Guy laughed. He sat down opposite his father, stretching his legs out towards the grate. A fire burned there and its warmth was comforting.
‘I am here now, sir, and don’t intend to go travelling again!’
The fierce black gaze looked him over. ‘You look well enough on it, I suppose,’ the Earl said. ‘A bad business, though. Must have had its nasty moments.’
‘Yes, sir, although there were none when I thought I would not see my home again!’
‘You were lucky,’ the Earl said unemotionally. ‘The quacks tell me I shouldn’t touch this stuff,’ he added, tilting the brandy glass to his lips with evident enjoyment, ‘but it makes no odds now.’
‘I expect it helps sometimes.’
The Earl gave him a sharp look. ‘No fool, are you, boy? You know I’m dying. No…’ he made a gesture as Guy shifted uncomfortably ‘…denials are for the women and the medical men. I know the truth. It’s one of the reasons I wanted you back here.’
‘Of course. You know that I will do anything in my power—’
The Earl put his glass down with a hand that was not quite steady. ‘There is something I have to ask of you, Guy, a particular commission before you can come home for good and settle down. Set up your nursery, perhaps.’ There was a glint of a smile. ‘It pains me to send you away no sooner than you arrive, but I have no choice.’
Guy made a slight gesture, at a loss. ‘Name your commission, sir. I will undertake it.’
‘In a moment.’ The Earl turned aside, picking a letter from the table at his elbow. ‘Tell me, what is the nature of the quarrel between you and Miss Sarah Sheridan?’
Guy met his father’s quizzical gaze. ‘Forgive me, sir, but I do not wish to discuss it. It is…a personal matter.’
‘I see,’ the Earl said slowly. ‘Can it be anything to do with her intention to return to her home at Blanchland? I take it that that is her destination tomorrow?’
Guy jumped. Some brandy spilled. From early childhood his father had had an uncanny knack of reading his mind and the young Guy had sometimes wondered whether the Earl had supernatural powers. Their eyes met. Guy had always found it impossible to lie to his father.
‘Devil take it, sir, how can you possibly know that? I cannot believe that Miss Sheridan would have mentioned it—’
‘She did not,’ the Earl confirmed with a smile. ‘In point of fact, she refused to tell me the difficulties that afflict your relationship. I take it that I am correct in thinking that you wish to marry the lady?’
Guy grinned reluctantly at his father’s perspicacity. ‘Yes, sir. You mentioned earlier that you wished to see me settle down…Well, almost as soon as I met Miss Sheridan I had such thoughts, for all that I had known her so short a while.’ He shifted in his seat. ‘They were thoughts quite alien to the lifestyle of a rake!’
‘It happens to us all sooner or later,’ his father said drily. ‘But you quarrelled—over Blanchland?’
Guy shifted slightly again. ‘More or less. I thought that her decision to go there reflected ill on her character and judgement. I said some terrible things to her, for which I am truly ashamed. When I had had chance to reconsider, I realised that I might have misjudged her, and apologised. But still she refuses to tell me the reason for her decision—’
‘I believe that I may throw some light on that,’ the Earl said, surprisingly. ‘You had better read this letter now.’
Guy took the proffered sheets with a certain curiosity. He had no notion what to expect, but now he saw that it was in a gentleman’s hand and read the signature as that of Francis Sheridan. He remembered Sarah telling him that her quest to Blanchland was in connection with her brother and frowned.
‘But Frank Sheridan…’
‘Yes, he has been dead these three years,’ the Earl agreed readily. ‘Unusual, is it not! There was a covering note from the lawyer…’ He passed it over.
Julius Churchward’s note was brief and to the point. A situation had arisen that had prompted him to send the enclosed letter to the Earl. He was confident that the letter from Lord Sheridan would be self-explanatory, but he felt that he should add that Miss Sarah Sheridan had also been given a letter from her late brother. He remained his lordship’s humble servant, etcetera. Guy raised his eyebrows.
‘As clear as day!’
The Earl laughed. ‘Read the letter, Guy.’
Guy settled back in his chair and scanned the sheets with close interest.
Dear Sir
I am conscious that you will find it most odd in me to be communicating with you from beyond the grave, but I find I must. I am compelled to contact you to ask that you do me a service, not for my own sake—I know your feelings on that matter only too well!—but for the sake of my sister, and indeed to aid your own grandchild.
Guy looked up, his gaze suddenly startled, but the Earl’s expression was hooded. ‘Finish the letter, boy.’
At the time of writing, Miss Meredith is fifteen years old and attending a seminary in Oxford. She is a pretty, behaved girl who has never caused either myself or her adoptive parents any concern. I have no reason to suppose that she will not progress from her school to make a suitable and entirely respectable marriage in the fullness of time. I only wish I had the means to ensure it. Unhappily I cannot. I am dying and I am aware that that will leave Miss Meredith and her parents without the security that my family has been able to provide, albeit at a distance, for all of her life.
I could think of only one plan. I have instructed Dr Meredith and his wife that if ever their daughter is in great need, they should contact Julius Churchward. They are good people and I am persuaded would only resort to this if the need was genuine and severe. Once Churchward receives any communication from them, he is to contact Sarah and acquaint her with the problem.
I have thought much about asking my sister to go to the aid of my natural daughter. It is most irregular. I should, of course, have made the request to you directly, sir, but the truth is that I did not dare. You made your feelings for me quite plain all those years ago and even now I know that you cannot forgive me.
But now I am beseeching you, for the sake of the love you bear Sarah as her godfather, to stand her friend. Her innate goodness will prompt her to do what is right, but she may be in need of protection. And I commend Miss Meredith to you as an innocent child who does not deserve to suffer for her father’s faults. Forgive me for my presumption. I can only add that if you see fit to answer my request I will be forever thanking you for your kindness.
Francis Sheridan.
Guy put down the pages of closely written words and reached for the brandy decanter again.
‘I see,’ he said slowly. ‘Miss Sheridan goes to Blanchland at her brother’s request to aid his natural daughter.’ He met his father’s sardonic gaze. ‘What do you wish to tell me about the detail of this letter, sir?’
The Earl gave a rueful shrug. ‘How do you read it?’
Guy’s gaze narrowed. ‘That you have a grandchild whom, for reasons of which I am unaware, you have chosen not to acknowledge. To say that I am astounded would be to understate the case. And if Frank Sheridan was her father, then who—?’
‘You have—you had—three sisters, Guy.’
‘Yes, but—’ Guy was aware that he sounded incredulous ‘—you imply that Catherine had Frank Sheridan’s child? But she was only sixteen when she died…She died of a fever—’
‘Childbirth fever,’ the Earl said heavily. Suddenly he looked old and tired. ‘You