Page 17 of Greystone’s Legacy (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #5)

Chapter Nine

Freddie had never imagined that he might one day be plotting against his own blood relations in his grandmother's elegant drawing room.

Yet here he sat the morning after the ball, examining documented proof of his uncle Edmund's treachery while Lady Burrowes poured tea with steady hands that belied her obvious distress.

The spring sunshine streaming through tall windows seemed a mockery of the dark matters they must discuss.

"These bank drafts," Lord Burrowes said, tapping the papers spread across the mahogany tea table, "show two cash withdrawals of one hundred pounds each from an account traced to Edmund.

Withdrawals which coincided with payments made to the driver of your parents' carriage, according to the man's wife, who had left him and was willing to speak with my agent.

She described the man who visited her husband very accurately; there is no doubt in my mind that it was your cousin Sebastian. "

Freddie's hand trembled slightly as he lifted his teacup. The fine bone china clinked against its saucer as he set it down untouched. "And you're certain there can be no innocent explanation?"

"None that I can conceive," his uncle replied gravely. "The amounts are substantial, far more than a man of that station could explain. One before, and one immediately after the accident."

Lady Burrowes made a small sound of distress. Though her back remained ramrod straight, grief etched deep lines around her mouth. "To think Edmund could... Louise was always kind to him, even when his gambling debts caused such scandal."

"Mother," Lord Burrowes said gently, "perhaps you should retire..."

"I shall do nothing of the sort," she declared, lifting her chin. "Louise was my daughter. If Edmund engineered her death and that of her dear husband, I will see justice done."

Freddie felt a surge of pride for his grandmother's strength. Though traces of her renowned beauty remained in her high cheekbones and full lips, it was her unwavering moral compass that truly distinguished her.

"We must proceed carefully," Lord Burrowes cautioned. "Edmund holds considerable influence among the ton. And there's Sebastian to consider."

"My cousin is cut from the same cloth as his father," Freddie observed.

"Indeed." Lady Burrowes set down her teacup with a decisive click.

"Which is precisely why we must protect you, my dear.

You are the rightful heir to Greystone, and Edmund knows it.

These attempts to discredit your competency, to suggest your head injury left you unfit. .. they cannot be allowed to succeed."

"How did you get these?" Freddie looked at the documents again.

"Well, that's the thing." Lord Burrowes didn't hide his smile. "You and your grandfather aren't the only Greys with a shred of honour left to them. Your cousin Montague brought them to me."

"Monty!" Freddie's eyebrows flew up. Edmund's younger son, Montague, was ignored by his father and bullied by his older brother Sebastian, but Freddie hadn't thought Monty had it in him to betray them.

"He wants to talk to you. I think we should arrange it."

Freddie nodded in slow agreement. "He can probably put his hands on more evidence." He felt a bit better, knowing that Monty didn't want him dead. They were the same age and Freddie had always liked Monty, despite their differences.

They spent the next hour crafting their strategy.

Lord Burrowes would present the evidence to his connections in Parliament and the judiciary, building support among influential peers.

Lady Burrowes would work through her extensive social network to subtly undermine Edmund's credibility without tipping their hand.

"And what of Miss Wynstanley?" Lady Burrowes enquired delicately. "The poor girl has become entangled in this through no fault of her own."

Freddie felt his face warm. "Hester is..

. remarkably capable. But I fear involving her further places her at risk.

I should send her home, but…" It was the last thing he wanted to do.

And he wouldn't put it past Edmund or Sebastian to send someone after Hester, to hurt her just because she'd helped Freddie.

"Love often flourishes in adversity," his grandmother observed with a knowing smile. "And from what I've seen of the lady, she possesses exactly the sort of practical good sense this family needs."

"Speaking of practical matters," Lord Burrowes interjected, "we should consider timing. The Little Season is in full swing. Edmund and his family attend most major social events. We must be strategic in our movements."

They agreed to proceed cautiously but steadily. Lord Burrowes would begin making discreet inquiries the very next day. Lady Burrowes would host a small dinner party where carefully selected guests might observe Edmund's behaviour under pressure.

