A flicker of rage threatened St. Clare’s composure. One last glowing ember that the brawl at the tavern had failed to extinguish. “Because it never happened. You knew the jewelry was there because you put it there yourself.”

St. Roderick exploded. “You dare to accuse my son?”

“It’s nothing I didn’t say myself at the time,” Maggie answered him. “And it’s the truth. Fred was always trying to separate me from Nicholas, by fair means or foul.”

“Then you admit this man is the servant boy born on your estate?” Sir Roderick demanded. “The one sired by that highwayman?”

“Jim,” Miss Trumble’s aunt said helpfully. “That’s what he was called.”

“Gentleman Jim,” Fred said. “A rogue and a villain.”

“And my son,” Lord Allendale added from the doorway.

St. Clare stood immediately, along with the rest of the guests, as his grandfather entered the drawing room. The earl was still in his traveling clothes, as if he’d come directly to Beasley Park upon returning from his journey. A frantic footman trailed behind him, too late to properly announce his arrival.

“Your what?” Sir Roderick asked.

“This highwayman you speak of. He was my son, James Beresford. And you’re quite right. The gentleman you see before you is James’s boy.” Allendale’s stormy gray eyes met St. Clare’s. “My grandson and heir. My legitimate heir.” He withdrew a document from his coat. “And I have the papers to prove it.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Maggie looked from St. Clare to Lord Allendale and back again. Something seemed to pass between them. An unspoken understanding. It suddenly occurred to her that St. Clare had known his grandfather would return. Not only that, but that Allendale would arrive in just such a dramatic fashion.

He was a wily old man, the earl. She reminded herself of that fact as she resumed her seat. Hadn’t he already been attempting to pass St. Clare off as his legitimate heir? Putting it about that St. Clare was born on the continent, the son of James Beresford and an Italian lady who had long since passed away? And yet…

And yet Maggie was filled with a sense of hope at the earl’s arrival. On the edge of her seat with anticipation at what he might reveal.

Jane and her aunt Harriet were equally riveted, both of them hanging on the earl’s every word.

“Impossible,” Fred said, plumping down on the settee beside his father. “No such proof exists.”

Sir Roderick silenced his son with a wave of his hand. “Be quiet. Let his lordship speak.”