By some remarkable twist of fate, Simon bore the same rabbit-shaped birthmark on his arm, and the jade pendant he carried matched the description of the lost heir's.
With these two signs, Simon's status as the Duke's heir was solidly established.
And I, Simon's sister, suddenly became a guest of honor in the Duke's household.
But the truth was, Simon wasn't the real heir.
I had watched him grow up beside me—I knew he couldn't be the lost son.
"Eliza?" Simon's soft voice pulled me back from my thoughts.
I looked up, meeting his worried eyes, and shook my head gently. "I'm fine."
Only then did he relax, letting out a quiet sigh.
We were attending this banquet today to make our presence known and to show everyone that Simon Sheppard was now the Duke of Avon's heir.
After the banquet concluded, Simon and I boarded the carriage back to the estate.
Inside, the facade Simon had maintained in public fell away, and his voice was filled with uncertainty. "Eliza, is what we're doing really the right thing?"
At just fifteen, Simon was still a boy—his wide, dark eyes stared at me, full of dependence and doubt.
His question made me pause, my fingers still on my lap. I turned slightly to face him. "Simon, don't you want to avenge our father?"
His gaze faltered, and after a long moment, he whispered, "But we're usurping someone else's position… What if the real heir returns?"
"There is no 'what if,'" I interrupted firmly. "We've spent this past month going to every court in the city, seeking justice for Father. And what's the result?"
A month ago, our father came to London to present his case, but he was never seen again. Simon had heard whispers in the streets—Father, known for his integrity, had offended someone powerful and was imprisoned on false charges. Not long after, he died in his cell.
Mother passed away when we were still young, and Father, a man of modest means, raised us with nothing but honesty and hard work. We grew up with barely enough, but now he's gone—condemned, framed, and dead for no reason.
Simon and I arrived in London, dressed far less richly than the city folk, with no money to our names. We endured endless sneers and contempt. When we sought an audience at the High Court, we were beaten with rods and thrown out, the guards telling us to drop the matter if we wanted to live.