Dear Future Husband

38. Are You My Father?

25 November 1893

Eighteen-year-old Maximilian Walker paced the small room, filled with documents, files, and thick folders filled with letters, charts, and various other records that needed to be sorted out by five pm. Instead of working on them as was his secretarial role, however, his mind was clouded by thoughts of the meeting he would have today.

Earlier this week, nearly six months after his eighteenth birthday, he had received a mysterious note from an unknown sender, telling him to meet the note's sender in a gentleman's club in the wealthiest area of London. Under normal circumstances, he would have ignored the note, even if he was willing to admit that a hint of curiosity piqued him. Its unfamiliar but sprawling, learned hand and the heavy paper indicated wealth, as did the wax stamped with a signet ring. It was a signet that he did not recognize, even after poring over Debrett's Peerage one night with Dahlia.

No, this man was in all likelihood foreign. Yet he addressed Maximilian by name, knowing where he lived and where he worked (in a drafty old office, for a rather cantankerous Scottish businessman by the name of Ian McInnes who refused to burn any more firewood than necessary to heat the building, leading to him wearing scarves and gloves to work and even when indoors). It was unsettling. He had not gone by that name in years, instead taking on his preferred alias of Marcus Wakefield. Wakefield had not been his favoured choice, but it did remind him of Gideon and his wife, Caro, which he did not mind very much.

He had not answered to that name in six months. So how could this man suddenly show up and claim to know who he was and seek a visit with him? Whatever the reason was, he did not have time to ponder it. Instead, he got to work on the documents at last, hoping that sifting through the abundance of paper would allow him to finally put his mind to rest.

Working through noon and nearly missing tea until his stomach growled, Maximilian ate two measly, cold hardboiled eggs that he had wrapped and tucked into his coat pocket on his way out the door this morning, before continuing with his work. He blinked in the light of the setting sun as he read the words on the page, confused.

Edgar Wakefield

Would this man never cease to haunt him? Ever since Maximilian had escaped his clutches, he had thought himself free of the man. Yet clearly, he was not. He haunted him no matter where he went, and for what reason? He examined the paper more closely and his heart sank into the pit of his stomach. He had accidentally filed one of his own reports along with the rest of the business papers, since he always carried the reports for and from Redmond Flynn with him. This one was a dossier of sorts, one he had not read before.

Edgar Wakefield

Born: 1854

Aliases: Edwin Porter

Family: a sister, Cornelia Winthrop (b. 1859), nee Wright, sometimes known as Eliza Wright. Adopted into the family of George Wakefield at the age of ten. An adopted brother, Gideon Wakefield, and a sister-in-law, Caroline Wakefield. Niece's name is Daisy Wakefield.

Notes: Helped his sister, Cornelia Wright, marry into the well-connected and wealthy family, the Winthrops of Grenledge. Specifically to Lord Samuel Winthrop, Duke of Grenledge. Shortly after conceiving a daughter, Rosalie Winthrop, Cornelia left her husband and was rumoured to have run away with her lover to Paris. However, we suspect that she may be hiding somewhere in England.

Accomplices: Possibly, Lord Oliver Dennings, the Duke of Marlborough, who is well known for supplementing his estates' rents with gambling, smuggling, and other nefarious activities that are never fully proven due to his having bought out the local magistrate and constable. His only heir, of unknown age (thought to be born in the year 1875), has not been seen since birth. This Duke is sometimes seen with Edgar Wakefield at Pall Mall or even in coffeehouses, though presumably on business.