Page 66 of The Detective and the Baroness

Jeffery’s mouth dropped open. “What? You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I am. Her name is Mrs. Robson, and she has a son of about four or five years of age. His name is James, and he called Father ‘Papa.’ His affair only occurred in the last seven years, but to have a secret life and foolishly spend money first on himself and ill-advised business schemes, then on his paramour and his son—hundreds of pounds in expensive gifts—I’ll never forgive him. Blast the retail shops for not itemizing what was on the bills. And all that money came from our hard work. Our sweat and worry.”

Jeffery sprang to his feet and began pacing about. “That miserable, thoughtless bastard. And the wh—”

“Do not say that loathsome word. Mitchell says Mrs. Robson was genuinely shocked to hear Father had other children. He also told her he was wealthy and could easily afford all the extras he bestowed. Mitchell recovered some of the loan Travis gave Father.”

Jeffery stopped pacing. “How much is some?”

“All but seven thousand pounds.”

Jeffery groaned and slumped into his seat. “The new baron will want the money back.”

“That is so,” Corrine replied quietly. “The solicitor I hired, Mr. Chambers, said to wait before we mention it. There is still much to be ironed out.”

“So not only am I to see to Father’s care, but also a woman and her son? It cannot be done, even if I manage a promotion. And as dowager, your income will be next to nothing.”

“And since the heir is not blood-related to me, he is under no obligation to give me any income at all. Everything is up in the air, as usual. More uncertainty. More stress. But beyond our problems, Travis was murdered. That is the worst of all.”

Her brother caught her gaze. “And here I am thinking of myself, once again. I do apologize. Perhaps I’m more like Father than I realized. A sobering thought. I’m also sorry you witnessed the aftermath.”

“Yes, it was terrible—something I will not soon forget. Will you go with me to the funeral? Stand at my side? Outside of the procession, it’s to be private. The solicitors and me. And you, if you agree.”

“Of course, I will be there for you. I—”

The doorbell trilled.

Corrine started to get to her feet, but Jeffery was already striding toward the doorway. “You stay seated. I will get the door.”

A few moments later, Corrine could hear a muffled conversation. Then, the voices got louder. Suddenly, her father burst into the room with Jeffery behind him, trying to grab their father’s arm.

“Get your hands off me, boy!” her father growled at Jeffery.

“How did you find me?” Corrine gasped.

“I took a page from your book. I hired a private investigator. I want my money back. I saw Addington’s murder splashed all over the papers. So the loan repayment is no longer necessary.”

Jeffery scoffed. “Who gave you that asinine advice?”

Mitchell and Drew came into the room.

“Ah, you have your muscle here. And another man, besides. I will not inquire about your living arrangements. You are not my concern, Corrine. Even though you stuck your nose into mine. Just keep your bully boy away from me. He had the audacity to slap me!”

Corrine looked at Mitchell, then back to her father. Mitchell did that? Good. “You deserved it.”

Her father snorted as he reached into his coat pocket. “Here are the loan papers. Now give me the money at once.”

Jeffery snatched them from his father’s hands and scanned the contents. “This is not a legal document. Neither the bank nor the solicitor have signed off on it. Nor is it notarized.”

“I will have you know it’s a promissory note. Addington said the legal papers would follow. Now that he is dead, the money is mine.”

Corrine noticed Mitchell and Drew stayed by the door. She was glad of their presence but also mortified they were witnessing her father’s arrogant behavior.

“In case it slipped your self-seeking mind,” Jeffery ground out, “I work at a bank and have a vast knowledge of loans and the clauses therein. Legal promissory notes are written by banks. Any other note is useless. This…” He pointed to the paper. “…will not stand up in court.”

Corrine came to stand beside her brother and glanced at the note. “This is Travis’s handwriting. He also says it must be paid back in ten years at an agreed interest rate of two percent. Or the entirety of it was due in the event of our divorce.” So Travis was going to hold it over her head. Her opinion of Travis dropped several more notches. Yes, he died needlessly and tragically, but he had every intention of making her life miserable. Not any longer.

“What do I care about ten years from now?” her father bellowed, bringing Corrine’s attention to the present. “I may not even be alive, then. And I knew you would never divorce him as we need his money. The terms were favorable to me,” her father said with a sniff.