There was a sudden silence, as if the entire drawing room had collectively caught its breath.

“Do you mean…they were married after all?” Maggie asked.

“You may see for yourself.” Allendale handed her the document.

She took it, unfolding the paper in front of her. Her eyes widened and her heart skipped, tripping over itself.

Good heavens.

It was true. It was all true.

“Out loud, if you please, Miss Honeywell,” Allendale said.

Her fingers fairly trembled on the paper as she read: “‘Jenny Seaton of Colebrook Parish, Somersetshire and James Edward Beresford of Worth House, Hertfordshire were married at Southleigh Chapel, Somersetshire this seventh day of June in the year 1789 by William Oswald Tuck.’” She looked up. “It’s signed and witnessed.”

Mrs. Beresford leapt from her chair. “Let me see it.” She snatched the marriage lines from Maggie’s hands before Maggie could stop her. “Poppycock! This is a forgery.” She thrust the paper at her son, who had come to stand beside her. “The witnesses haven’t even signed it.”

“It’s a copy written out by Mr. Tuck,” Allendale said. “No different than the marriage lines kept by countless women as proof of their nuptials.”

Mr. Beresford was no longer affecting an air of lazy amusement. His eyes were alert beneath his drooping lids. “And who are these witnesses? Did you meet them?”

“We shall meet them,” Mrs. Beresford said. “You may depend upon it, my lord. We shall question them without delay.”

“I wish you luck, madam.” Allendale plucked the marriage lines from Mr. Beresford’s fingers, and folding the paper in half, passed it to St. Clare. “The witnesses are buried in the graveyard of Mr. Tuck’s former church. They were acquaintances of his past—fellow rogues. When he returned to the clergy, they accompanied him as his servants but have long since passed away.”

Mrs. Beresford’s face fell. She looked to her son. “Lionel?”

“And I suppose,” Mr. Beresford said, “that this clergyman—this Mr. Tuck—would swear to all of this in a court of law?”

“If it comes to that,” Allendale said. “But I warn you, I won’t take kindly to the Beresford name being dragged through the courts. I may find myself constrained to retaliate in kind—with a defamation suit.”

“A defamation suit!” Mrs. Beresford slumped back into her seat with a nervous laugh. “You never would, would you? Why, the very thought of it.”

“It will be more than a thought, madam, if you dare to challenge me.” Allendale’s brows lowered in a threatening glare. “And if I find out that the pair of you have been spreading gossip about my heir—sending letters to those scandal sheets in London—a defamation suit will be the least of your troubles.”

Mr. Beresford blanched.

Fred, meanwhile, was growing redder by the second beneath his bruises. “It’s all very convenient. Too convenient.” And then: “Have you nothing to say, Seaton?”