Dark Angel (Gentlemen of the Order 4)

“Your affair with Lord Summers is common knowledge,” Beatrice said, reading from her notes. “We have evidence to prove you bore him a child while visiting Lancashire, that you paid a cousin to relieve you of the burden.”

The dowager opened her mouth to speak, but Dante interjected.

“We have a letter detailing the financial provisions made, but you’ve seen these letters before. My mother brought them here when she questioned you about her lineage.”

“This is preposterous!” Snatching the glass of sherry from Mabel, the dowager drank down the contents and demanded another. “It’s all lies. Lies manufactured by that disreputable fellow to extort money. Blackmail, that’s what it is.”

“Disreputable fellow?” Dante challenged. “You mean your son, Benjamin Coulter?”

“Mr Coulter is not my son. Heaven forbid. He’s the son of my second cousin Wilfred. He’s forged documents, forged my signature. The man wants money.”

Beatrice cleared her throat. “Mr Coulter wrote to Lord Summers, and we have his reply. A reply written on paper embossed with his family crest.”

Sometimes an agent had to manipulate the truth to gain a confession.

“Mr Coulter was collecting evidence to prove all your children were sired by Lord Summers,” Dante added. “He visited my mother at Farthingdale, told her the truth. And you had her killed to prevent her from revealing your secrets.”

“Killed!” The dowager thumped the arm of her chair. “Murder my own daughter? Oh, you’ve your father’s wickedness in you, boy. I saw it the night the constable brought you here, and I see it now.” She turned to the servant hovering at her shoulder. “Mabel, I said get me another drink!”

“You were being blackmailed,” Beatrice said while the countess downed her sherry. “Not just by Mr Coulter, but by Mr Babington. He stole the letters from Mr Coulter, immediately saw their value and came to demand money.”

If the dowager had worn an evil expression before, she looked downright devilish now. “That reprobate deserves to rot in hell. I told him the letters were forgeries, but he knew people would cast aspersions.”

Finally! Something substantial to explain Mr Babington’s demise.

“I paid that devil five hundred pounds. You can write that in your notebook, Miss Sands. Tell the magistrate I am the victim, not the criminal.”

At the mention of the magistrate, Mabel’s eyes widened a fraction. She shifted ever so slightly, but with obvious unease. The servant seemed devoted to her mistress. So devoted, had she taken care of the matter?

“Indeed, I am delighted he’s dead,” the dowager added. “Thrilled, in fact.” She held out her hand. “Now, give me the forged letters so I may dispose of them accordingly.”

Dante sat forward. “As an agent of the Order, I have a duty to present them at Bow Street. They’re evidence in a murder investigation.”

“As my grandson, you have a duty to protect your family.”

“Had you made me feel like a member of your family and not a scamp you’d been forced to take in off the street, I might agree.”

The dowager’s light laugh faded quickly. “Dante, you were disobedient and unruly. A mischievous sprite lacking breeding and manners.”

“I was a heartbroken boy, lost and alone. You denied me supper when I couldn’t stop crying. You referred to me as ‘the orphan’ in front of the staff.”

“I saved you, made you strong, tough. Look at you now.”

“You made me angry, bitter. Made me feel I was at war with the world.”

“Nonsense. Your mother pandered to your whims. That was the problem.”

“It’s called love,” Beatrice blurted. “Daphne loved him, loved him and Alessandro, loved them more than her reputation or position in society.” Before the dowager could reply, Beatrice fired another question. “How long has Mabel been in your employ?”

“Mabel? What has that to do with anything?”

The servant must be in her forties. The women shared a comfortable familiarity which must have been nurtured over many years.

“My guess is Mabel has served you most of her adult life.”

“Mabel was here when I arrived eighteen years ago,” Dante confirmed. “Mabel solves all your problems, does she not, Grandmother?”

The dowager’s c