The Lost Duke of Wyndham (Two Dukes of Wyndham, #1)(24)

He'd defended her. Was it too much to hope that he was, underneath it all, a white knight?


  
Jack had always prided himself on being able to spot the irony in any situation, but as he stood in the Belgrave drawing room - correction, one of the Belgrave drawing rooms, surely there were dozens - he could find nothing but stark, cold reality.

He'd spent six years as an officer in His Majesty's army, and if he'd learned one thing from his years on the battlefield, it was that life could, and frequently did, turn on a single moment. One wrong turn, one missed clue, and he could lose an entire company of men. But once he returned to Britain, he'd somehow lost sight of that. His life was a series of small decisions and insignificant encounters. It was true that he was living a life of crime, which meant he was always dancing a few steps ahead of the hangman's noose, but it wasn't the same. No one's life depended upon his actions. No one's livelihood, even.

There was nothing serious about robbing coaches. It was a game, really, played by men with too much education and too little direction. Who would have thought that one of his insignificant decisions - to take the Lincoln road north instead of south - would lead to this? Because one thing was for certain, his carefree life on the road was over. He suspected that Wyndham would be more than happy to watch him ride away without a word, but the dowager would not be so accommodating. Miss Eversleigh's assurances aside, he was quite certain the old bat would go to extensive lengths to keep him on a leash.

Maybe she would not turn him over to the authorities, but she could certainly tell the world that her long-lost grandson was gadding about the countryside robbing coaches. Which would make it damned difficult to continue in his chosen profession.

And if he was truly the Duke of Wyndham...

God help them all.

He was beginning to hope that his aunt had lied. Because no one wanted him in a position of such authority, least of all himself.

"Could someone please explain..." He took a breath and stopped, pressing his fingers against his temples. It felt as if an entire battalion had marched across his forehead. "Could someone explain the family tree?" Because shouldn't someone have known if his father had been the heir to a dukedom? His aunt? His mother? Himself?

"I had three sons," the dowager said crisply. "Charles was the eldest; John, the middle; and Reginald the last. Your father left for Ireland just after Reginald married" - her face took on a visible expression of distaste, and she jerked her head toward Wyndham - "his mother."

"She was a Cit," Wyndham said, with no expression whatsoever. "Her father owned factories. Piles and piles of them." One of his brows lifted. Very slightly. "We own them now."

The dowager's lips tightened, but she did not acknowledge his interruption. "We were notified of your father's death in July of 1790."

Jack nodded tightly. He had been told the same.

"One year after that, my husband and my eldest son died of a fever. I did not contract the ailment. My youngest son was no longer living at Belgrave, so he, too, was spared. Charles had not yet married, and we believed John to have died without issue. Thus Reginald became duke." She paused, but other than that expressed no emotion. "It was not expected."

Everyone looked at Wyndham. He said nothing,

"I will remain," Jack said quietly, because he didn't see as he had any other choice. And maybe it wouldn't hurt to learn a thing or two of his father. A man ought to know where he comes from. That was what his uncle had always said. Jack was beginning to wonder if he'd been offering forgiveness - in advance. Just in case he decided one day that he wished to be a Cavendish.

Of course, Uncle William hadn't met these Cavendishes. If he had, he might've revised that statement entirely.

"Most judicious of you," the dowager said, clapping her hands together. "Now then, we - "

"But first," Jack cut in, "I must return to the inn to collect my belongings." He glanced around the drawing room, almost laughing at the opulence. "Meager though they are."

"Nonsense," the dowager said briskly. "Your things will be replaced." She looked down her nose at his traveling costume. "With items of far greater quality, I might add."

"I wasn't asking your permission," Jack said lightly. He did not like to allow his anger to reveal itself in his voice. It did put a man at a disadvantage.

"Nonethe - "

"Furthermore," Jack added, because really, he didn't wish to hear her voice any more than he had to, "I must make explanations to my associates." At that he looked over at Wyndham. "Nothing approaching the truth," he added dryly, lest the duke assume that he intended to spread rumors throughout the county.

"Don't disappear," the dowager directed. "I assure you, you will regret it."

"There's no worry of that," Wyndham said blandly. "Who would disappear with the promise of a dukedom?"

Jack's jaw tightened, but he forced himself to let it pass. The afternoon did not need another fistfight.

And then - bloody hell - the duke abruptly added, "I will accompany you."

Oh, good God. That was the last thing he needed. Jack swung around to face him, lifting one dubious brow. "Need I worry for my safety?"

Wyndham stiffened visibly, and Jack, who had been trained to notice even the smallest of details, saw that both of his fists clenched at his sides. So he'd insulted the duke. At this point, and considering the bruises he was likely to find staining his throat, he didn't care.