Sheffield regarded Mallory with thinly veiled contempt. “Your brother’s children are alive. Surely that should be a cause for celebration.”
Mallory scrubbed his hand over his face before weaving unsteadily to a chair. Dropping onto the seat, he dipped his chin. “Of course. This is just a shock. I can’t… I can’t fully comprehend that after all this time, they’re here.” He looked to Rafe, then to Selina. “Your father would be so happy to know you lived. How on earth did you manage to survive?” He paused to take a breath. “Do you remember the fire?”
Selina shook her head, but Rafe answered, “I remember smoke, and I remember being carried away.” That was all he wanted to say at the moment. He had too many other questions. And now he was not only desperate to visit that church in Croydon, but he fervently hoped there would be something to learn there.
“Who carried you?” Lady Burnhope—good Lord, his cousin—asked. She crossed her arms tightly across her chest, surveying Rafe and Selina as if they were frauds. Which they were. Or had been. Or…not.
Fuck, he didn’t know who he was. He couldn’t imagine Selina was faring much better. A look toward her confirmed his belief—she was pressed snug against her husband’s side, her face drawn, and her gaze icy. He followed the direction and saw that she glared at Lady Burnhope.
“Our nurse,” Rafe answered tersely. He stood on Selina’s other side and edged closer to her. “What is troubling to me is why our nurse would take us away, change our surname, and not tell anyone she saved us.” God, had that woman, whom he barely remembered, even been their nurse? Yes. That much he knew. He remembered the young woman with her nearly black hair and the small brown spot on her cheek. “She used to sing to Selina.”
“Lavender Blue,” Selina whispered.
Rafe turned his head to stare at her. “Yes.” Selina had barely spoken until she was probably four, but she’d sung. “That was your favorite song.”
A tear tracked down Selina’s cheek. She hastily brushed it away, her expression stoic even as Rafe saw the emotion quivering beneath.
“It sounds as though the nurse stole you away,” Mrs. Gentry said, her expression stricken, then softening. “What happened after she took you? You’ve certainly ended up quite well.” There was a note of pride in her voice that almost made him smile.
“Yes, they did,” Lady Burnhope said dubiously. “I always wondered how a girl who said she was from East London could possibly afford to attend Mrs. Goodwin’s Ladies’ Seminary.”
Rafe moved closer to Selina and brushed his hand against the small of her back. That’s how this shrew—their bloody cousin—knew her. And Selina had told her she was from East London?
“If you’ll excuse us,” Sheffield said, coming to the rescue. “This has been most overwhelming. There will be time to share stories and sort out the particulars. With the parliamentary session drawing to a close, my brother-in-law will wish to submit the necessary information to the Prince Regent and the attorney general so that the Committee for Privileges may recognize him as the Earl of Stone with due haste.”
Rafe had no idea how any of this worked.
“They’ll ask him to prove his birth,” Mallory said.
“The evidence will include his memory of living here and of being rescued from the fire. Mrs. Gentry and other employees here and at Stonehaven will give testimony as to his identity. You’ll agree the orange mark in his eye is singular proof.” Sheffield’s commanding tone made Rafe grateful for the man’s authority. The constable pierced Mallory with a probing stare. “Do you doubt he is your nephew and she is your niece?”
Mallory hesitated only a brief moment before shaking his head. “I do not.”
“I understand this is a shock,” Sheffield continued more gently. “Why don’t you join us for dinner in Cavendish Square on Monday evening? We’ll continue this discussion and make plans for a transition after everyone’s had a chance to process this revelation.”
“We’ll be there,” Mallory said, sounding defeated.
Sheffield inclined his head before escorting Selina from the room.
Rafe looked to Mallory. “Uncle.” He bowed his head and, turning, allowed his gaze to linger on Anne. She stood somewhat near her godfather—it suddenly permeated Rafe’s mind that this woman he couldn’t forget was tied to his family—her features taut but her eyes bright and earnest as she stared at him.
Tearing his attention from her, he thanked Mrs. Gentry and followed his sister and brother-in-law out.
The three of them said nothing until they were situated in Rafe’s coach. As soon as the vehicle started moving along the drive, Selina turned her body toward the window and looked out into the rain. “My God. This was our house.”
“Is our house,” Rafe corrected.
“Your house,” Sheffield said softly. He took Selina’s hand as she settled back against the squab.
“I can’t believe that awful Deborah Mallory is our cousin.” She made a face of disgust. “I can’t believe any of it, but that part is truly dreadful. Beatrix will be horrified.”
“You told Deborah you were from East London?” Rafe asked.
Selina lifted a shoulder. “She was nasty to Beatrix because she was a bastard. Deborah took every opportunity to flaunt her superiority and wealth. I think it bothered her immensely that Beatrix’s father was a duke while hers was only an earl.” A giggle jumped from her lips, surprising Rafe—and Sheffield, whose eyes widened briefly. “And her father isn’t actually an earl.” She looked at Rafe in wonder. “You are. Lord Stone.” She laughed again, a purely joyous sound.
Sheffield turned to his wife. “And you are Lady Selina.”
“Oh, Deborah will hate that.” Selina’s eyes sparkled with glee.
Sheffield wiped his hand over his face, smiling. “This is an incredible turn of events.” He sobered as he regarded his wife. “Are you truly all right?”
“I will be.” She briefly rested her head against his shoulder as she looked across the coach at
