obvious these past few days is the affection with which Bethany holds our uncle.” He sounded disgusted by the fact.
“I have told you why that is.”
“Because, murdering bastard that he is, she believes he is the last member of her family still alive.”
“It is that very affection they hold for each other which has assured you Bethany was safe all these years,” he reminded gently. “Her feelings will change once she knows your uncle tried to have you murdered ten years ago.”
“I sincerely hope so.” James still frowned.
“They will.” He knew Bethany well enough to state that with complete certainty. She was a woman in possession of a deep sense of what was fair and just. That included the manner in which the smugglers helped to ease the dire situation of the poor in the area. Julius had no doubts that once Bethany knew the facts, she would consider it totally unfair and unjust for her uncle to have attempted to have her beloved brother murdered.
James nodded. “Are you going to actually read those letters in your hand, or merely continue to look at them?”
Julius winced. “Before I do that, there is a…suspicion I have that I need to share with you.” He had hoped to look at the letters alone, but appreciated there was now no way James would allow him to do that.
The younger man eyed him warily. “What sort of suspicion?”
Julius released a controlled breath. “It concerns your sister.”
James looked more puzzled than wary. “I do not understand.” He stepped closer so he could look at the front of the letters. “They are all addressed to my mother, but I do not recognize the handwriting.”
Julius’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t?”
James gave the writing another glance. “No. Should I?”
“I had assumed… These letters were not written by your uncle?”
“His writing is big and scrawling, almost illegible, whereas this is smaller and neater and easily read.” He looked up at Julius. “What possible reason would he have had to write to my mother rather than my father or both of them?”
Why indeed, Julius acknowledged, wondering if he had not completely misread this situation.
He would only learn the answer to that by reading the letters.
He unfolded the first of them to see the date at the top of it written in that clear script: 5th August, 1799.
The signature at the bottom was equally as clear and caused Julius to draw in a sharp breath.
Was it possible?
He had not imagined…
The thought had never occurred to him…
Yes, it had, damn it, and he had dismissed the possibility before they even arrived here.
But a single glance at that signature at the bottom of the letter was enough to dispel any of Julius’s previous suppositions or suspicions and create new ones.
Because the contents of these letters could confirm a truth that filled him with elation for one of his friends and despair for another.
“What is it?” James prompted sharply. “Who is Lady Elizabeth Templeton, and why were her letters to my mother hidden away? Julius!” he snapped when he again received no answer to his question.
Because Julius had no idea what answer to give his young friend.
Chapter Fourteen
In the end Julius decided it would for the best if they both to read the letters before jumping to conclusions.
Although the fact that the letters from Lady Elizabeth Templeton, estranged daughter of the previous Duke of Blackborne, to Lady Henrietta Metford, Countess of Ipswich, had been hidden away from prying eyes all these years was indication enough they were, in all likelihood, not ordinary letters written by one female friend to another.
Besides which, twenty years ago, Julius’s friend, Gabriel Templeton, aged only twelve at the time, had returned from the holidays absolutely devastated because his father, the then Duke of Blackborne, had disowned and cast out his beloved sister, nineteen-year-old Elizabeth. She was expecting a child, but was unmarried. Worse, as the child she carried was that of a married man, there could be no hasty wedding to hide the disgrace. The duke, a hard and implacable man, had instead decided to disown his daughter and cut her off completely.
Gabriel had never forgiven his father, and once he reached the age of eighteen, he had begun his own search for his sister. A search that had proved fruitless until a few weeks ago, when Gabriel learned that Elizabeth had died in childbirth, her lover had gone mad with grief and now resided in a French asylum, and the child, a girl, had completely disappeared. Gabriel was in