“Thank you for not calling me out,” Rafe said wryly. “That is what you lords do, isn’t it?”
“We lords, and yes, sometimes.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “And don’t provoke me. I’m still not in favor of this. If Anne gives me any indication she’s not happy, I’ll put a stop to everything.”
“Understood. But you won’t have to. If Anne is unhappy, I’ll let her go.” Somehow, in the span of an afternoon, that thought had become almost unbearable.
Rafe left a few minutes later, and by the time he arrived in Grosvenor Square a short while after that, he was more than ready for a glass of brandy. He stalked into the house as Tim took the cabriolet to the mews.
Glover intercepted him as he walked through the entry hall. “My lord, Lady Selina and Mr. Sheffield are here to see you. They are in the library.” The butler had taken to addressing Rafe as “my lord” and Selina as “lady” since learning of his title. Glover did not care that he wasn’t yet officially the earl. Rafe appreciated the small act of solidarity.
“Thank you.” Rafe made his way to the library, intent on at least the brandy.
When he entered, Harry stood from the settee where he sat with Selina. Both looked…anxious.
“This must be important, since you’re here waiting for me.” Rafe realized he didn’t have liquor in the library and bitterly resented the oversight. “Should I go into my office to fetch brandy? Gin?”
“The clerk returned from Stonehaven.” Harry’s statement sounded ominous.
Rafe’s interest and attention were wholly piqued. He strode to a chair near the settee and sat down, eager for the report. “And?”
“He spoke to everyone. There are perhaps a half dozen retainers who were there at the time of the fire, most of them grooms or gardeners. One member of the household, the housekeeper, is still there. At the time of the fire, she was eleven years old. Her father was the steward. He died trying to save your parents.”
Rafe clutched the arms of the chair, his heart twisting.
“Rafe.” Selina’s voice was soft and soothing.
He looked at his sister and saw his anguish mirrored in her gaze. Nodding slightly, he exhaled and loosened his grip on the chair. “She remembered the fire?”
“Yes,” Harry answered. “Quite distinctly, as it was a traumatic event for her. She said the bodies of the children—of you and Selina—were not recovered. That will bolster your claim significantly.”
Rafe didn’t give a damn about the claim. At least not compared to what really mattered: punishing his uncle. “Was the clerk able to gather any evidence against our uncle?”
Harry grimaced. “Not specifically. However, one of the grooms recalled that a footman disappeared shortly after the fire. He remembered him because they’d been friends.”
“How is that evidence?” Rafe asked. “It doesn’t seem unusual that someone would leave following such an event, particularly since his job was presumably no longer needed. A footman requires a house for employment.”
“While that would be true, the groom said it was peculiar because the footman’s sister was your nurse, and she did not disappear. She testified that the children died, that she’d been unable to save them. She also said the only reason she was alive was because her brother had rescued her.”
“Fucking hell.” Rafe shot out of the chair and paced to the other side of the room, his thoughts crashing into anger and frustration. He vaguely thought that he hadn’t cursed so much in one day since moving to Mayfair. But today deserved every epithet he produced.
“Edgar took us away, and Pauline stayed to cover their crime,” Selina spat.
Rafe spun around at the vitriol in her voice. She sounded the way he felt. “It’s good that Edgar is dead and Pauline is soon to be.”
Selina pressed her lips together. “She already is. The clerk Harry sent to take her testimony returned a little while ago.”
Harry frowned while bitter disappointment glittered in his gaze. “I deeply regret I wasn’t able to find someone to go until today. I should have gone myself on Friday.”
“Don’t,” Selina said. “You were busy with other matters.”
Rafe stared at a line of books on one of the shelves in front of him. If he didn’t love them so much, he would throw every single one to the ground. He wiped his hand back over his forehead and ruffled his hair in frustration.
“Now what?” He stalked back to them and sat down again. “How do we ensure Mallory is prosecuted? He fucking killed our parents.”
Harry looked at him with grim determination. “I’m still working on that. I won’t lie—it doesn’t look easy right now. But I’ve never let that stop me.”
“Harry will find the proof we need,” Selina said with far more conviction that Rafe possessed.
“Good, you be optimistic for us both.” He felt as if the tenuous hold he had on this new life, this life he’d worked so hard to achieve, was slipping fast. Had he really become engaged just today? “I should mention that I’m marrying Anne Pemberton.”
Selina sat straighter and blinked at him. “Truly?”
“I proposed to her today, and she accepted. The banns will be read Sunday. We will wed the last week of July.”
“Congratulations,” Harry said with a hint of caution. “Are you happy?”
“What?” Rafe stared at him, unseeing, for a moment. “Yes. Of course.”
“It’s very sudden, isn’t it?” Selina asked.
“I’ve known her for months, so no. It’s nowhere near as sudden as you and Harry getting married after a few short weeks of acquaintance.” He looked at Harry. “I would like to be the earl before we are wed. Is that possible?”
“Entirely. I started drafting the claim last week, and now that I have the information from Stonehaven, I will finish it with due haste.”
“Excellent.” Rafe slumped back against the chair.
Glover stepped into the library. “My lord, Lord and Lady Rockbourne are here.”
Rafe waved his hand toward himself. “Show them in, please.”
The butler left and a moment later, Beatrix and her husband entered. They wore matching expressions of apprehension.
“What’s
