Devlin snorted. “The selfish part of me would prefer to remain ignorant.”
“But you’re a man who respects honesty,” Juliet said, “a man who prefers the truth to a pack of lies.”
“Indeed.” Devlin’s fingers shook as he reached down into the small space and retrieved the letters. The same trembling fingers tugged on the bow, unravelled the ribbon and placed the pile on the floor.
“May I?” Juliet said when Devlin could do nothing but stare.
“Be my guest.”
Juliet turned over the letter on top of the pile. It bore his grandmother’s name, the Blackwater address scrawled in the hand of someone unused to writing letters. The childlike strokes screamed of inexperience.
“Read it,” Devlin said, his tone harder than he intended. “I cannot.”
Juliet took the letter and examined the broken wax seal. “It bears no significant markings, though it is impossible to distinguish minute detail in this light.”
Devlin held his breath when she peeled back the folds. An eternity passed while she read silently. His heartbeat drummed in his ears in time with the frantic voice in his head that warned him to expect the worst. Whatever was written on the fragile pieces of paper, the words would be powerful.
Juliet slapped her hand over her mouth as she read. Devlin could tell from the exposed whites of her eyes that the news was as damning as he suspected.
“Tell me,” he commanded, not knowing what the hell to think.
“In a moment.”
Juliet picked up the pile of letters, flicked to the one at the bottom and read that, too.
She read another and another.
While Dariell sat patiently in the box pew and watched with interest, Devlin thought his head might explode from the frustration that came with waiting.
Eventually, Juliet looked up at him, confusion swimming in her eyes. “I need to reread them to gain a better understanding of the situation. Some are written to your grandmother by her maid. One is a letter written by your grandmother but never sent. It reads like a confession, a confession to God.”
“Juliet, please, put me out of my misery and tell me what the hell this is all about.”
She swallowed and sucked in a breath. “It appears that my father is … my father is illegitimate. It appears that my father is the son of your grandmother’s maid.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Baron Bromfield’s mother was a maid?” Devlin repeated for the third time. During those few minutes he had sat patiently waiting for Juliet to finish reading the missives, he knew to expect something shocking. But not this. “How is that possible? How is it no one knows the truth?”
The baron knew the truth. How else would Biggs have known about the old letters?
“I need to reread them, but I suspect your grandmother kept them as a form of penance.” Juliet picked a letter from those she had laid out on the flagstone floor. After one quick look at the words hidden beneath the folds, she handed it to Devlin. “Read this one.”
Dariell cleared his throat and stood. “There is no respite from this terrible weather.” He cocked his head and stared at nothing in particular. The brief moment of silence was broken by the patter of rain hitting the windowpane. “But I must venture back to the house. I must leave you to study these new revelations. Valentine, he wishes us to depart before noon tomorrow, and the need for sleep calls me
to my bed.”
Still clutching the letter, Devlin came to his feet. He placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We would not have found the letters without your intervention. Had you not asked probing questions, we would still be clambering about in the dark.”
Dariell’s lips twitched in amusement. “This is true. Did you think I came only to sample your fine port and meet your delightful wife?”
“I would not presume to understand your mysterious motives.” The letter in Devlin’s hand burned for his attention. Curiosity forced him to embrace his friend and bid him goodnight. “Will you join us for breakfast in the morning?”
“Of course.”
Juliet rushed to her feet and hugged the Frenchman. “Thank you, Mr Dariell. You truly are a wonder.”
Dariell embraced Juliet as a father would a beloved child. In such a way that the connection went beyond the physical. In such a way that he seemed blessed to have met her. “You are everything I imagined you to be,” he said cryptically before bidding them goodnight and leaving them alone in the church.