An Heir of Uncertainty Read Free Page A

soft knock came at the bedroom door.
    “Excuse me, sir,” Dyson said when he answered, “but Mr. Niven wishes to see you in the parlor.”
    He needed the butler’s escort to find the room. It was a large chamber near the front of the house, furnished in what looked like Chippendale, stylish and elegant. Baroque portraits stared down grandly from the walls. Why, Belryth Abbey was downright luxurious.
    Win shook his head at the way he kept sizing up his ancestral home like a horse trader inspecting a nag. He’d have to break the habit before one of the servants caught him checking the silver for hallmarks.
    Two men awaited him. The first was a trim, dapper gentleman with an unlined face and neat silver hair. Seeing Win, he came hurrying forward with his hand outstretched. “I’m Arthur Niven. I wasn’t expecting you quite so soon.”
    Win shook his hand. “I did my best to shave time off the journey. I’ve no taste for being on the road, especially in the winter. I had more than enough of the unsettled life, fighting in Spain.”
    Mr. Niven gestured at the larger man standing just behind him. “This is Mr. Channing. He’s asked to be present for this interview.”
    “I’m magistrate here,” Channing said, likewise shaking Win’s hand, “as well as one of the three trustees of the estate. I contacted Mr. Niven after the late earl’s death, and I’ve been his eyes and ears here when he’s in York.”
    Though Mr. Channing looked to be only a little older than Mr. Niven, the two were physical opposites. Mr. Niven had a suave, fastidious air, while Mr. Channing was dressed in the rumpled tweeds and well-worn top boots of a country squire. He was big and broad, almost Win’s height, with rough hands and a weathered complexion.
    The lawyer waved Win toward an armchair. “Please, have a seat. We’ve a good deal to discuss.”
    Win sat. “From the look on your face, it can’t be good news.”
    “Unfortunately, you have the right of it.”
    “I’ll stand,” Channing said as Mr. Niven chose one of the two chairs facing Win. “I’ve a bad back, and sitting does it no favors.”
    Mr. Niven met Win’s eyes and sighed. “I’m afraid there’s no welcome way to say this. When I wrote to you, I was convinced you were the rightful heir to the late Lord Radbourne’s title and dignities. You and he share an ancestor in the fourth earl, and I could find no closer claimant in the male line.”
    Win tensed. “I sense a ‘but’ coming on.”
    The lawyer gave a sharp nod. “Indeed. You were contacted too precipitously. At the time, I believed that the late Lord Radbourne died with no legitimate issue of his own, with no hope of legitimate issue. But it appears his widow is increasing.”
    The letter Win had received from Mr. Niven had been full of categorical language like the recent decease of his brother and died childless. Nowhere had they mentioned that the late earl even had a widow. “You’ll forgive my frankness, Mr. Niven, but it’s more than 250 miles here from Bishop’s Waltham, and I’ve just traveled the distance in a closed carriage with a small child and a restive nineteen-year-old. I’m not the kind of man who uproots himself at the drop of a hat. You might have determined whether there was a baby on the way before you informed me I was the heir.”
    Mr. Niven’s lips pursed slightly. “Yes. Yes, you’re absolutely right. I apologize for that. I should have waited longer before attempting to contact you. But I’d been assured that Lady Radbourne had explicitly ruled out the possibility of a baby.” He threw a dark look at Mr. Channing that made it clear who his informant had been.
    Mr. Channing bristled. “She told me she wasn’t increasing. Told me flat-out that there wasn’t a chance! And it’s not as if I could question a new widow about her...er, female symptoms. She gave me to believe she had no doubt.”
    “But there is a baby on the way,” Mr. Niven said. “Or, at least, Lady