“It’s spectacular,” Lorcan said with a grin. “Congratulations, Anne.”
“Thank you.”
Before Anne could assess her godfather’s mood, Purcell announced Rafe’s arrival.
Her gaze went to Rafe, and she instantly felt calmer. His features were so familiar to her now. So beloved.
His eyes crinkled at the corners as he looked at her, but he didn’t quite smile. After greeting Anthony, he moved to Anne’s side.
“Good evening, Uncle,” he said evenly before looking to Lorcan. “Sandon.”
“That won’t be my name much longer. Address me as Lorcan, if you please.”
“And you must call me Rafe, regardless of my title. We are cousins, after all.” Rafe extended his hand.
Lorcan shook his hand. “Yes, we are.”
Anne watched her godfather’s expression tighten and hoped it wasn’t a harbinger for another aborted dinner like the last one. She gave him a bright smile and then put her arm through Rafe’s. “I’m so pleased to have you all here for a family dinner, for that’s what this is. Whatever happens, I hope this is the first of many times we share together.”
She felt Rafe stiffen when she’d said, “whatever happens.” Perhaps she should have worded that differently. Of course he would be the earl. She realized she was trying to lessen her godfather’s pain, and that wasn’t really her place. He was a grown man, and he simply had to accept that his nephew was alive and well and rightfully the Earl of Stone.
Purcell informed them that dinner was ready. They made their way downstairs to the dining room behind Anthony and Jane.
Anne clutched Rafe’s arm tightly. “All right?” she murmured.
“So far,” he answered quietly.
“It will be fine. Good, even. You’ll see.” She really hoped it would be.
They took their places at the table in the breakfast room since they were a smaller gathering, with Anthony and Jane at either end, Anne and Rafe on one side, and her godfather and Lorcan on the other.
Anne exchanged a look of hopeful determination with Lorcan, who was directly across from her. While she hadn’t been able to speak with him in person, she’d sent him a note asking for his help to facilitate the nascent relationship between Rafe and Lorcan’s father.
As the first course was served, Anne sent up another silent prayer that this dinner would go better than the last.
Anne’s godfather took a drink of wine and set his glass back down before addressing the table. His gaze settled on Rafe, who sat across from him. “There’s no point avoiding the issue that is likely occupying everyone’s thoughts. It sounds as though the attorney general will refer your claim to the Committee for Privileges tomorrow. The entire matter could very well be decided by early next week.”
“That is my understanding, yes,” Rafe said, his tone as measured as it had been in the drawing room. Something, however, simmered beneath his calm surface. Anne felt it more here than she had upstairs. Her hope for a pleasant evening began to dim.
Anne looked between the two men and noted the frigidity in each of their gazes. Something wasn’t right. Why would Rafe ask to get to know his uncle better, to forge a relationship, and then look at him like this?
And her godfather… Had he decided to contest Rafe’s claim? Anne’s stomach twisted into a knot. She should have told Rafe and now regretted not doing so. Placing her spoon on the table as her desire to eat fled, she clasped her hands in her lap.
The current earl—Ludlow—stared at Rafe with a palpable arrogance. “I expect you think this matter will be settled quickly and in your favor. I wouldn’t be so certain if I were you. My contest to your claim is even now being delivered to the Prince Regent and the attorney general.”
Rafe set his spoon down and barely rested his palms, flat, on the table on the outside of his place setting. Anne could see the tension in his fingers and the tendons of his wrists.
“Why are you contesting my claim? You don’t argue that I’m not, in fact, your nephew, and as such, the rightful heir.”
“That is true, but in this instance, one must determine who is best to hold the title. I do argue that is not you.” He picked up his wine, and the air in the room was as thick as cold butter. “You seem surprised, which in turn surprises me. I would have thought my goddaughter would have told you I was considering this action.”
Rafe’s head turned toward her slowly. His features were impassive, but in his eyes, there was the barest flash of hurt.
Anne reached for him, her fingers lightly grazing his thigh beneath the table. His leg twitched, and she snatched her hand away. He was angry with her. Disappointed.
As he should be.
She’d hoped, foolishly, that her godfather would come to accept Rafe and the fact that he would be the earl. It seemed her godfather was not the man she thought.
Lorcan’s brow creased as he looked at his father. “Why would you contest Rafe’s claim? You’ve no idea what sort of earl he will be. Furthermore, it doesn’t matter what you think, because the title is his.”
“As I’ve said to many people, including you and Anne, on many occasions, it is up to me to see to the welfare of all the people at my estates. They depend upon the earl—me—to provide them with their livelihood. I also have responsibilities to our government, to the people of our kingdom. Knowing what I have learned about my nephew has led me to believe he cannot carry out these duties. Nor should he.”
What was he talking about? What had he learned? “I told you what a good man he is,” Anne blurted, glaring at her godfather. “How he helps people.”
Ludlow looked at her with a mix of condescension and sympathy. “That is what you said, yes. However, that is not who he really
