The festivities ended an hour later when Lady Seymore’s mother fell asleep in the drawing room and shattered a bottle of ratafia. Guests used the accident as a reason for their departure and escaped the clergyman before he read his sermons.
Why did Admiral Gipson bother to attend the party? He lives in Dorset, a two-week’s ride from Atteberry, unless he is staying nearby.
Josephine, I feel the truth, but to give it words is to breathe life into it. Regardless of how I wish to perceive intentions, Admiral Gipson’s motives appeared quite clear. He came to Atteberry for reasons involving me.
Father bequeathed his heir ten thousand pounds per year, money derived from the Roch aristocratic lineage and success in trade. The sum puts a target on my back.
I am not afflicted with false modesty, so believe me when I say I am unable to endure another tribulation. My vigour fades like a covered flame, shrinking from gold to muted blue. If relatives come to brawl for my fortune, I may very well give it to them.
Lorelai went to stay with Mary Rose for several weeks, claiming my house reminded her too much of Arthur. She promised to return by August, but I think she may venture south instead, perhaps to visit Mr. O’Connor in London. Cadwallader does not seem a kind place, especially now. I expect to see Arthur whenever I enter the dining room. I sit in silence, waiting for his music to echo up the stairwell. Each day without him drives me closer to madness. Lorelai must sense that darkness too. She would do well to leave Atteberry.
Without her presence, I can barely tolerate the house. I paint alone. I eat alone. I go downstairs to the servants’ quarters and play cards with Mrs. Dunstable so I won’t die from boredom. Even reading and writing seem more solitary than before.
The carriage slows, which means we’re nearing Cadwallader. I best conclude this letter before my driver finds me crouched on the floorboard, surrounded by stationery.
Elias
P.S. I am inclined to saddle Willoughby and ride to where I met you. Of course, you will not be there, but I must do something. I have spent months in pursuit of your address. I have written to people all over England, and no one seems to know your whereabouts or if you exist.
July 19, 1821
Dearest Josephine,
A messenger called this morning. He brought a letter from the town courthouse.
One glance at the wax insignia confirmed my suspicions. I tore open the letter and removed a summons. Apparently my cousin Thomas Roch has contested Father’s will, alleging I forced Lord Roch to sign the document and thus committed fraud. He also claimed Lady Roch did not sign as a witness, which poses another reason to nullify the terms. Now, according to common law, I must hire a solicitor and appear before a judge.
Surely Admiral Gipson encouraged my cousin to pursue legal action, perhaps for a portion of the inheritance. I assume they believe a court will rule in their favour due to my illegitimate birth. If they secure the right judge, their notions may prove correct.
My cousin believes himself the rightful heir to the Roch fortune. Pray tell, should I concede before the trouble begins? I could leave Cadwallader once and for all, maybe purchase a cottage near the coast. I like the sea, and a change of scenery may put the past behind me.
No, I cannot yield. Admiral Gipson and Thomas Roch declared war against my honour, so I must fight for what is mine. I will not be snuffed out.
Yours ever,
Elias
P.S. I completed the fourth chapter of my novel.
July 23, 1821
Dearest Josephine,
Yesterday I rode Willoughby into town and met with a solicitor whom Lady Seymore recommended. He promised to hire a top-notch barrister to vouch for me. Still, with two months until the first hearing, I seem to have no advantage. The circuit court plays favourites.
I am hardly anyone’s favourite.
Mother feared this day might come. She took me aside one Christmas morning when I was six years of age. I do not know what prompted her concern, but she said, “When you’re older, somebody may try to steal from you—to hurt you—because Lord Roch wants to give you a good life. Promise you’ll treat them with kindness, for the moment you strip someone of their humanity is the moment you lose your own.”
She encouraged me to live beyond reproach despite our circumstance. I tell a happier story in my book, but reality was not so gentle. Mother and I suffered, and through it all she forgave and clung to faith. Her words echo within me now as I prepare for the trials to come.
Admiral Gipson and Thomas Roch believe the case a sure win. However, I am not without connections. I’ll write to my father’s lawyers and request their legal advice. Who knows? Perhaps I’ll manage to gather enough proof to support my claim.
In other news, Lorelai returns tomorrow. Her letters say Mary Rose lifted her spirits, and she plans to travel home in a fortnight. I’ve yet to tell her about the court case, though. She tends to stick around when there’s trouble.
Yours ever,
Elias
July 26, 1821
Dearest Josephine,
Lorelai returned to Cadwallader. Upon arrival, she rushed to my study and entered without a knock or greeting. I suspect Mrs. Dunstable informed her about the case, for she gazed at me with tears in her eyes, her lips pinched into a scowl. She fussed at me for not sending word. Then she enquired about my health and what needed to be done.
Nothing I said pacified her. She rolled up her sleeves and went to work, sorting through documents, ordering the staff to open windows and bring in flowers. She claimed the manor was too dark and musty, so she asked Mrs. Dunstable to
