His arms fell away. “Delia, is this a moment to be talking in riddles? We’ve much to discuss. Where’s my uncle?”
Delia blew out a frustrated breath. “You will drive me demented, Giff! I must be out of my mind even to think of —” She broke off in haste. If he was not going to speak of what lay between them, then she could not either. She pointed. “He’s in there, with Mr Hammersley and the others.”
She moved on the words, walking into the saloon where the light was brighter. In addition to the wall-sconces, several candelabra had been brought in and placed, one on the mantel, two others on convenient tables.
The rector hailed Giff as he came in behind her. “There you are, my boy! What have you done with Piers? These fellows tell me you pinked him.”
“In the shoulder, yes. He’s languishing in his bed, still determined to see me damned if he can.”
Delia waved the lawyer forward. He was a portly gentleman with a measured air and a habit of speech to match. “Mr Hammersley, here is Giffard Gaunt. Will you please tell him what you’ve said to us?”
“Ah, is it you indeed, sir?” He bowed with punctilio. “I am relieved to see you sound in body, my lord.”
Giff’s astonishment was plain. “My lord? You acknowledge my claim?”
Hammersley bowed again. “We have still to pass the matter through the proper authorities, my lord, but this I believe will prove to be, ah, a mere formality.”
Much to Delia’s confusion, Giff said not a word. He stood staring at the lawyer as if he could not believe his ears. She wanted to reassure him, to hug him in triumph, but the presence of so many gentlemen stopped her from doing either. She was glad when the Reverend Gaunt stepped in.
“It’s true, Giffard. We discovered letters from your stepfather at Saunderton’s house. Henry sent them to him some six years ago.”
“Letters?” Giff’s voice was hoarse. “The one Matt wrote to my father? To tell him he would send me home at a word?”
Delia could not keep silent. “Yes, that letter, Giff. Your father sent it to your grandfather to let him know your mother had died.”
“However, it was not that letter which convinced Hammersley,” the rector broke in, “but Henry’s letter to Saunderton.”
“Yes, and we had no suspicion of it,” Delia said, eager now, all her former excitement remounting. “We thought only of Mr Favell’s letter, and feared it might not be enough, for all it proved is that you were alive at the time, and that was six or seven years ago. But as it turned out, Mr Hammersley was more interested in your father’s note.”
Giff still appeared dazed. “How so?”
“Ah, my lord, if you will allow me to explain.”
“I wish you would.”
The interjection came from Captain Rhoades and Delia looked quickly round, as did the others. She’d half-forgotten the presence of he and Lord Tarporley.
The captain flushed. “I beg your pardon! It is none of my affair, of course, but Tarporley and I have become so involved, we are as curious as Giffard here, I believe.”
Giff let out a laugh. “You’ve earned it, both of you.”
He sounded much more himself, to Delia’s relief and delight. And his features had lightened considerably, she discovered, turning back to look at him again.
The lawyer cleared his throat. “If I may, sirs?”
The Reverend Gaunt waved them all to silence. “Let the man speak without interruption, or we will never get to the point.”
Giff nodded, his gaze turning once more upon Hammersley, who coughed again.
“Indeed. Ah, the fact of the matter is, my lord, that his late lordship’s acknowledgement in this letter chimes with his words to me when I was called to his deathbed. Lord Baunton was sinking fast, I fear, but he said — and I recall his words verbatim — he said, ‘The cub was alive. If he comes, let him inherit. If not, the boy can have it all.’”
The storm came back into Giff’s face and Delia’s heart sank. She’d been afraid of this. She threw a frantic look towards his uncle, dropping her voice to a whisper.
“Reverend Gaunt! Did I not say so?”
He moved to pat her shoulder, and smiled his reassurance. “Give him time, Delia. We cannot expect Giffard to be other than dismayed by such a legacy.”
“Dismayed? That’s what you call it, Uncle?”