“I’m quite happy residing with my sister and brother-in-law.” Anne worked to keep her voice even.
Deborah’s gaze strayed to Jane and Anthony, who stood together near one of the doors leading outside. “They seem well-suited.” Was there an edge of envy in her tone?
“Yes,” Anne agreed. “To wed for love is very lucky, isn’t it?”
“Only if it’s to the right person. Marrying well is paramount. If there’s love in the bargain, then yes, that’s fortunate indeed.”
How cold. And yet that’s precisely what Anne had been raised to believe. Until she’d met Rafe, she hadn’t thought too deeply about whether she’d fall in love. The hope had been there, certainly, if not the expectation. Then she’d met him, and her world had shifted.
Until it had tipped her right back to where she was supposed to be. Only to toss her into uncharted waters.
Anne looked seriously at Deborah. “Did you fall in love with Burnhope?”
Waving her hand, Deborah laughed lightly. “Don’t be silly, Anne. Ladies don’t discuss such things.”
“But you said—” Anne had been about to say that she’d commented on Jane and Anthony; however, the arrival of Rafe in the ballroom stole the words right out of Anne’s mouth as well as the air from her lungs.
He entered in the company of his sister and Mr. Sheffield and…the housekeeper?
“Who is that blond gentleman?” Deborah asked with keen interest.
Anne stiffened but didn’t answer her. She was too focused on the fact that Rafe looked a bit pale. As did his sister.
Deborah’s sharp inhalation drew Anne’s attention. “And who is the woman with him?” She narrowed her eyes and started walking toward them—they were on a direct path to Lord Stone.
“That’s Mrs. Sheffield,” Anne answered as she walked quickly to keep up with Deborah’s longer stride. “The blond gentleman is her brother, Mr. Bowles.”
“Her brother?” Deborah scowled as she continued toward them.
Lord Stone extricated himself from the group he was with and greeted Rafe and the others with a furrowed brow, his gaze settling on the housekeeper. Her presence with them was…odd.
Deborah inserted herself into the group, taking a position beside her father. Anne moved to his other side, her attention entirely on Rafe and his impassive expression. He glanced toward her, his nostrils flaring slightly, before he fixed his gaze on Lord Stone.
The earl pivoted briefly toward Deborah. “Allow me to present my daughter, Lady Burnhope. Deborah, I believe you know Mr. Sheffield. This is his wife, Mrs. Selina Sheffield, and her brother, Mr. Raphael Bowles.”
Selina’s eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched as she regarded Deborah, who had an almost identical expression.
Deborah spoke, offering an icy smile. “What a pleasure to see you again, Selina.”
The color that had been missing from Selina’s face returned. It was clear—at least to Anne—that they knew each other. And the relationship wasn’t friendly.
“I beg your pardon,” the earl said, “are you already acquainted?”
“Yes,” Deborah said, but was drowned out by the housekeeper.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, my lord,” Mrs. Gentry said, wincing and sending an apologetic look toward Rafe. Apologetic? Why? Anne was thoroughly confused. But it was more than that. A chill raced down the back of her neck.
Mrs. Gentry faced her employer with determination. “I’ve—we’ve—a matter of grave importance to discuss with you. Might we remove to a more private location?”
A look of stark annoyance flitted across Deborah’s face. She pursed her lips and glared at the housekeeper, who seemed to shrink. Anne wished she was standing near Deborah so she could elbow her again.
“Yes,” Deborah said, surprising Anne by agreeing with Mrs. Gentry. “We should excuse ourselves. I have so many questions for Selina. My apologies, Mrs. Sheffield.” The look she gave Selina could have stripped the wallpaper from the ballroom. And Selina’s answering stare would have sent puppies running in terror.
“I can’t just leave my own picnic,” the earl said crossly. “Regardless of whatever drama is trying to unfold here.” He cast an irritated look toward Deborah. “We were about to eat.”
“Let them eat while we adjourn to the library. I doubt this will take long.” Deborah’s malicious smile returned.
Anne had never seen her behave quite like this. It wasn’t just frightening; it was horrifying.
Lord Stone shook his head. “This must wait.”
“I’m your nephew,” Rafe blurted. It was as if the air in the room thinned, and everyone in the small circle stopped breathing.
Anne watched the color drain from her godfather’s face. She felt a similar shock. Rafe was his nephew? How was that possible? Her godfather didn’t have any living siblings, and the children of the only one who’d survived to adulthood were also dead.
“My what?” The earl’s shock echoed inside Anne.
“They are your brother’s children,” Mrs. Gentry said urgently. “Raphael and Selina. Surely you can see it. Just look at his eye.”
Rafe widened his eyes, and it was impossible to miss that definitive orange spot. “Uncle, it seems I am the rightful Earl of Stone.”
Chapter 5
The earl—no, not the earl, but Mallory or Uncle, hell, Rafe didn’t know what to call him—led them to the library. Stepping over the threshold, a rush of familiarity swept over him. He’d spent time here. With his father. A tide of emotion nearly engulfed him.
“Are you all right?” Anne had managed to find her way to his side and whispered the question. Her gaze was soft with concern.
“No.” He saw no reason to lie. At least not to her. Damn if that wasn’t as complicated as this entire bloody day.
He looked past her at the rows of books, his gaze traveling along the shelves.
“This is familiar to you,” she said.
He nodded before moving, as if drawn by a magnet, to the corner. Without thinking, he reached up and pulled on a thick, dark blue book. The entire shelf sprang open. He grinned, then brought his hand to his mouth. Beyond the door was a small secret room.
Turning, he looked at his sister. “Do you remember this, Lina?” She shook her head—of course she didn’t. She’d been far too young. He hated that she recalled none of this, that she’d been robbed of even a fraction of her childhood. Rafe at least had that much.
He surveyed the rest of the occupants of the room. Everyone stared at him except Harry, who was, rightly, focused on his wife. Anne’s gaze was full of wonder, while Mrs. Gentry’s contained joy. Mallory and his daughter stared at him in shock.
His daughter had known Selina. How? More importantly, what could she expose? Fuck.
He and Selina needed to make sure their stories aligned. They both wanted to bury the past twenty-seven years, but now, doing so was critical. If Rafe was to be an earl, he couldn’t very well be known as a criminal moneylender or a thief. And his sister couldn’t be exposed as a swindler, especially since her husband was a bloody constable.