by Vella, Wendy
“Let him go, Gabe.” Michael’s arm gripped his shoulder. “He’s going puce, and we need to question him, not kill him.”
With a last hard shake that snapped the man’s teeth together, Gabe let him go, and he stumbled back into the wall.
“Now I want answers. Why did you throw her out of the house?”
“She is not my sister,” he said quickly. “My father, he told me on his deathbed.”
“And he told you to thrust her out of his house?” Gabe asked softly.
The man dropped his eyes.
“Tell me what he said, exactly.”
“He said she was his daughter in every way but blood, and that—”
“You were to care and provide for her?” Gabe asked.
“She is not my blood; I owe her nothing. He, my father said I was not to tell her, and in this only I obeyed him.”
“Why would he ask that of you?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps she is an orphan or the daughter of a whore?” He wouldn’t meet Gabe’s eyes, which told him he was not telling the entire story.
“Use that word in connection with your sister again, and it will be your last,” Gabe hissed. “Now tell me all of the story.”
He fell silent.
“Speak!” Gabe bellowed.
“He said she’s special, that no one came for her, so he kept her and raised her as his own. I didn’t know what to believe, as he was feverish.”
“Who was meant to come for her?” Zach asked.
“I pressed him, and all he said was that she was a blessing and must always be protected.”
“A man who would deny his father’s last wish is not a true man,” Gabe said softly.
“She is not my sister!”
“And you had no wish to share what you inherited with her,” Gabe said, realizing he’d hit the mark when the man flushed.
“Your father asked you to watch over her and still you turned her out on the street,” Michael said, disgusted.
“It’s my hope that one day someone turns their back on you when you need it most, Mr. Brown,” Zach said. “Just one punch, Gabe.”
He didn’t, because he was better than this man before him. Instead, he stepped close, deliberately intimidating him.
“Did your father leave you money or is it all gone to pay your debts? The debt you tried to sell your sister to cover?”
“That is no concern o-of yours.”
“I know what you did and who you are. There is nowhere you can go that I cannot reach you,” Gabe growled into the man’s face.
Brown started shaking.
“Here is what is going to happen. You will gather some of the items that are in this house and of sentimental value to your father and Dimity. Along with those, I want money, a small sum, to go to your sister.”
“I have none left!”
“If this is not done,” Gabe said as if he had not spoken, “I will be back, and if you try to run, I will hunt you down. You will give your sister what she deserves, what you as her brother should have provided her. I want you to write a letter stating that you have seen the error of your ways, and this is for her, and you hope she can forgive you.”
“I want nothing to do with her!”
Not terribly wise words to utter with a furious man standing inches away, to Gabe’s mind. He drove his fist into the man’s stomach. He didn’t do it hard, but enough to have him paying attention.
“There will be more where that came from if you do not do as I have instructed.”
Now wheezing, Mr. Brown nodded.
“And I’m sure your sister,” he said the word deliberately, “has no wish to see a reprobate like you again either. Now, see that you do these things and have them delivered to,” he gave the Duchess of Yardly’s address. “I will give you two days. And Mr. Brown, in the future I suggest you keep as far away from me as is possible, is that clear?”
“I have no money!”
“Then you better find some.” Gabe’s smile was feral.
The man realized he was beaten and nodded.
His brothers parted as he turned, and he walked between them. He heard them speak to Mr. Brown but did not hear what was said. They would simply be reiterating Gabe’s words.
Climbing into the carriage, he said nothing until he’d calmed down.
“I didn’t kill him.”
They laughed.
“I forget sometimes how mean you can be,” Zach said.
“It’s handy though,” Michael added. “Having a brother who could scare Lucifer himself should it be required.”
“It is that,” Nathan agreed.
Gabe snorted, then they were laughing. There were times when he wanted to bang his brothers’ heads together, but there was never a time when he didn’t love them. Now, right here in this carriage, that love was strong. Each had the others’ backs and would walk through fire should it be required. There was something special in that knowledge, Gabe thought as they rolled toward their next destination.
Dimity had no one, and that saddened him. Everyone needed a person who knew them better than they knew themselves. A person that no matter how much you angered or annoyed them, they had to love you because you were their blood.
“What did Mr. Brown mean that Dimity is not his sister?” Zach asked.
“I don’t know, but perhaps that note I told you about had something to do with it.”
“A mystery.” Michael smiled. “How intriguing.”
The carriage stopped at Harbingers toffee shop, and Gabe climbed out first.
“A bag each. I am not sharing,” Zach said from the carriage doorway.
Gabe had taken two steps when a feeling of unease settled over him. Looking right, he saw nothing. Turning left, he saw a black carriage.
“Down!” He turned and dived back into his carriage. Zach took the impact of his body and hit the floor, grunting as Gabe landed on top of him. The other two were lying on the seat.
“What?” Nathan asked.
“A gun, to the left in the carriage.”
Nathan eased up slightly. “It’s gone.”
“Bloody bothering hell,” Gabe muttered.
