Chapter 23

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It was midsummer and Anthony, unlike most of the ton, was still in Town, enduring the sweltering temperatures and foul smells so that he could finish the paperwork related to the Kendall Foundation, when he was informed that the sergeant-major and his assistant had called on him to report the results of the latest investigation he had ordered: discovering the identities of Felicia's natural parents.

"We tracked 'er back to a village in Devon by the name of Aylesworth. People said the Warricks turned up one day with a newborn babe, putting it about that they had rescued her from a wretched situation."

Hanlon went on to say that Mr. Rodney Warrick was a gentleman from a prominent local family, but had fallen on hard times—most likely gambling and drinking.

"Some folks thought the motive was the blunt—the nobs do that, ya know—hand over a babe with a full purse o' coins ta protect the family name from a scandal." He sent an apologetic glance in the direction of the earl, his employer.

Anthony nodded. Many of the Ton would commit the most heinous acts to avoid the humiliation of a scandal—while at the same time denouncing the unfortunates whose shame could not be hushed up. But he was eager to discover more of Felicia's parentage.

He nodded. "Go on."

The sergeant-major frowned. "The Warricks didn't seem ta care much for the wee moppet, or so folks said. Called 'er a bastard ever-where and paid no mind to 'er clothes 'n such. The mistress took sick 'n died. Warrick—who spent most of 'is time in Town—returned in time to bury 'er 'n leave the child with a 'governess', who was incompetent at best."

By this time, Anthony's fists were clenched. He leaned forward to hear Hanlon voice the local rumor that the 'governess' was foxed pretty much all the time and allowed the young Felicia to roam around on her own. Fortunately, the vicar's family took an interest in her; she was of an age with a daughter of theirs, and Felicia became an unofficial member of the Whiteford family.

"The Whitefords are that worriet fer the chit. They said she disappeared about four years ago 'n they 'aven't seen 'er since. Warrick put it about that she was living with an aunt, but no one has a direction."

Four years ago. A year or so prior to Cynthia's birth. Another attempt to hush up a scandal? He hadn't heard the story of Cynthia's conception, but Felicia could tell him that—when she was ready.

"What of her natural parents?" inquired Anthony. "Did you discover anything about them?"

Mr. Hanlon shook his head. "Mr. Warrick no longer resides in Aylesworth. Up and sold the place a year or two ago. Folks think he's in London somewhere, seein' as how he always spent so much time there."

Ackers broke in. "Some o' the staff that stayed on wit' the new owners were anxious fer the young lady's well-being. The gardener told me the bounder Warrick was in dun territory up ta 'his neck, 'n they feared 'e'd done sumpin' shameful ta the poor gel."

Anthony clenched his teeth. If he had to hunt down Warrick to get to the truth, he'd do it, although if he got anywhere near the rogue he was much more likely to punch him until he was black and blue.

After he'd expressed the same, Ackers nodded. "We'll track 'im down fer ya, milord.

Hanlon shifted slightly. "If I may suggest sumpin', milord? The vicar might know more 'n 'e's sayin'. There's a chance 'e might speak more freely ta someone of yer rank, 'specially if 'e believes yer workin' in the interests of the girl 'erself."

Anthony's head popped up. "Right," he said. "I will venture to Aylesworth and speak to the worthy vicar—Whiteford, is it?—in person. Thank you, gentlemen. You have been most helpful."

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