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He cleared his throat. “I am disinterested, but that was not always the case.”

“Ah,” Mr. Nancarrow said, infusing an inordinate amount of understanding into that single syllable. If only Leander’s single syllables were so empathic.

Effie wasn’t sure why, but he opened his mouth and told Mr. Nancarrow everything. He recounted his childhood interest in learning about the estate and explained how his father always rebuffed his ideas. Rebuffed him . He shared a few examples of the childhood cruelties.

Through it all, Mr. Nancarrow listened. He listened deeply, studying Effie’s face as if he were a fascinating painting, and when Effie was done, he said, “Thank you for telling me all this, my lord.”

“You ought to drop the ‘my lord.’ We are brothers, are we not?”

We are brothers. How extraordinary.

“My friends call me Effie,” he went on. “But if you don’t care for that, you could call me Edward.”

Mr. Nancarrow smiled. He really did have the nicest smile. On the surface of things, it was the same as Father’s, but it managed to confer the opposite effect on its audience.

“And you should call me Kenver.” The smile disappeared. “At least in private.”

Oh. Yes. Effie supposed this was the part of the proceedings where the simple, profound joy of having discovered a brother would slowly be poisoned by the fact that they were sons of their specific father. “He is not prepared to acknowledge you, of course.”

“I . . . don’t know,” Kenver said, though Effie hadn’t meant his statement to be taken as a question. He’d have thought there was no way Father would acknowledge a by-blow, but he also wouldn’t have expected Father to put a by-blow through university and retain him as his steward.

“I found a document that I am . . . concerned about.” Kenver was speaking uncharacteristically haltingly. “That is why I’m here today. I want to show it to you.”

The paper Kenver handed Effie was a lance through his chest. Dear God. “I thought you said my father—our father—and your mother were never married!”

“I did say that.”

“But these are marriage lines!” A copy of the lines that would have been entered into the parish register book. The parish was the one encompassing Highworth, and the date before Effie’s own parents’ marriage.

Effie’s mind reeled and his heart beat wildly. He closed his eyes and tried to see Julianna’s flame. It worked, at least enough for his thoughts to un-jumble themselves and for his heart to slow. He opened his eyes. “If you made a claim with this at the Committee for Privileges, you’d be named heir.”

“Possibly.”

Effie eyed Mr. Nancarrow—he supposed he ought to revert to calling him Mr. Nancarrow now that it seemed he was being threatened. Blackmailed, perhaps.

The very idea made him want to weep. It was positively gutting to have had what felt like a breakthrough of fellow-feeling only to have it snatched away.

Well, the joke was on Mr. Nancarrow. Effie dropped the document on the table between them. “Well, have at it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it—the title, the estate.”

“If this plan of your father’s were to succeed,” Mr. Nancarrow said, “it would make him a bigamist in the eyes of society—and the law. It would mean you and your sister would be deemed illegitimate. God knows what it would mean for your mother.”

Effie hadn’t thought of that, so carried away had he been by the momentary hope that he had stumbled on a way to escape his fate—and by the whiplash of having found a brother only to lose him—but of course Mr. Nancarrow was correct. Mother would have been quickening with Effie when Mr. Nancarrow was born. Effie wasn’t close to his mother, but he did feel a pang of sympathy for her. He thought of Sarah, and her hope for the future, the list of gentlemen she’d prevailed upon him to spy on.

Effie was surprised by the extremes Father was apparently prepared to go to, though upon further reflection, he wasn’t sure why. Was this any worse than locking a child in a wardrobe overnight?

“Why would he do this?” Kenver asked, his tone uncharacteristically strident.

“Because he hates me. Were you not listening to the stories I told you earlier?”

Kenver’s brow knit in confusion. “He hates you enough to ruin the rest of his family?”

“Yes. If it comes down to the family versus the title, the title wins every time.”

“Even if it means having a bastard earl?”

“Better a bastard than me. But you wouldn’t be a bastard; you would be the long-lost heir. Handsome and rich and eligible. And what does Father care about the rest of us if he’s about to die?”

Effie tried to think, to encourage reason to rise above sentiment. He was as cornered as he’d ever been. He should not have told Mr. Nancarrow to have at it. He could not allow Father to ruin Sarah and Mother. So he would have to pay off Mr. Nancarrow. He’d have to allow himself to be blackmailed and he’d have to be earl.

And he would have to find a new steward, one as good as Mr. Nancarrow.

