The Scandalous Love of a Duke (20 page)

“Because Your Grace has spotted the error in his figures no doubt?”

John was not convinced of that, and Wareham did not even know he’d found out about it yet. No, there was something else.

“Have you any conclusions on either my mother or the money?”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, no. I am still working on both topics.”

John gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. He just wished this done with.

He opened his eyes again. “I want more men put on this. I want it resolved, Harvey.”

The businessman smiled.

John did not.

“Forgive me,” Harvey leant back in his chair. “There are many times Your Grace has the look of the old Duke, and it catches me unawares. I understand. Of course, I will increase our resources as Your Grace desires.”

A prickle ran up John’s spine when he heard Harvey’s reference to the old man. John did feel more and more like him, yet he was feeling less and less in control of his life.

John stood, moved to the window, and then looked out onto the street.

There was a young lad hovering by the railings outside the property next door, staring up at Harvey’s offices.

Well at least John knew who his shadow was, just a boy.

Hell. I want this over.

Still facing the street, he said, “I wish you to write to all of my stewards, and all those managing my business ventures. They know Wareham has gone and that I gave him notice but I have not shared why.” John turned back. “Tell them… No. Warn them. I expect to be dealt with openly and honesty and in return I will manage them and my affairs fairly and with integrity. But disloyal service will bring equal rewards.”

Harvey reached for paper, quill and ink and began to make a brief note. He understood, John knew, but there was no harm in underlining the point.

“I am
not
my grandfather. They will have to learn to deal with me, and you may tell them that in the coming months I will be visiting all my properties and reviewing in detail all my investments. I expect to find them in good order, but I shall not give notice of my arrival.”

Mr Harvey’s head lifted and he smiled. “I said Your Grace has the
look
of the old Duke not that Your Grace is like him, they will not have mistaken it, but I shall happily make it clear.”

John valued this man. Harvey was one of the few he felt safe letting his guard down with. Perhaps that was why he was here. Seeing Wareham had been disturbing. Yet John realised then that Harvey was one of his older staff, there would come a day soon when John would lose Harvey, and then what? John sighed and then admitted, “I would be lost without you, Harvey…” He picked his words with care then. “…But one day I suppose I shall have to manage… I … I wonder if you have ever thought of working with anyone to prepare them to take over, when the time comes…”

Harvey’s eyebrow’s lifted but John could see he’d taken no offence. “My clerks know most of my affairs, but you are right, as ever, Your Grace, I will put some time into finding a suitable replacement and set about ensuring he is capable.”

John nodded. “Thank you.”

A knock on the door punctuated the conclusion of their conversation as a clerk entered.

When John walked home, he thought of Phillip, and the thought germinated.

Phillip had already shown his loyalty by raising the issue of Wareham’s loan. Perhaps Phillip could be the one to play understudy to Harvey? Now there was a thought. That would surely throw Katherine into John’s path again at some point.

A pain gripped in his chest as images of Katherine filled his thoughts once more.

God
, he was seeking men of integrity, when he’d shown none to Katherine. If she ever did see him again she would mostly likely cut him dead.

When John reached home, he let Finch take his hat and gloves and then walked into the library.

He was a liar. He was perfectly capable of feeling. He felt anger, gratitude, disgust
and loss
. He’d been taught not to. He’d sought to pretend he did not, then failed in France and then hidden away in Egypt so he might have no stimulation. But emotions were there.

There was one of his sketchbooks from Egypt lying on the desk; he’d been glancing through it last evening, trying to distract his thoughts.

He sat and began flicking through the images of pyramids and temples, then reached the sketches he’d started last night. Katherine. He picked up his charcoal and began refining them.

“Your Grace, may I fetch you anything?”

John turned the page back and lifted his gaze to Finch who stood at the open door, and nodded. “Yes, a brandy, please, Finch.”

When Finch left, John’s eyes caught on his grandfather’s portrait. “I am not you,” he whispered harshly at the portrait. “I feel.”

