Chapter 6 - THE SINS OF THE FATHERSThe conviction of Lord Reginald Fitzroy sent shockwaves through the British Aristocracy. Fitzroy was sentenced to two years of hard labor at Wormwood Scrubs prison—a punishment unheard of for a man of his high birth.
But as the dust settled in London, Julian was far from finished.
While Clara spent two weeks recovering at the Montgomery family’s grand townhome in Mayfair, Julian used his vast network of private investigators and forensic accountants to launch a secret investigation into the claims Sir Anthony Croft had made regarding Clara’s father.
One rainy evening, inside the dimly lit study of the Mayfair mansion, Julian sat across from Mr. Jonathan Vance—the top investigator in London.
"You were right, Your Grace," Vance said, setting a heavy leather folder on the desk. "The forged ledgers Croft produced in court weren't created recently. They were created fifteen years ago, during the railway crash of '73."
Julian leaned forward, his grey eyes sharp. "Explain."
"Thomas Higgins didn't steal twenty thousand pounds," Vance explained, pointing to a series of yellowed banking documents. "Thomas Higgins discovered that the Fitzroy family and the Marquess of Westbury were running a fraudulent stock-inflation scheme. He was about to expose them to the Board of Trade. So they crashed the railway company intentionally, wiped out Higgins’s capital, and filed fake embezzlement charges to discredit him before he could speak."
Julian felt a cold, murderous fury rise in his chest. "They didn't just ruin him. They murdered his reputation and drove him to his grave."
"And there's one more thing, Your Grace," Vance added, pulling out a thick, sealed parchment bearing a gold wax stamp from the Bank of England. "When the Fitzroy family crashed the company, they seized Thomas Higgins’s underlying asset—a four-hundred-acre parcel of land in South Wales that Higgins had bought for fifty pounds."
Julian frowned. "Barren land?"
"It was barren in 1873," Vance smiled grimly. "In 1885, they struck one of the richest anthracite coal seams in the United Kingdom beneath that exact dirt. The Fitzroys have been pulling fifty thousand pounds a year out of Thomas Higgins's land for the past decade."
Julian stood up slowly, a dark, triumphant smile spreading across his face.
"They didn't just steal his name, Vance," Julian said quietly. "They stole his daughter’s birthright."
"What do you intend to do, Your Grace?" Vance asked.
"I am going to file a petition of asset recovery in the High Court of Chancery," Julian declared. "I am going to strip the Fitzroy family of every single acre, every single house, and every single shilling they made from that stolen land... and hand it all to Clara."
An hour later, Julian walked up the grand staircase to the second-floor drawing room.
Clara was sitting near the bay window, reading a book of poetry to Leo, who was fast asleep with his head resting in her lap. The evening light cast a warm, golden halo around her dark hair, making her look like a painting of an angel.
Julian stood in the doorway for a long moment, simply watching them.
His house was no longer cold. His life was no longer empty. The heavy, suffocating shadow of grief that had trapped him for three long years had been completely dissolved by the gentle, invincible spirit of the woman sitting by the window.
Clara looked up, noticing him in the doorway. She gave him a soft, breathtaking smile and carefully slipped a pillow under Leo’s head before standing up and walking toward him.
"You look like a man who has just won another war," Clara whispered, stepping into his arms.
Julian wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her close, resting his forehead against hers.
"I didn't win it, Clara," Julian murmured, looking deep into her green eyes. "We won it. And tomorrow... I am going to return your father’s legacy to you."
He told her everything Vance had discovered—the fraudulent stock scheme, the stolen land in Wales, and the vast fortune that legally belonged to her.
Clara listened in stunned, breathless silence. Tears filled her eyes, not of sadness, but of profound, overwhelming justice for the gentle, broken father who had died believing he had failed her.
"My father... he was innocent all along," Clara wept softly, her hands clutching Julian’s coat lapels. "The world called him a failure, but he was innocent."
"He was a brave man, Clara," Julian said tenderly, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Just like his daughter. And now, you will never have to worry about money, standing, or protection for as long as you live. You are an heiress in your own right, Clara."
Clara looked up at him, her heart beating fast. "Does that mean... I have to leave Ashborne?"
Julian’s posture froze. His grip on her waist tightened, a sudden, desperate panic flashing through his grey eyes.
"Leave?" Julian rasped, his voice rough with emotion. "Clara... you have fifty thousand pounds a year coming to you. You can buy a manor in Kent. You can buy a townhouse in London. You can take your place in high society as a wealthy lady."
Clara looked at him, her lips curving into a soft, teasing, incredibly tender smile. She reached up, placing her palms against his cheeks.
"Julian Montgomery," Clara said softly, "do you really think I care about manors in Kent or society parties in London?"
Julian swallowed hard, his breath catching in his throat. "Clara..."
"I don't want a mansion, Julian," Clara confessed, her voice full of absolute, undeniable love. "I want the library at Ashborne. I want the quiet garden walks. I want to help Leo practice his reading. And most of all... I want the icy Duke who thawed his heart just to protect me."
Julian let out a ragged, shattering breath. He didn't say another word.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers in a deep, passionate, breathtaking kiss that swept away every remaining shadow of their painful pasts. Clara wrapped her left arm around his neck, kissing him back with all the love, devotion, and fire that had built inside her heart since the night she threw herself across the marble terrace.
When they finally broke apart, both breathless, Julian kept his arms locked around her, his eyes shining with pure joy.
"Clara Higgins," Julian whispered, pulling a velvet box from his coat pocket and snapping it open to reveal a magnificent heirloom emerald ring that had belonged to the first Duchess of Ashborne. "Will you do me the absolute honor of becoming my wife, the Duchess of Ashborne, and the mother of my son?"
May you like
Clara looked at the gleaming ring, then into the eyes of the man who had fought the entire world for her honor.
"Yes," Clara breathed, tears of pure joy spilling over her lashes. "A thousand times, yes!"