Effie straightened his spine and lifted his chin. “What do you want? Name your price.”

“My lord, those are forged marriage lines!” Mr. Nancarrow cried, suddenly aghast. He gentled his tone. “I am almost certain of it. My apologies; I thought that part was clear. I should have led with that.”

Effie took a breath, struggling to adjust to this new piece of information. “How can you tell? The parish is correct. The date is logical.”

“Well, for one, I spoke to my mother about it.”

Effie couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose the good lady would remember a wedding.”

“And the marriage lines are always given to the woman, are they not?” Mr. Nancarrow said.

“I . . . don’t know.”

“They are, proof of a married state being much more important to a woman than to a man.”

“I see.” Effie thought of Julianna, and her particular reasons for wanting to remain unmarried. He was beginning to understand how thoroughly women had to rely on their relationship, or lack thereof, to a husband to get what they wanted. “So you have come to me to tell me you do not want the riches that have effectively landed in your lap? Do you not want anything ?” People were not this naturally good, were they?

“Well, perhaps . . .”

Aha. People were not this naturally good. “I will pay whatever you ask, give you whatever you like.” Still, he appreciated that Kenver had come to him.

“What I would like is . . . to have a brother.”

Effie shook his head, scarcely able to believe his ears. “You had an earldom in your grasp, man!”

“I don’t want an earldom. I just want to be happy.”

Astonishing. “You don’t think an earldom would make you so?” He could sympathize.

“I think what makes men happy is honest work. Family and friends. I have the former. I could use more of the latter.”

Effie hardly knew what to say.

“My lord—”

“Effie,” Effie corrected. “Or Edward.”

Kenver dipped his head. “Effie. My intent in coming here was to assure you I plan to destroy this document.”

“But is that document all there is?”

“I have searched high and low at Highworth and found nothing else that might be associated with this plot. But looking back at the year or so, I am reinterpreting a number of conversations I’ve had with your father—”

“Our father,” Effie corrected. “I am sorry to keep interrupting you, but when we are alone, I should like us to call things what they are.”

Effie was graced with another lopsided smile. “Our father. He has said a few things I now see as evidence that he was planning something like this. But I believe he thought he had more time.”

“Yes, let’s talk about that.” Effie had momentarily lost sight of the fact that this conversation had begun with news of his father’s imminent death. “You will forgive me my lack of sentiment, but what is the matter with him, and do you know how much time he has?”

“He has a disease of the liver. Apparently his condition worsened when he was abroad initially. When he came back here, he said it was because he wanted to consult his London doctors. But he appeared at Highworth for a night. I now wonder if it was to place that”—he nodded at the document that still rested between them—“among his papers. I am quite familiar with the contents of his office, and I can confidently say it was not there before. He then announced his intention to return to Italy for the rest of the planned holiday. Your mother has since written me that he has worsened yet again and they are unable to travel and so have extended their stay. She did not outright say it, but the implication was that when she and your sister return, it shall be without your father. Our father. She told me he wished me to look in a certain drawer in his desk and that he trusted I would do the right thing with what I found there.”

“So you were meant to find the false document and use it to seize the title.” Effie paused. “Did my father know you at all?”

Kenver shrugged.

“Clearly not,” Effie said, “though in an ironic twist, if there were a way for you to seize the title without ruining my mother and sister, I would be quite happy for you to do so.”

“Would you truly? It is difficult to fathom.”

“I would.” Effie, reasoning that he had already told Kenver almost everything, decided to finish the job. “I am in love with a woman named Julianna Evans.” He smiled, thinking of Leander’s recitations of the same. “She is completely unsuitable on a number of fronts. She is also completely wonderful on a number of fronts.”

He went on to tell Kenver the rest. Well, he omitted the details of their intimate encounters, but he told him about the letters, about having met for the first time in person in Brighton, about the age and class gaps, and about Julianna’s adamant opposition to the institution of marriage.

“Because of that last point,” he finished, “it matters not at all, but if I were a normal sort of man, not an earl, I wonder if I could convince her to . . . be with me in some fashion.”

“But you’re not a normal sort of man. You are a man in a cage, as surely as your macaw is in one.”

“Yes.” Kenver understood. “Which is why if you wanted to present your claim to the earldom and it was only I who would bear the consequences, I would be quite happy for you to do so.”

