But it was time to start unwinding the truth.
The sooner she found it, the sooner she could return home.
Because she was finding that home was really where the heart was.
And she’d left hers with Quin.
Thirty-five
Quin tapped his finger on the pile of documents on the side of his desk, his mind working as he listened to the sound of approaching footsteps. His butler showed in the invited guest, and Quin stood, his chair making a scraping sound on the polished hardwood floor as he did so.
“Lord Bircham, thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” Quin extended his hand and winced as he noted the purple bruising around the man’s left eye and red jawline. “Again, I apologize for my earlier behavior,” he added, thinking it necessary. He had a feeling that the news he was about to impart to Lord Bircham would hurt far more than a facer.
“It’s understandable, given the circumstances.” Lord Bircham accepted Quin’s hand, gave it a solid shake, and then sat when Quin gestured to a chair across from his desk.
“Brandy?” Quin offered.
“Yes, thank you.” Bircham set that ever-present silver cane to the side.
Quin nodded and then walked to the table and poured them each a crystal goblet of fine brandy. He handed the glass to Bircham and then took his seat once more. “There’s some information I believe you should be aware of,” Quin started, then took a sip of his brandy. It was smooth and the heat was a welcome burn in his throat.
Bircham nodded and took a sip as well, his eyes closing for a moment in appreciation. “And what is that?”
Quin set his brandy to the side and folded his hands on his desk. “It would seem there was some information my betrothed’s grandmother had.”
Bircham nodded.
“Lord Bircham, can you tell me about your mother and father?” Quin asked, testing the waters to see if perhaps the man had any inclination regarding his parentage.
Lord Bircham frowned. “My mother is—was—Lady Bircham, twin sister to Mrs. Burke, of which you’re aware. And my father was Percival Armstrong, the fourth Baron Bircham. The title has been in our family for five generations, and my mother was the daughter of a local baron. It’s rather traditional, I believe.” He took another sip of brandy, then regarded Quin. “Why do you ask?”
Quin looked down to his hands. Information like this shouldn’t come from a relatively unknown person, but there was nothing for it, so he soldiered on. “There was a situation between your mother and her sister,” Quin started.
Lord Bircham nodded. “Continue.”
“The wife of Lord Bircham was unable to have children.” Quin waited, gauging Bircham’s reaction.
The man frowned but nodded for him to continue. “And so,” Quin went on, “that put your father in a difficult place.”
“What are you saying, Your Grace?” Lord Bircham asked with sudden menace.
Quin hesitated. This wasn’t going well. In trying to be gentle, he was drawing out the story too long. “Mrs. Burke is your mother, Lord Bircham. And the reason this is known is because Lord and Lady Greatheart visited your family while they were expecting…”
The air whooshed out of Lord Bircham’s lungs in a loud gasp. He stood abruptly, the brandy splashing from the glass in his haste. “What are you saying?”
Quin speared him with a sharp look. “Mrs. Burke is your mother and therefore may have had more motivation to spread gossip about Catherine and you. And I’m asking a question because of it. What did you have to gain that such an alliance would benefit you so greatly that she would go to such lengths?”
Bircham’s answering glare wasn’t much of a help, but after several moments of silence, his expression transitioned to one of more sorrow than anger. “Are you certain? How could it possibly be certain? They were nearly identical except for—”
“The freckle under the ear,” Quin finished, knowing it would be the only detail that could prove the story’s validity.
“Good God,” the man gasped, then as if his legs couldn’t hold him, he sank back into the chair, the remainder of the brandy sloshing in the glass.
“Here.” Quin rose and went to the side table, bringing back the decanter and refilling the poor man’s goblet. Lord Bircham nodded his thanks and then drank a long swallow.
“I, that is, they never…”
“I didn’t think they had. But that does leave us to believe that Mrs. Burke was motivated as more than a mere widowed relative.”