When his gaze fell, it stuck on the pile of invitations discarded on his desk.

His mother and father had come to town five days ago. They were planning to bring Mary out during the autumn. They were staying with Edward’s brother, Robert.

John sighed. He should be hurt that they’d chosen to stay in his uncle’s smaller residence. He was not. He’d not wished them here. Yet it was another line drawn between them.

They had sent him an open invitation to call. He had not gone.

Suddenly he longed for Katherine again. He felt like he was dying internally without her.

Pushing aside the sketchbook, he picked up paper and a quill and then dipped the quill in ink. He had to say something more. He wished her here. Perhaps if he asked again?

I miss you still. I wish you were here. Have you thought about my offer? If you have changed your mind? Well, just write to me, whenever you wish, whenever you decide. My feelings are unchanged, my offer is not withdrawn.

Remember me,

J

Once the words were blotted and the letter sealed, he felt better. He would see it posted and then call on his parents and try to build a bridge between them.

He walked again, because he would not give Wareham a victory and let the man think he controlled any aspect of John’s life.

His uncle’s townhouse was in Bloomsbury Square.

Jenkins, the butler, opened the door and immediately grinned. “Your Grace, it is good to see you.”

John had not called here since his return. His family always came to him.

The butler bowed and then took John’s outdoor articles.

“Is my mother in?”

“Lady Edward is in the drawing room with Lady Barrington, the Duchess of Arundel and Miss Marlow. Shall I introduce Your Grace?”

“No, I’ll surprise her.” And it would be a surprise.

He climbed the stairs at a jog, knowing he had an apology to make. He had unfairly hounded her at Pembroke Place.

When he reached the drawing room, the door was ajar so pushing it wider he walked straight in.

The women were huddled on the sofas near the hearth, and they turned as one, his mother, Aunt Jane, Aunt Penny, and Mary.

His mother stood, blushing, and her chin lifted. She was obviously prepared to defend herself. She’d responded the same way when his grandfather called. John felt his stomach tighten in disgust. Was that what he had done to her, made her fear him?

“John,” she uttered, “we did not expect you.”

“I had nothing else to do. I hope I am not intruding.” He forced a smile and walked towards her.

She curtsied.

He took her hand and drew her up, then kissed her cheek. “Mama,” his inflection spoke his apology, without saying the words.

A hesitant smile then formed on her lips but he could see forgiveness and gratitude in her eyes. She hugged him then and whispered to his ear, “I am glad you came.” He was glad too. “You are interrupting nothing,” she said more loudly, drawing away and keeping a hold of his hand for a moment. He sat beside her. “But our conversation may bore you. We are planning Mary’s come-out. Will you stay for refreshments?”

He nodded, feeling another punch of guilt as he realised he ought to be sponsoring Mary. Edward had no title.

John offered up his townhouse for the ball and made a promise to escort Mary to a number of events. His name would give her opportunities Edward’s would not.

In return he received joyous gratitude from his sister and approval from his mother and his aunts.

~

Katherine lay back on the bed, her stomach churning. The morning sickness had not eased and she’d not taken breakfast for days. It seemed better to simply stay away from the table.

It was a good thing then that her family paid so little attention to her. None of them said a word.

With one hand on her stomach, she thought of John’s child growing there.

There was a feeling of awe to think of a child, a part of John, developing in her womb, and yet there was fear too. She didn’t know what to do. Pain gripped in her chest, constricting her throat, and tears tumbled from her eyes.

For days now she had been building up her courage to ask Richard for help. He’d helped other women in the parish find somewhere safe. But she would lose his respect and his friendship, and she would lose Phillip and her father when she left.

She sighed.

At the beginning of this dreadful folly, she’d longed to know how her mother had felt. Now Katherine knew. Alone and ashamed. No wonder her mother had taken her own life.

Tears ran again.

