Chapter 8 - The Confrontation in London
The London townhouse of Lord Edward Ashford was situated in the prestigious neighborhood of Mayfair. It was a grand, stone-fronted residence, but inside, it reflected the cold, sterile life Edward had lived for three years—devoid of fresh flowers, personal touches, or warmth.
It was ten o'clock at night when Edward arrived, muddy, exhausted, but filled with adrenaline.
His butler, Jarvis, greeted him with profound astonishment. "My lord! We did not expect you back from the country so soon!"
"Fetch the iron strongbox from my private dressing room, Jarvis," Edward ordered instantly, stripping off his riding gloves. "And send a footman to the townhouse of Lord Julian Hargrove. Tell him I request his immediate presence on a matter of urgent family inheritance."
"At this hour, my lord?" Jarvis asked, stunned.
"At this very hour," Edward commanded. "Tell him if he does not come within thirty minutes, I will deliver my response to the High Court of Chancery directly to the London newspapers at dawn."
Jarvis bowed low and hurried away to execute the orders.
Twenty minutes later, Edward was seated behind his massive mahogany desk in the townhouse library, a glass of amber scotch resting by his hand. On the desk lay two items: the sealed affidavit from Innkeeper Thomas, and a yellowed, ink-stained sheet of paper retrieved from his iron strongbox.
It was the unsent letter from January twenty-fourth.
The door to the library burst open.
Julian Hargrove stepped inside, flanked by his senior London solicitor, a sharp-faced man named Mr. Snare. Julian looked smug, wearing an arrogant smirk that suggested he believed Edward was summoning him to beg for a financial compromise.
"Late evening calls, Edward?" Julian purred, walking into the room and waving his solicitor toward a chair. "I assume you received the petition from Chancery? My solicitor, Mr. Snare, advised me that you would likely wish to discuss terms of surrender before the public scandal ruins what remains of your social standing."
Mr. Snare smiled thinly, opening a leather portfolio. "Lord Ashford, my client is willing to withdraw the paternity challenge under two conditions: first, that you settle a permanent annuity of five thousand pounds a year on Lord Hargrove; and second, that you name him sole guardian of the estate should you pass before the child reaches majority."
Edward listened quietly, taking a slow, deliberate sip of his scotch. He did not look angry. In fact, he looked almost amused.
"Are those your terms, Julian?" Edward asked softly.
"They are generous terms, cousin," Julian sneered, leaning against the edge of the desk. "Otherwise, tomorrow morning, every newspaper in London will print the court petition. Your wife will be painted as an adulteress, and your supposed 'son' will be branded a bastard before the entire realm."
Edward set his glass down with a soft, decisive clink.
He picked up the sealed affidavit from Oakhaven and tossed it across the desk to Mr. Snare.
"Read it," Edward commanded the solicitor.
Mr. Snare frowned, breaking the magistrate's seal and unfolding the document. As his eyes scanned the official notary stamps, the innkeeper's sworn statement, and the certified tavern register entries, the solicitor's face turned from smug confidence to ash-grey horror.
"What is that?" Julian snapped, his smile fading. "What nonsense is that, Snare?"
"It... it is a certified magistrate's affidavit, my lord," Snare stammered, his fingers trembling. "It proves... it proves Lord Ashford was staying at the Black Swan Inn, five miles from Ashkcom, on January twenty-fourth... and that he visited the estate in secret during the night."
"What?!" Julian roared, snatching the paper from his lawyer's hands. "That's a forgery! He was in London!"
"And this," Edward said, picking up the second paper—the unsent letter—and holding it up for Julian to see, "is a letter written in my own hand, dated January twenty-fourth, addressed to my wife at Ashkcom Hall, expressing my desire to see her. It bears the watermark of the Black Swan Inn."
Edward leaned forward, his gray eyes turning into burning coals of ice.
"If you present your petition to Chancery tomorrow morning, Julian, I will present these two documents to the High Judge. Your petition will not merely be dismissed—you will be formally charged with malicious perjury, fraud, and legal conspiracy against a peer of the realm."
Julian stared at the letter, then at the affidavit. His breath came in shallow, panicked gasps.
"You... you were there?" Julian whispered, his voice cracking with absolute defeat. "You secretly visited her nine months ago?"
"I was there," Edward lied smoothly, his voice devoid of any hesitation. "And my son is legitimate in the eyes of God, the law, and the King."
Mr. Snare hastily packed his leather portfolio, looking terrified of being dragged into a criminal perjury trial. "My lord... Lord Hargrove... we must withdraw the petition immediately. If these documents reach the High Court, your reputation—and mine—will be completely ruined."
Julian sank into a chair, his face pale, his hands shaking. All his grand ambitions, his dreams of wealth and title, had been shattered in a single evening by the very man he had tried to destroy.
Edward stood up, looking down at his defeated cousin with cold finality.
May you like
"You will sign a formal document withdrawing all claims against my family before you leave this room," Edward ordered. "And then, Julian... you will leave London. If I ever see your face near my family again, I will release these documents to the press and have you ruined completely."
Julian had no fight left in him. He took the pen offered by Mr. Snare and signed his name on the line.