Chapter Eighteen
Life for Dimity fell into an easy routine after the day she’d been kissed by the Earl of Raine while pressed to his hard body.
She would wake, walk the dogs, and then read to the duchess for an hour. Her employer would sit for Mr. Diard, who came each day to paint her. The duchess would then nap, and Dimity would walk the dogs once more, usually with Mr. Diard.
She’d tried to strike up a conversation with Mr. Allard, but he was a shy man who seemed happiest in the background, helping Mr. Diard when required. So, she left him there.
She had come to like the artist. He was intelligent and humorous, and gentle with the duchess. Thankfully he was not as disturbing as the large, dark, and dangerous earl who consumed far too many of her thoughts.
One other thing occupied far too much of her time.
Who am I?
When she was alone in her bed, thoughts would tumble around inside her head as she tried to work out where she came from. A need was growing inside her to know, but how she would get that information, Dimity had absolutely no idea.
“Something has arrived for you, Miss Brown. It is currently being held in the kitchens.”
“Something, Chibbers?” Dimity looked to the door where the butler now stood.
She was currently sorting through the duchess’s books and putting them in order of who had written them. It was a job the duchess rarely trusted anyone to do, so it was quite an honor for Dimity.
“A rather large pile of somethings, Miss Brown.”
Dimity liked the serious butler. He ruled the house with a strong yet fair hand.
She followed Chibbers downstairs to where the staff crowded around two crates. On top was a piece of paper folded in half.
“It has your name on it, Dimity,” one of the maids said.
Picking up t
he paper, she opened it and found money inside. Clutching the notes, she read the words on the paper.
I apologize for my behavior. Here are some of my father’s things. Please tell Lord Raine you received them.
It was signed Mr. Brown. The use of the words “my father,” made Dimity wonder if he knew she’d not been his real sister. Looking at the money once more, she wondered if it would enable her to do what had been forming in her head for several days.
“Look inside, Miss Brown,” Chibbers urged her.
Lifting the lid on the first crate, she found some of her father’s things.
“Th-They were my late father’s belongings,” Dimity managed to get out around the lump in her throat as she touched the book containing the sheet music he had collected over the years.
“Wonderful! Now you will have something to remember him by.”
What involvement did the Earl of Raine have in her receiving this? He had said he wanted to speak with her brother; it now appeared he had. It made her feel warm inside again, and that would never do. She could not allow that man to make her feel warm anywhere.
“Colin and Roy, take the crates to Miss Brown’s room,” Chibbers said, and soon the two footmen had deposited them there. Dimity took a few precious minutes to look inside before she went back to the duchess’s library.
Her father’s flute was there. Books and other things that had been his. But it was the small miniature of him as a boy that had her falling to her knees and weeping.
She would always think of him as her father, no matter that he had not sired her.
Composed, she left her room. Dimity knew tonight she’d spend time examining every piece in that crate. But for now she had work to do and plenty to think about. Tomorrow the duchess was visiting friends and had said Dimity was not needed. Perhaps she would set her plans in motion, now she had the money to do so.
…
Standing before the building, Dimity read the brass plate.
Sinclair Investigative Services.
Inhaling a large breath, she fought back nerves and opened the door. Climbing the stairs, she then knocked on the door at the top.
“Enter!”
Dimity turned the handle and walked into the offices.
“Hello.” The woman who greeted her was pretty and wore a wide, comforting smile. “How can we be of assistance to you today?”
“Ah, well as to that, I would like to speak with someone about a matter I need investigated, please.” Dimity felt her palms sweat inside her gloves. What was she doing here? What could these people possibly tell her when she had so little information to tell them?
“Well now, that’s lucky, as we can do exactly that for you. If I could please have your name.”
“Miss Brown. Dimity Brown.”
“Thank you, Miss Brown. I shall not be long, if you will wait here please.”
Dimity nodded, then sat in the soft gray chair. The woman disappeared through another door, leaving her staring at the painting of a ship on the wall. Minutes later, she returned, still smiling.
“Come this way, please.”
“Someone can see me now?”
“He can. Please follow me.”
“I—ah, of course.”
“There is nothing to be nervous about, I assure you. The man you are seeing is very gentle and kind,” the woman said.
“Thank you.” Dimity didn’t feel any better as she followed her into another room.
It was a huge space, and Dimity wondered if in fact a wall had been removed to accommodate the three desks. Only one was occupied, by a man. He got to his feet as she entered. He too wore a smile, yet not quite as sunny as the woman’s.
Tall with broad shoulders, he was handsome in a very different way from Gabriel Deville. Less menacing, she thought. He had dark hair and green eyes that seemed to soften as they looked at the woman who had ushered her in.
“This is Mr. Warwick Sinclair. Warwick, this is Dimity, Miss Brown. She has need of your services.”
“Does she? How wonderful. I was a bit bored today,” Mr. Sinclair said.
“I will make us all some tea.”
“Thank you, Samantha. Come, Miss Brown, please take a seat.” He waved a hand to the chair across from his desk. “No need to be nervous. I assure you I have already bitten the head off someone today, so you will be fine.”
