He took a step towards her and grasped her forearms, not hard, but firmly enough to force her to look into his face. Everything they had become to each other in the past few months burned in his heart. But she looked at him with blank eyes and he released his grip and took a step back.

‘Before you take this step, can I ask you one question? What has Barnwell told you about the terms of your father’s will?’

She hesitated. ‘My father’s will? What business is that of yours?’

Caleb fingered the paper in his pocket. ‘The concern of a friend,’ he said.

‘Since you ask, as far as my father was concerned, I was dead. He told Richard as much.’

‘Then who would have been your father’s heir?’

I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t care. I have a cousin. Papa despised him but he is the only possible heir I can think of.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Why are you asking me these questions?’

He took a deep breath. ‘I have reason to believe that Barnwell is not being honest with you. Before you tie yourself to him, do this one thing: ask him if he knows the exact terms of your father’s will.’

‘I’ve already asked him. Why would I do so again?’

Caleb wrestled with his conscience, torn between a desire to show Adelaide the incriminating letter or let her discover the truth for herself. ‘Just ask him and if he tells you he doesn’t know, then take no further action until you have satisfied yourself by writing to your father’s solicitor in England.’ He paused. ‘Is his name Makepeace?’

She stared at him. ‘Yes, but how would you know that?’

‘Telegraph him, Adelaide. This is important. It’s already been years, what does a few months matter? Don’t rush into marriage with Barnwell until you know all the facts.’

She crossed to the door. ‘Caleb, I value your friendship, but this is not your concern. Please don’t interfere in matters you know nothing about.’

Caleb leaned a hand against the door, preventing her from opening it. ‘Adelaide, you may hate me for this, but I cannot live with my conscience if I let you go into this marriage without knowing the truth.’ He pulled the crumpled scrap of paper from his waistcoat pocket and handed it to her. ‘Read this.’

She took a step back, her hands behind her back as she shook her head. ‘No, I don’t want it.’

‘Read it. If it changes nothing, then so be it.’

She reached for the paper, her fingers brushing his before he dropped his hand. She carried it over to the light on the table and unfolded it. She frowned and looked up at him. ‘What is this nonsense? To begin with, it is written by a child.’