Lady Be Reckless (Duke's Daughters #2)(12)

The hastily spoken words—that there were only so many days left in his father’s life—made Edward’s chest squeeze tighter, and the casual words he’d normally reply with stuck in his throat.

“I want you to be here for many, many days, Father,” Edward said instead, settling into his own chair opposite his father. Mr. Beechcroft paused as he was setting his glass down, his eyes suspiciously bright as they rested on his son.

“But you haven’t answered my question. Why are you up so late?”

Mr. Beechcroft adjusted himself in his seat, accompanied by a few grunts and groans. His usual way of delaying speech when he had something difficult to report.

Edward’s chest got even tighter.

“Dr. Bell came to the house this evening,” he began. Edward resisted the urge to interrupt—Are you all right? What happened?—and merely nodded.

“I had a turn, you see, while I was working in my office. I was able to call for help, and Chambers called Dr. Bell, who came quite quickly. There’s the benefit to always paying your bills on time, unlike some of his more aristocratic patients,” he added with a chuckle.

Edward wanted to scream at his father to get to the point rather than chortling over how his wealth continued to benefit him, but he knew his father would never be deterred from pointing out his situation versus his well-born business associates.

Some of Edward’s earliest memories were of his father drawing comparisons between the local aristocracy and their own family, such as it was, since it was only Mr. Beechcroft and him. The acknowledged bastard child of the wealthiest man in the area.

“And Dr. Bell said he believes I have an illness that might take me off within three months or might allow me to last for as long as a year.” His father picked up his glass and drained it. “So you see, you can fill up my glass again, since it won’t matter anyway.” He spoke in his normal light tone, as though he was just commenting on the weather or sharing his insight from one of his business meetings.

Not that he had just told his son he only had a few months, perhaps, to live.

Edward leapt to his feet to kneel on the rug in front of his father. He gripped the arms of his father’s chair, focusing on how his fingers were gripping the wood. Not on how the news was making his heart clench.

“What else did he say? What kind of illness is it? When are we returning home?”

They would get a second, third, and hundredth opinion, Edward thought. What was the point of having so much money if you couldn’t spend it on important things like this? The most important thing?

He couldn’t imagine the world without his father in it. He didn’t want to.

Mr. Beechcroft shook his head slowly, a small smile on his face. As though he knew something Edward did not.

“We’re staying right here, son.” He rested his palm on Edward’s hand, patting it softly. “I had an idea that this would be the news for some time now. That is why I wanted to come to London in the first place.”

Edward’s mouth dropped open, speechless for a moment. And then he spoke. “You are saying you’ve known about this? How long? What are we doing here?” Why had his father kept something like this from him?

“The thing is, I wanted to come to London and confirm my suspicions, and I did.” Mr. Beechcroft nodded his head in satisfaction. As though he’d concluded a successful business transaction, not been told he was going to die. “I have one unfulfilled wish, son, left before I go.” He placed his other hand on Edward’s remaining hand and looked his son directly in the eyes. “My wish is to see you settled and happy. I know it isn’t possible to give you my name—that was lost when your mother died before we could marry—but I can give you everything else. London is the only place you would be able to find a bride suitable for your, uh, situation.” He sighed as he spoke. Edward’s birth bothered Edward’s father more than it did Edward himself. Edward knew his father had loved his mother, but that his mother’s father had forbidden the match. But he had not been able to forbid Edward’s birth.

“I want to see you with a lady. Someone whose family name will give you the legitimacy I couldn’t.”

“You,” Edward began, taking as deep a breath as he could, “you want me to marry? Marry someone from Society?” The Society that turns its patrician nose up at me, that whispers behind my back, that will take my advice on what horses to buy and follow me when hunting, but doesn’t want me to dance with its daughters?

Oh, Father. You ask an impossible task.

But he didn’t say any of that. He couldn’t. This was his father’s last wish, and Edward had spent his entire life showing his gratitude to the man—his father hadn’t deserted him, he had given him every opportunity, he had loved him—and he wasn’t going to let a few turned-up noses and some disdain stop him, not now when it was so important.

“I do,” Mr. Beechcroft said, smiling broadly. “I would like to know that you are happy, son, and I believe you will be happy if you marry someone who shares your education and beliefs.” He left aside the obvious distinction of Edward’s birth. “I knew this day would come. Not so soon, obviously, but that is why I have insisted that you understand the business and can take over when I am gone. And why I wanted you to have every opportunity I never did—in education, in manners, in company.”