“I’m not really sure you can help me,” Dimity said, sitting on the edge of her seat.
Something tugged at her memory as he smiled at her again.
“My sisters are out at the moment, but they should return soon. If you would feel more comfortable speaking with a woman, we could wait for them?”
“No indeed, I have no issue discussing this with you.”
“Know that whatever is discussed in this room will not be told to anyone else without your permission. Now take your time, Miss Brown, and begin when you are ready. If you have no problem with it, I will take notes.”
“I’m not sure where to start actually, and I have no problem with you taking notes.”
“I find the beginning is always a good point. Start with when you realized you needed my help. What prompted you to come here today?”
“My father passed away.”
“You have my condolences.”
“H-He was a good man.” Whenever she thought of her father, she felt the pressure build behind her eyes. “I thought he was my father, but it turns out he isn’t. My brother, who is not actually my brother…” She blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, I’m confusing you.”
“Not at all. Just tell the whole of it, then I will ask you some questions.”
“My brother made me leave our family home when my father died. I took his Bible, because my father made me promise I would, and in it was a note from my aunt to him. Not actually my aunt, but I thought at the time she was.”
“A note?”
Dimity dug into her reticule, then handed the rumpled paper over. Mr. Sinclair read the words that had changed her life.
“And you believe you are the child stated in here?”
“There is no one it can be but me.” She reached up and unclasped the locket she’d always worn from her neck. “I think this must be something from my past also. You see, my father always told me it was my mother’s.”
He took the gold locket, turning it over to inspect the engraving on the back.
“Your father had a wife who you thought was your mother. What happened to her?”
“She died when I was young.”
“And you don’t think she was your mother?”
“No. My aunt’s words negate that.”
“Did you ask your father about the origins of this locket?”
“He simply said it was given to me by my mother and nothing further.”
Mr. Sinclair read the letter once more.
“Does your aunt still live?”
“No, she passed ten years ago.”
He nodded, looking at the locket now. “I would like to get my sister to sketch this, if you will allow it?”
“Of course.”
“Do you know what these words say?” he asked her.
“No. I asked my father, but he said he couldn’t read it.”
She watched Mr. Sinclair take out a magnifying glass from his desk drawer and examine the writing on the locket.
“I see the initials C-E-S-B. There is also the word quatre. Which is the French word for four.”
“French?” Dimity was shocked. “My… my father worked in France before I was born.”
His eyes green eyes were bright suddenly, alive with color as they looked at her.
“Well now, that’s interesting,” he said, studying the locket.
“B-But I’m not French.”
“Very possibly not, but then we must look at all avenues, Miss Brown. Can you tell me when your father was in France?”
“He left during the revolution.”
“A terrible time for many,” he said, still studying t
he locket. “Do you mind if I open it, Miss Brown?”
“Please do.” For some reason, Dimity couldn’t draw a breath. Her chest felt like a fist was squeezing it tight as his hands worked on the latch that opened the locket.
“Wh-What does it say?” She knew there were more words in there.
“Notre peu amour,” he said softly. “It means ‘our little love,’ Miss Brown.”
“M-My father said it was ineligible. Why would he say such a thing when clearly it wasn’t?”
“I am unsure, but it’s my hope we will get you answers.”
She sat there staring at the top of his head as he continued to look though his glass at her locket. Dear Lord, what does it all mean?
“Ah, here are my sisters now.”
She hadn’t heard them approach, but soon the door was opening and in walked two young ladies, one dressed in cream, the other in peach. There was little doubting they were sisters and related to Mr. Sinclair.
“Dorset, Somerset, this is Miss Brown. She has come to us for help,” Mr. Sinclair said by way of greeting. “I need you to draw her locket for me please, Dorrie.”
“Oh, hello, how lovely to meet you,” they both said in unison.
“Twins,” their brother said. “You get used to them given many years of close acquaintance.”
“The Duchess of Raven and Mr. Cambridge Sinclair are your brother and sister,” Dimity said before she could stop herself. “I’m sorry, that came out close to a shriek, but your brother’s discovery has me unsettled.”
“He has a way of doing that.” One of the twins took Dimity’s hand. “How do you know our siblings?”
“They came to my employer’s home. The Duchess of Yardly. There was an impromptu salon one day.”
“I heard about that. Lord Raine fell off the chair because a large dog pushed him,” Warwick Sinclair said. “I had wished it was Cambridge, but alas it was not.”
“You work for the Duchess of Yardly? I don’t know whether to offer you safe passage somewhere or give you a hug,” one of the twins said, looking horrified.
“She’s actually rather sweet,” Dimity felt she needed to say.
All three of the Sinclairs laughed.
“Do you know, I don’t believe I’ve heard her called that before,” Warwick said.
“Of course Cam would have been there for the food, although I’ve not heard the Duchess of Yardly is overly generous with her tea tray,” one of the Sinclair sisters said. Which one, Dimity had no idea.