“Unfortunately,” said Worth, “your father’s Will was drawn up nine months after the death of mine.”
“Oh!” groaned Miss Taverner, sinking down upon one of the gilt and crimson couches.
“But the name!” said Peregrine. “My father must have written the name down!”
“Your father,” said Worth, “left you to the sole guardianship of Julian St. John Audley, Fifth Earl of Worth. The name was certainly my father’s. It is also mine. The mistake—if it is a mistake—is in the title. Your father named mine the Fifth Earl in error. I am the Fifth Earl.”
An unfilial expression was wrenched from Miss Taverner. “He would!” she said bitterly. “Oh, I can readily believe it!”
Peregrine gulped, and said: “This must be set right. We are not your wards. We had rather be anything in the world than your wards!”
“Possibly,” said the Earl, unmoved. “But the distressing fact remains that you are my wards.”
“I shall go at once to my father’s lawyer!” declared Peregrine.
“Certainly. Do just as you please,” said the Earl. “But do try and rid yourself of the notion that you are the only sufferer.”
Miss Taverner, who had been sitting with one gloved hand covering her eyes, now straightened herself, and folded both hands in her lap. It was evident to her that this conversation led nowhere. She suspected that what Worth said was true, and they would find it impossible to overset the Will. If that were so this bickering was both fruitless and undignified. She quelled Peregrine with a frown, and addressed herself to the Earl. “Very well, sir, if you are indeed our guardian perhaps you will be good enough to inform us whether we are at liberty to establish ourselves in London?”