Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Sophie’s entire body tenses.
It takes a moment for what I’d said to register. When it does, she stares at me in confusion mingled with disbelief.
“Did you say Henry Brown?”
The enormous smile I’ve been fighting this entire time breaks free. “That is precisely what I said.”
She shakes her head. Stunned. “But…how…? I don’t understand.”
“Robert Tulley changed his name to Henry Brown after Josephine broke his heart. Also, he was being pressured to marry a royal princess and wanted none of it. I suspect he had every intention of living the rest of his life alone until Evelyn came to him for help. They proceeded to raise William and Josephine’s son as their own and ended up having four other children. One of those kids was Amanda Brown, and she’s Catherine Kerr’s mother. But the firstborn son, William’s son…that son, Alexander Brown, was— ”
“My grandfather,” Sophie finishes, her breath catching.
“Your grandfather,” I confirm. “Who had one son of his own—your dad. Is it safe to say your father is Irish?”
“He is. Yes. He came to London in his late teens.”
Once again, I beam at my brilliant sleuthing. It’s cocky, yes. But after an entire night spent researching this stuff, I’m allowed to gloat a little.
“Grandpa Alex was William Tulley’s son?” She’s shaking her head repeatedly, visibly floored.
“I believe so. You told me your grandfather is the one who got your dad the job with Andrew Tulley?”
She still appears astounded by everything I told her. “He did, yes. When Dad left Ireland, he worried he wouldn’t find work, but Grandad assured him he had connections.”
“Robert had connections,” I correct. “He kept his distance from the Tulleys after he moved away, but clearly he hadn’t cut ties altogether. After all, he did speak to Lawrence Tulley’s investigator. It’s not a stretch to believe he may have maintained some contact with his brother Lawrence over the years and therefore not a stretch that the Browns and Tulleys remained somewhat connected.”
“This…is a lot to process.”
“God, I bet. I’m sorry to drop all this on you without warning. I couldn’t even believe it when I pieced it all together.”
“Perhaps you’re wrong.” She voices it as a question.
“A DNA test will easily answer that,” I point out with a shrug.
“If it’s true…”
I grin broadly. “If it’s true, that means your father is the true heir to the Tulley land and titles. But at the very least, this information could serve as excellent leverage should you choose to use it against the Tulleys. Because if you are who I think you are, you’re entitled to something. Your father”—I soften my voice—“is entitled to something.”
Tears glisten in her eyes. “Jesus, Abbey.”
“My advice? Get that DNA testing done. But unless all this”—I wave a hand over the sea of documents lining her table— “is merely one whopping coincidence after another, then I’m confident in everything I hypothesized.”
“If this is all true, then I owe you a debt I’ll never be able to repay.”
I brush that off. “Oh, hush. There’s no debt. This was fun.”
It’s her turn to grin. “Fun,” she echoes.
“You have no idea how much.” I start to gather up the papers, tucking them back in the folder. “I’ll leave these here with you. They’re copies. And you know what? There is one way you can repay me. Call me the moment you find out whether I’m right or not.”
“Absolutely,” she promises.
A few minutes later, I’m stepping out into the cool night air, absently arranging for an Uber to take me back to Notting Hill. A whirlwind of information and chaotic thoughts clutters my mind. And along with the mental overload comes a sense of satisfaction so deep and pure it triggers a rush of tears.
I solved the mystery. Months of turning over stones, digging in every nook and cranny, driving all over the country, setting up camp in the library. It’s all culminated in this moment.
I’ve never been prouder of myself.
But perhaps the most satisfying part is I truly believe everybody got some version of their happily ever after in this story. Josephine may not have chosen Robert, but he got his happy ending, or some semblance of it. He got a family. A wife who I hope cared about him, although based on the Farnham correspondence, Evelyn did seem sweet and kind. I hope she was kind to him.
And Josephine got William. Because as she’d told Robert in her note, her destiny lay with William. Where he goes, my heart will always follow. Most importantly, their son, the product of their love, survived the tragedy. So in a sense, the two of them lived on.
I stand at the curb waiting for my ride, my mind drifting to what Mr. Baxley said in the library yesterday. Our conversation stays with me on the drive home. During my shower before bed. When I slide beneath the covers. It buzzes in my brain for hours, until it’s all I’m thinking about, those last minutes between Josephine and William on the sinking ship.