Katherine was her mother’s perfect legacy – frail and naïve. But she would not follow her mother to the grave. She wished the child to live and have its mother.

A slight knock struck her bedchamber door.

Katherine rose, ignoring the lurch of her stomach. She had dressed, in case anyone came.

She crossed to the window seat and picked up her mending. Then she called, “Come in,” and set a smile on her face, belying her inner despair.

Hetty entered, waving a letter. “’Aven’t you eaten, Miss? This letter was left on the table. You’ve barely touched a thing in days. Still, here you are, I brought it up so you’d ‘ave it, Miss.”

Hetty had noted Katherine’s absence then, even if her family had not.

“Thank you,” she accepted the letter and ignored everything else.

Hetty bobbed a superficial curtsy, then left.

Katherine felt faint when she saw the bold script. John’s. She took a deep breath and broke the seal.

He’d written just three lines which spoke his lack of respect for her. He repeated the offer he’d made in the summer and said again,
remember me
. She did not wish to, not anymore. She wished to forget him. She would not live in sin with him. Her child would not grow up being called his bastard. The letter only spurred her to speak to Richard. She could trust Richard.

Angry, she crossed to her small travelling desk and then wrote a letter back.

~

When John spotted Katherine’s writing amidst his post his heart stuttered to a sharper pace and his lungs felt as though there was no air in the room. His hand shook as he broke the seal.

It was addressed formally, to the Duke of Pembroke. He knew without reading a word it was a rebuff.

I’m sure you think your contacting me is kindness. It is not. It is, as usual, selfish. “Remember me.” ”Love me.” Do you ever not think of yourself?

I do not wish to remember you anymore. I wish to forget you, and that dreadful mistake.

Then you renew your offer, as though I should be honoured, when it is entirely lacking honour. My answer is no, and will always be, no! Pray, if you have an ounce of human feeling, as you claimed to in your last letter, leave me alone. I do not want to hear from you. What was between us is over. All you are doing is hurting me more because I did love you and you did not love me.

Have a heart, John.

It was not even signed.

John felt a chasm rip open in his chest, a sharp pain that cut him in two.

She’d said she
did
love him – loved – she did not love him now.

The letter fell from his fingers and slipped to the floor. A footman bent and picked it up before refilling John’s coffee cup.

John felt sick and empty. He’d lost Katherine.

But then anger came in a rush.
Fool, I never had her.
She was never mine to have.

He stood, with an urge to run. But where would he run to.

He picked the letter up from the table, folded it and then put it in his pocket, forcing himself to have some control. Then he picked the others up too and left the table.

In his private sitting room upstairs, he dropped the rest of the post on a small table and then walked to the hearth where the embers still glowed. He tossed Katherine’s letter into them and watched it catch alight and burn.

Hell
. He needed to get over her. She had gotten over him.

What foolhardy notion had possessed him to make that offer again?
Need. Desperate, bloody need.
His fingers curled into fists, then released.

He longed to go to Pembroke Place and see her, yet it would hardly be worth doing so now. But he was the Duke of Pembroke, he could do anything he wished. He could go there and steal her away if he chose. He could force her into accepting by threatening to destroy her father.

God, you are an ass, John.

He’d not do that. He’d do what she asked and leave her alone. His gaze caught his reflection in the mirror and he snarled. He didn’t like that man. His fingers lifted and swept back his fringe.

But how do I let her go?
It was an anguished thought.

Pray, if you have an ounce of human feeling in your heart, leave me alone.

Did he? Could he?

Tomorrow was Sunday. She would be with her vicar.

John felt as though she had been the glue which held him together and now he was falling apart. He forced himself to sit down and read his other letters.

The clock chimed eleven behind him. He remembered promising to call on his mother so she could bring him up to date on their plans.

He rose, and leaving the letters there, left the room.

Inside him was dry, barren sand again. Any doubt left in him that he could feel was dispelled. He felt. He hurt like hell.