In fact, to be at a ball that centered around me felt absurd.