As the meeting concluded, Freddie found himself lingering in his grandmother's drawing room. The familiar scent of roses from her conservatory mingled with beeswax furniture polish, reminding him of happier times spent here as a child.

"Your mother would be proud of you," Lady Burrowes said softly, laying her hand over his. "She valued justice above all else, save family. By pursuing one, you honour both."

Freddie squeezed her fingers gently. "I only hope we can accomplish this without bringing scandal upon the family name."

"My dear boy," she replied with a ghost of her famous wit, "what is a noble family without at least one properly dramatic scandal? We shall simply ensure it falls upon the deserving parties."

The shadows in St James's Park lengthened as Freddie waited near the duck pond, his greatcoat collar turned up against the evening chill.

Few people ventured here at this hour, which made it perfect for a clandestine meeting.

Still, every rustle of leaves made him start, wondering if Sebastian had somehow discovered his younger brother's intended betrayal.

A figure emerged from the gathering dusk, and Freddie tensed until he recognised Montague's slightly rounded silhouette. His cousin moved with uncharacteristic stealth, glancing frequently over his shoulder.

"You weren't followed?" Freddie asked quietly as Montague drew near.

"No. Father and Sebastian are at their club, likely to remain there until dawn." Montague's usually cheerful face was drawn with worry. "But we must be quick. If they discover I've taken these..." He withdrew a leather portfolio from beneath his coat.

Freddie accepted it, noting how his cousin's hands shook. "You're certain about this, Monty? Once done, it cannot be undone."

"I should have acted sooner," Montague replied, his voice thick with self-reproach. "When I first found Father's correspondence with the carriage driver... but I was afraid. Sebastian had already threatened me once for asking too many questions."

Opening the portfolio, Freddie examined its contents by the last rays of daylight.

A detailed accounting of payments and meetings leading up to his parents' fatal accident, and roughly scribbled notes from the carriage driver.

And then, in the back, letters from Sebastian detailing his hunt for Freddie, the language making it quite plain Sebastian did not intend for Freddie to return to London alive.

Reckless, Freddie thought, to commit this to paper, but Edmund and Sebastian were apparently blinded by their ambitions.

"How did you obtain these?" he asked.

"Father keeps them in his study. He's grown careless lately, too confident in his position.

But I've watched him, these past months.

Seen how he gloats when he thinks no one observes him.

" Montague's round face hardened. "He killed your parents, Freddie.

My own father orchestrated his own brother's death. What sort of man could do that?"

Freddie carefully returned the documents to their portfolio. "You understand what this means? These papers prove conspiracy and murder. Edmund may well hang if this reaches the authorities."

"And Sebastian with him, I expect." Montague gave a bitter laugh. "My dear brother knew everything. Helped arrange it all. Did you know he personally hired the driver? A man with gambling debts nearly as large as Father's... easily manipulated."

A chill that had nothing to do with the evening air crept down Freddie's spine. "What of your mother? Lady Arabella?"

"She suspects, I think, but has chosen wilful ignorance.

It's her specialty, along with social climbing and making everyone else feel inferior.

" Montague kicked at a loose stone. "I'm nothing like them, Freddie.

I never have been. That's why they mock me.

.. my weight, my lack of ambition. But I'd rather be fat and lazy than a murderer. "

"You're neither fat nor lazy, Monty. You're braver than any of them." Freddie gripped his cousin's shoulder. "This cannot have been an easy choice."

"Easier than living with the guilt. Every time I saw you grieving your parents, knowing what they'd done.

.." Montague swallowed hard. "But you must promise me something.

When you move against them, let me know first. I'll need to get Mother away.

Whatever her faults, she doesn't deserve to face the scandal alone. "

"You have my word." Freddie hesitated. "But where will you go? Edmund will guess who revealed his secrets."

"I've thought of that. I've a friend with estates in Italy. He's offered me a position managing his vineyards. I'll leave as soon as you give the signal." A ghost of Montague's old smile appeared. "I might even learn to appreciate wine beyond its ability to dull one's senses."

A twig snapped somewhere in the darkness. Both men froze, but it was only a courting couple, too absorbed in each other to notice them.

"You should go," Freddie urged. "Take a roundabout route home, in case anyone is following you."