Page 28 of Charlotte's Kisses

Hugh did not want those two clodpolls anywhere near him.

“For now, I require a bath and clean clothing, and I do not care for their assistance with either of these things. I also need notetaking supplies, another lantern, tooth polish, a clean towel, daily newspapers from London and the surrounding cities, and a stocked cupboard.”

“I will see everything is delivered immediately,” Chesterhill said.

“And brandy. A couple of decanters full, if you please?”

“’Tis the least I can do,” Chesterhill said.

Indeed. Hugh harrumphed. “I will need some privacy. You and your men can not barge in whenever you please.”

“Of course.” Chesterhill placed a paper on the table. “Our contract.”

Hugh perused the document. Discretion and doing what he did best—locating people—for an exceedingly prodigious amount of money, a temporary roof over his head, and a chance to remain near Charlotte. He exhaled and scratched his name at the bottom of the paper. Who knew if the damn thing was legal, however, Hugh’s word was binding. Hopefully, the same could be said of the marquess. Now, how to bring up Lady Chesterhill’s visits and threats? A knock on the door interrupted Hugh’s musings.

Chesterhill folded the contract and shoved it into his waistcoat. He grabbed the book, tossed it into the trunk, and slammed the lid closed. “That will be the doctor. Although, you seem quite well. Slightly bruised, but otherwise no worse for wear. You are as robust as I predicted.”

Tell that to Hugh’s aching body.

The door opened, and a man in his middle years peeked in.

“Doctor Wellington. Come in. Come in. Thank you for coming again today. I do believe our patient is on the mend.”

Chesterhill stood and peered down at Hugh. “Please excuse me. I still have guests I must attend to. I dare say, Coldpepper and his clan have taken up residency. I shall return tomorrow evening. Study the papers I have entrusted you with until then.”

The marquess hobbled past the physician and out the door.

Obviously, the man was in poor health. What would happen to Charlotte when he passed? Would Alexander do right by her? Would her stepmother’s abuse increase? Would she be married off to some arrogant prick such as Nash?

Upon picturing Charlotte in Nash’s arms, Hugh formed a fist. God almighty, he wanted to smash something.

“Mr. Fletcher, do let me check to see how scrambled your brains might be,” Doctor Wellington said as he approached.

True to his word, Chesterhill’s apes delivered everything Hugh requested. They even lugged buckets of water from a nearby stream and poured them into an old copper tub. The cold bath eased Hugh’s aches and filled him with vigor.

He donned a fresh linen shirt and clean trousers and poured a glass of brandy. Then, he dug into Chesterhill’s journals. As unpalatable as he found his task, he did enjoy sorting through clues in order to solve puzzles, and the marquess had given him quite a case.

After taking methodical notes, Hugh set down his quill and retrieved his glass. A few swallows should help him think.

Lady Ravenforde, the first recorded assignation, had become pregnant soon after her affair with Chesterhill. If his memory was correct, Viscount Ravenforde had a hellion of a son. Theodore, a complete drunkard, had been two years older than Hugh and had barely graduated from Cambridge. The spoiled bloke seemed intent on self-destruction.

Was there a chance that Theodore, the heir to the Ravenforde Viscountcy, was the Marquess of Chesterhill’s by-blow? If so, the scandal would shock theton.Thediscovery would throw the Ravenforde inheritance and title into question. And for what? A humiliated Theodore would be united with a biological father who could not legally claim him because Chesterhill’s title would be passed to Alexander, his legitimate son.

Hugh needed to be certain about Theodore if he approached him.

“Hey mate,” he could say, “I do believe you are a bastard, not the legitimate Ravenforde heir. You see, your mother had an affair with Lord Chesterhill. So, no worries, you still have aristocratic blood in your veins. And your real father is quite wealthy, you just no longer have a title. In all probability, it will resort to your cousin, Michael.”

Bloody hell. What had Hugh gotten himself into? This was a messy business. He needed to find proof. Perchance there was something in the stack of letters lying at the bottom of the trunk.

After digging for them, Hugh carefully untied the twine, taking care with the delicate papers. Some appeared to have been folded and unfolded dozens of times. The years had yellowed the edges. As if by divine intervention, the second letter he read held the information he sought.

My Darling Alexander,

My heart has broken into a million sharp shards and yet I know you are correct. I fear Cornelius will become suspicious about our affair. Do not worry, I will keep our indiscretion a secret in my heart. Only you and I will ever know of our precious moments. That being said, I do intend to do everything in my power to make Cornelius believe that our child is his. God, forgive me. My darling, forgive me.

Your forever devoted,

Mary