Chapter 3
Arthur Bellamy had been calling me “son” for three months.
Warm handshakes.
Expensive dinners.
Private jokes about grandchildren.
Apparently he had already met one.
I went to his estate before midnight.
Celestine came with me.
Not by choice.
Amabel stayed at my house under protection.
She had been without sleep too long.
I would not drag her through another confrontation.
Arthur opened the library doors himself.
Sixty-two.
Silver hair.
Calm face.
Too calm.
“Stellan.”
I walked past him.
“Where is Julian?”
His smile vanished.
Good.
“So she told you.”
Not denial.
Again.
Every person in this family seemed incapable of denying the important part.
“Where?”
Arthur poured himself a drink.
“I was trying to prevent a disaster.”
“Try again.”
He looked at Celestine.
She looked away.
Interesting.
The plan had begun before the birth.
Arthur learned Amabel was pregnant four months earlier.
How?
Celestine found a medical appointment card in Amabel’s coat.
Then confronted her.
Amabel admitted I was the father.
Celestine told Arthur.
And instead of telling me, they discussed options.
One option:
Amabel leaves the household quietly after giving birth.
Child raised elsewhere.
Financial support anonymous.
No connection to Wycliffe.
Another:
A childless Bellamy cousin takes the boy permanently.
He grows up loved.
Comfortable.
Invisible.
They chose the second.
I stared at Arthur.
“You reassigned my son like an account.”
His face hardened.
“He would have destroyed the engagement.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You thought he would destroy your daughter’s position.”
There.
Difference.
Arthur’s alliance with me depended on Celestine becoming Mrs. Wycliffe.
A son born to her younger sister complicated everything.
Not legally.
Not automatically.
Politically.
Old men would ask questions.
Which Bellamy sister had given Wycliffe his first child?
Would Amabel gain influence?
Would Julian become symbol?
Arthur hated uncertainty.
So he removed the child.
“Where?”
He remained silent.
Then Celestine whispered:
“Rosemere.”
Arthur turned sharply.
That was enough.
Rosemere was the Bellamy family’s old lakeside house.
May you like
Two hours away.
My son was there.
