I hid you and the other one. Only told Philpott about the first babe, the one that was to be the duke. I did it out of kindness because I didn’t think you and the other would live. You were so small. But you did. So I took you, darling Freckle, and told no one.
And then later, I was too afraid to say a word.
“All this time. She fuckin’ knew.” Fletcher was furious. Confused. He wanted to shake Delores Bean though it was far too late. “Why didn’t she give me over? Why keep me?”
“Because Mrs. Bean knew who killed the Duke of Roxboro. Your father,” Helen whispered.
“How could she possibly know?” But Mrs. Bean ferreted out secrets. Kept them. That was her real business.
“The murder is in Bean’s Book,” Helen informed him. “Written out in detail. I thinkyouare why she wrote down the details. Everything she found out which was significant, I think. Lark…told me about the duke’s murder. I think he intends to blackmail the murderer. But he never said the name.”
“What?” Fletcher was struggling to believe the words staring back at him. This iswhyMrs. Bean worried over the book. “Who is it?” he snarled.
“I don’t know,” Helen replied. “He didn’t let me see the page. Someone titled and powerful, I think. He said the duke’s murder was personal because,” a small sound came from her. “Of the state of his body. And Fletcher, Lark was…afraid. I could see it.” She touched his hand. “But he didn’t mention you. I don’t think…Mrs. Bean putyouin the book.”
“No, she just wrote me a fuckin’ letter.” Fletcher looked down at the note he held once more.
I came across a great deal of information, Freckle. More than I cared to know. More horrible than anything I’ve seen. I realized I couldn’t let anyone know about you. Or the other. I laid out what he done in the book. All of it. You’ll read it now, now that you know my secret. I couldn’t tell you before. I was too afraid you’d hate me. Or he’d find you. But, knowledge is power, my darling Freckle. Remember, the Devil always wears a smile.
“Who was she so intent on hiding me from?”
“It wasn’t only the duke and duchess who died. When Lark was reading, I saw his surprise that it was also the duke’s solicitor. Your…grandfather. The murder of nearly your entire family is the fault of one individual, one Mrs. Bean feared might find you.” Helen placed a hand on his arm. “Youare the son of the Duke of Roxboro.”
Fletcher jerked away from her. “So this is why you’ll stay with me? Because I’m a fucking lordling and not a criminal from The Devil’s Acre?”
Mrs. Bean had lied to him, all these years. He’d suspected though, hadn’t he? Fletcher thought he might just be the by blow of the late duke or something not a bloody—he looked down at the letter once more—triplet?
“No, Fletcher.” Helen wiped a tear threatening to spill. “You don’t know how society works. If anything, as the brother and son of a duke, a lady’s companion of uncertain background is unacceptable. I’m quite far beneath you.” She stood and went to the window. “Which you’ll soon find out.”
“You’reunacceptable? I was born in The Devil’s Acre.”
“To a duchess. I’m merely a lady’s companion with no family. No prestige. Certainly no wealth.”
“You think I’d give you up?” He held up the letter. “Because of this?” Fletcher could see that she did and yet Helen had still told him. “What do I care for such things? The letter means nothing.”
“This letter means everything.” Helen kneeled and picked up the paper once more. “When you see Roxboro—”
“I’m not going to see that bloody twit.”
“You are,” Helen said in a firm tone. “The letter provides an explanation although once Roxboro and the duchess see you, neither will require much convincing of your identity. Mrs. Bean found out about the murder and she…protected you the best way she knew how. By hiding you in the last place this horrible murderer would ever look for you. Think about it, Fletcher. Mrs. Bean lived in The Devil’s Acre and likely saw the most terrible things every day, but yet she was afraid of…him. The murderer. Whoeverhimis. Thankfully, Mary didn’t give this letter to Lark right away. If he knew why Mrs. Bean was so interested in the duke…”
“Yes, but he doesn’t know. And you aren’t leaving me,” Fletcher stood and went to Helen, wrapping his arms around her waist, soaking in her warmth. “Let us just go to my manor house. Become someone else.”
“We cannot.” Helen leaned back against him. “Roxboro deserves to know the truth if nothing else. So do you. Don’t you want to know who murdered your father?”
“Never gave much thought to a father,” he mused. “Never had one.”
“Or a brother. Possibly two. Mrs. Bean mentioned the ‘other’.”
“Could be anything. Mrs. Bean liked to be vague.”
Helen turned in his arms. “We are going to see Roxboro, if nothing else, Lark would never find you there. We’d be safe.”But he could tell by the look on her face, she wasn’t completely certain.
“Fine. But then we go to St. Osyth.”
Fletcher didn’t want to put himself at the mercy of a duke, especially not one he’d been impersonating to steal from the wealthy. But Helen was right. Roxboro deserved whatever truth Mrs. Bean had written.
Chapter Twenty-Seven