My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(84)

She stared at him, jolted. George? George was Papa’s older brother, who taunted and teased her father over his musical studies, who mocked him for refusing to go see the bearbaiting in the village. Frantically she searched her memory. It had been so long, and Papa had never said much, but hints of it were coming back to her . . . “You’re Henry,” she blurted.

He grinned proudly. “I am! Tom must have said something of me.”

“He did.” She frowned, rubbing her forehead. Henry was Papa’s half brother, younger by several years. Papa had spoken of him as a child. “It was so many years ago . . . You kept a pet hedgehog.”

“Humbert,” he said with affection.

“You fell off your pony when you were eight,” she added with growing enthusiasm as bits of stories surfaced in her memory. “And broke your leg! Papa had to help you with your lessons for a month while you were abed.”

“He tried,” said Lord Makepeace with a laugh.

Sophie laughed, too, then clapped her hand to her mouth to stop it. “What happened to . . . ?”

“My father? George?” Her uncle nodded, unperturbed. “George died a few years ago. A cancer, the doctor said. My father breathed his last right after Christmastide. It’s taken me a while to get things in order, and then I wasted time searching for Miss Graham. I’d no idea you married,” he added apologetically.

“You were looking for me?” she repeated in wonder.

“Of course.” He looked at the floor. “I found the bills for your school and wrote to the headmistress. Mrs. Upton, her name was. She’s quite fond of you and gave me a direction in Bath. Well, you weren’t there anymore. Lord Fox told me his aunt left you some funds, and it made sense you’d go to London. I had to hire someone to ask about in town.”

Sophie could hardly breathe. “Why?”

He pursed his lips. “I thought I’d like to know how you are,” was his reply after a moment. “I haven’t got children—-never did find a wife, either, a younger son with no expectations. I know my father didn’t take well to Tom marrying Cecile, but I didn’t do much better. I only wrote to him a few times, being a young idiot, and never managed to come see him after he came back to England. So I thought I owed something to Tom’s daughter, if she needed anything.”

Numbly she shook her head. If she had known she had an uncle—-a kind uncle who might take an interest in her, she could have had somewhere to go when she left Mrs. Upton’s Academy.

“Well. Good. I’m glad you’re getting on all right.” He rubbed his palms on his knees. “I’ve got no experience at this, but if you’ll welcome me, I thought I’d call on you now and then. Make certain you still don’t need anything.” He shrugged. “Tell stories on Tom, if you want to hear them. He was a dozen years older, but I remember him well. I was twelve when he met your mother and left.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I would like that very much, my lord.”

“Uncle Henry, if you wish,” he said, almost shyly.

She beamed. “I do.”

It looked like her uncle blushed. He told her where she could find him in London, then got up and bowed in farewell and put on his hat. He let himself out and went down the step to where a handsome roan stood waiting. Sophie followed, still dazed by the visit. He was gathering the reins when something struck her. “Uncle Henry,” she called.

He looked up, waiting.

“Are there attics at Makepeace Manor?” she asked. “Crammed with old furniture and perhaps some of Papa’s things from when he was a boy?”

“There are attics,” he said in surprise, “although I’ve no idea if there’s anything of your father’s up there. You . . . You are welcome to visit and see, if you like.”

She thought of that rainy afternoon with Jack, up under the eaves of Alwyn House. Perhaps he would come with her to rummage in her own family’s history. “Thank you. I think I might.”

Uncle Henry grinned, touched the brim of his hat, and rode off.

She closed the door and leaned against it. She had family. Just an uncle, but one who seemed kind, who didn’t disdain her or her parents. Who asked to call on her and tacitly offered his support.

Her breath caught. She had family. Connections. With her four thousand pounds and a viscount for an uncle, she was no longer nobody; she was almost . . . eligible.

Jack might say he didn’t care, but other people would. London society would look down their aristocratic noses at the just--barely--respectable woman who’d snared the Duke of Ware. She dreaded being snubbed and suspected of tricking Jack into wedding her. It was very easy to say one didn’t care what other people thought or said, but to spend the next several decades of her life atoning for doing what she had to do to survive . . .

But now she didn’t need to. As niece to Lord Makepeace, and with her modest fortune, she had claim to being one of the ton. Good enough to be a duchess. Her heart lifted at the thought of telling Jack tonight.

Her joy lasted all of two hours and twenty minutes. She finished her letters to Eliza and Georgiana, greatly expanded to include the news of her uncle’s visit, and sent Colleen off to post them. Georgiana’s letter she enclosed with Eliza’s, since Lady Sidlow was intercepting Georgiana’s messages and would confiscate anything from unapproved persons—-namely Sophie. She felt an extra burst of vindication that soon Lady Sidlow’s objections would melt like ice in the summer sun. Not merely the niece of a viscount, but a future duchess, as well. She couldn’t wait to see Georgiana again.