He was a bloody earl.
“I doubt Mallory or Lady Burnhope will disclose what’s happened,” Harry said. “I suppose the housekeeper will tell the other employees, and it’s possible the news could spread that way. I’d say you should be prepared for anything.” He looked to Rafe. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to tell my father and brother right away so they can also lend their support. You will need all the well-placed friends you can get.”
Rafe’s mind spun. “Thank you.”
“Rafe, what will you say about your past?” Selina asked quietly. “You’ve been rather vague.”
He had to be. Raphael Bowles hadn’t existed until this spring. Before that, Rafe had been a criminal, an orphan of London’s East End. Thanks to his father teaching him to read at a very young age and his ensuing love of books, he was educated. Books, of course, were exceptionally dear, so he hadn’t been able to purchase them. Instead, he’d stolen them from Paternoster Row until a bookshop owner had caught him one day. Rather than send Rafe to prison, Mr. Fletcher had taken pity and allowed him to read the books in his establishment as if it were a library. Dear Mr. Fletcher had died some eight years ago, and now Rafe owned that bookshop.
Harry’s brow creased. “You will be scrutinized. Just as you will become one of the most eligible bachelors in London.”
Bloody hell. Rafe did not want that. “Thank God the Season is almost over. Won’t everyone be leaving town soon?”
“Next month, but that may as well be a year from now,” Harry said. “Say you were educated by private tutors and that you inherited money from the man who raised you.”
“Won’t they ask who that was?” Selina asked.
Harry shrugged. “Probably, but Rafe can simply say he died a long time ago. Keep things uncomplicated, and be charming. Society will be utterly enthralled by your resurrection. You’re handsome and wealthy, and everyone will want you to succeed.”
Rafe managed to nod even as he felt completely overwhelmed. Now that he finally knew the truth of who he was, he would have to pretend as he never had before. “I am going to find out who that man really was—the man who took us from our nurse and brought us to London. None of this makes a damn bit of sense. Why would Selina and I be declared dead?”
Harry cocked his head. “Speaking as an investigator, I would ask who would benefit from your deaths.”
“Our uncle.” Rafe and Selina spoke almost simultaneously, their eyes meeting.
“He would have set the fire at Stonehaven?” Selina asked disbelievingly.
“And killed our parents.” Ice coated Rafe from the inside out. If he found that to be true, nothing would be able to protect Mallory from his wrath.
“We don’t know that for certain,” Harry said cautiously. “Yet.” He exchanged a look with Rafe that said he would find out.
Rafe couldn’t quite believe this man who had hunted him for years was now his ally. Apparently, today was a day of improbable surprises. Not the least of which was the fact that Anne Pemberton was now firmly in his orbit.
And, though he might like to deny his strong attraction to her, that was the best part.
What was Rafe doing today? Or thinking? Was he sad? Angry? Scared? No, never scared.
These were the questions crowding Anne’s mind on Saturday, along with how can I see him today? She would see him Monday at the dinner Mr. Sheffield had proposed, but that was too far away. She wanted to talk to him, to understand how he was feeling. It had to be a shock.
Of course it was. He’d had no idea until yesterday that he was an earl.
Anne had relayed the entire astonishing tale to her sister and Anthony during their ride back to London after the picnic. How her godfather had managed to pretend as though nothing had happened, that his life wasn’t about to dramatically change, was a mystery to her. But then he’d always been good at being charming. In fact, he’d even hid the truth from Sandon, rather Lorcan, until after the guests had left. Or so Anne believed—that had been her godfather’s plan after Rafe, his sister, and Mr. Sheffield had left.
Because Deborah had convinced him not to cancel the picnic. He’d wanted to, saying he would blame the weather and suggest they would all want to return to London posthaste. Deborah had pointed out that they would soon be in the midst of a scandal, so why invite speculation or scrutiny by ending the picnic early?
Anne didn’t think it was a scandal, and she really thought she knew scandals. Still, it would be news. Everyone would be talking about the long-lost Earl of Stone.
And that was why she had to see him. He was going to need all the friends he could get, and she wanted to make sure he knew he could count on her.
But would he? So far, he’d rebuffed her overtures. Sort of. He said one thing, but his eyes and behavior said something else. She’d been certain they were going to kiss beneath the temple yesterday. Until her blasted godfather had shown up. Now, that had been a scandal—at least to her.
Jane came into the morning room carrying Fern. Daffodil followed behind them, her tiny kitten legs moving quickly to keep up. “You’re still here,” she said to Anne as she set Fern down in front of the door that led out to the garden. She opened the door, and both kittens dashed outside. “There you go.” Jane left the door cracked open. It was a warm, calm summer morning, quite at odds with yesterday’s storms.
“Yes, I’m still here. I wanted a second cup of coffee, and I was reading the paper.” Anne rose from the table.
“You needn’t leave.” Jane frowned slightly. “Is something the matter? You’ve been awfully quiet since we returned from Ivy Grove yesterday.”
“Have I?” Anne asked innocently.
Jane rolled her eyes and moved to the