“I cannot lie to a committee of Parliament,” Kenver said. “I have taken genuine pleasure and pride in overseeing Highworth, but I don’t want any of it under false pretenses.”

Effie sighed. “I know you don’t.” He had been thinking earlier, how quickly Kenver had taken the measure of him. It seemed the reverse was true, too. They knew each other, somehow. Perhaps it was because they were brothers. He kept returning to that single astonishing fact.

“There is more,” Kenver said.

“Oh, splendid.”

Kenver smiled sadly and said, “Your observation about the parish and dates being plausible is correct. During our father’s sudden return to England a month ago, he also had me arrange a meeting with the vicar.”

Ah. “I grasp what you are implying.” The vicar at Highworth was new, a young man who had only recently been awarded the living—the living provided by Father. “The marriage lines would have been entered into the parish registry book.”

“And if they were not at the time of the marriage, which they almost certainly were not, I imagine they are now.”

“As if by magic,” Effie said wryly.

“Or by money,” Mr. Nancarrow said, matching Effie’s tone.

Effie couldn’t help but chuckle. He liked Mr. Nancarrow’s forthrightness. “Can you check the book?”

“I have been trying to figure a way to do so. I think I shall be able to manage something. In the meantime, I wanted you to know what was afoot, for I have no idea what more your father—our father—is planning. Will he indeed die in Italy? Will he somehow rally enough to come home and wreak havoc here? How much does your mother know?”

“To your last question, I expect she knows nothing. Historically, my mother has acquiesced to our father in all matters, but I can hardly see her aiding in the destruction of her own life and that of her unmarried daughter, so I suspect he has not made her privy to his plot. To your other questions, I know not. I suppose all we can do is wait and see.”

“Should I destroy this?”

“I think you should hold on to it. If he does come home, perhaps you can assure him that you have understood his intent.”

“I was thinking that would be the best course of action. Let him think his plot will be successful. Then when he is . . . gone, we will destroy this document.”

“Mm.”

“In the meantime, I had thought to give you this.” He handed over a leather pouch.

“What is it?”

“All the money I have in the world. Well, all that I have save what I need for the next month. I’ve been saving diligently. I have been wanting to buy my mother a little cottage, one that’s not . . .”

“Paid for by our father,” Effie supplied. He understood. “Why would you give me this?”

“So you know you can trust me.”

Effie did trust Kenver, but he appreciated that Kenver’s honor demanded he accept—temporarily—the promissory gesture. “All right. I shall keep this safe for you.”

Kenver nodded. “And I shall keep the forged document safe for you.”

“For the record, I should like to say that when Father is gone, I . . .” Effie trailed off, unsure if it was safe to speak around Kenver the way he spoke around Archie and Simon, expressing sentiment that for some inexplicable reason was regarded by society as unmanly. Well, why not? If they were to be in each other’s lives in any meaningful way, which Effie very much hoped they were, Kenver would eventually catch on to what sort of person Effie was. He cleared his throat and spoke confidently, if a bit defensively. “I should very much like to have a brother generally, and to have you for a brother especially. I shall be proud to call you mine.”

There went the lopsided smile again, though it was quite a bit bigger than before. “I should like that, too, more than you know. I have never had any family, apart from my mother, who—” It was Kenver’s turn to clear his throat, and Effie realized with a start that this conversation was making Kenver feel as sentimental as it was Effie. “I was going to say that I should very much like you to meet my mother, though I know that is impossible.”

“Impossible? It would seem the opposite. She is in Calecastle, is she not? While we should perhaps wait until our father has passed, once that has occurred, it would seem the easiest thing in the world for me to meet her next time I am at Highworth. In fact, I should like to make a trip for the express purpose of meeting her as soon as it is convenient for you both.”

“You would?”

Effie smiled. It seemed he had managed to astonish the unflappable Kenver Nancarrow. “I would. I believe I am familiar with this sentiment of wanting one person you care about to meet another person you care about. In my case, I have never been close to my family of origin, though Sarah and I are, I think, fond of each other in a distant, vaguely exasperated sort of way. I consider my real family to be my close friends, the Earls of Marsden and Harcourt. I should be honored to introduce you to them. Properly, I mean, not just standing in the foyer while we plot to hide a printing press.”

Kenver lowered his head on an exhalation. Effie supposed no one had ever been honored to introduce Kenver to anyone, given the circumstances of his birth. When he raised it again, he said, “I can think of nothing I’d like more than to meet your friends properly.”