Читать книгу The Scandalous Love of a Duke - Jane Lark - Страница 6

London, April, four months later

John’s ship docked in London just as twilight darkened into night. A light drizzle was falling as he descended from the gangplank.

England.

It was over seven years since he’d stood on English soil. It felt odd stepping onto the dock; like travelling back in time.

He remembered the callow youth who’d left here. He wasn’t that child anymore.

One of the crew had called a hackney carriage. It waited before him, its oil lamp glowing into the now full darkness. He gave the address to the driver then climbed in. A few moments after he’d clicked the door shut, the carriage jarred into movement, rocking over the cobbles.

He’d not sent word ahead. There’d seemed little point when he’d arrive just as fast.

He lifted the curtain and looked at the passing streets.

They’d left the narrow backstreets of the slums near the docks and now they were progressing into the more affluent areas of London.

He’d had months to get used to the idea of coming home. He had accepted it. But it did not mean he was looking forward to it. He would be weighed down by duty here.

John’s heart drummed steadily in his chest. Was his grandfather alive or dead?

The carriage turned a sharp corner and John caught hold of the leather strap.

The streets were quiet, virtually dead. Early evening in Mayfair was not a social hour. People would be dining now, before they went out. All John could hear was the sound of the carriage horses and iron-rimmed wheels on cobble.

He didn’t even know if his family were here, but he was heading for his grandfather’s townhouse. It seemed the best place to start.

A few minutes later, the hired carriage drew to a halt and John looked from the window at his grandfather’s palatial town residence. It was set back from the road and guarded by iron railings, taking up one entire side of the square.

John had found it oppressive as a child. As a youth he’d been more impressed. As a man it simply seemed ostentatious.

John climbed out onto the pavement.

He’d left his luggage at the docks to be sent on.

The light drizzle had not eased.

He paid the driver.

The man tipped his hat.

John looked up at the house as the hackney pulled away. The knocker was in place, someone was home.

He took a deep breath and then jogged up the pale stone steps. When he reached the top he lifted the lion-head brass knocker and struck it down thrice, then stepped back a little and waited.

It was several moments before it opened.

Finch, the man who’d been his grandfather’s butler for as long as John could remember, stood in the hall. John watched recognition, and then shock, dawn on the butler’s face. He’d never seen Finch’s upper lip show any expression before.

“Good Lord – I mean come in, my Lord. You were not expected?”

“No, I travelled at the same speed as any message; I saw no point in sending word. My luggage will follow. Tell me, who is currently at home?” He already knew his grandfather yet survived, otherwise Finch would have said Your Grace.

“Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess, my Lord, and the Duke and Duchess of Arundel.” His grandparents then, and his uncle and aunt. John’s heart pounded. Finch then nodded to a footman, obviously sending him somewhere to announce John’s arrival. But even as he did so there was a shout from above.

“John.”

He looked up as his name echoed off the black and white marble beneath his feet and the decorative plaster all about him, and saw his Uncle Richard, the Duke of Arundel, descending the wide curving stone steps briskly. This man had been like a father to John before John’s mother had come back. But he had aged. His hair was peppered with grey and his face more lined.

“Thank God. We had no idea if you had even received Edward’s letter.” John saw relief in his uncle’s eyes as he neared and then he smiled. “It is good to have you home, John.”

John met Richard at the bottom of the stairs, and took his hand to shake it, but Richard also gripped John’s shoulder. An uncomfortable feeling tingled through John’s nerves. He was unused to being touched. No one had touched him in four years.

“You have changed, John. Grown up, I suppose.”

“Uncle—” John began, only to have his speech halted by a wave of his uncle’s hand.

“No uncle, just Richard now we are both men.”

John smiled, “Richard, it is good to see a familiar face. The journey was long and I’ve no idea of how things stand.” How is the Duke? He didn’t say the last, he didn’t know how to.

“Things stand not well, John.” Richard slung an arm about John’s shoulders and drew him to the stairs. “I’ll take you up. The family will be pleased to see you, your mother particularly.”

“And my grandfather?” John had to ask.

“He is near the end,” Richard answered, his arm falling as they began climbing the stairs. “He has been holding on for your return, I think. He will want to speak to you at once. I’ll tell him you are here. He is much changed, John. He’s been ill for many months.”

John nodded sharply, angry at the emptiness in his chest and the anxiety stirring in his stomach. For God’s sake, I am a man full-grown now. I need not fear him.

“Why not wait with your grandmother and Penny. They will be overjoyed you’re home. I’ll come and fetch you.” His uncle must have seen something of John’s feelings.

John felt like the child he’d been when he’d left. The child his uncle had always seemed to pity. He nodded, though, and walked on along the familiar hall as Richard turned the other way.

John’s head was suddenly full of pictures from the past. The most acute being the day his mother and his stepfather had come here to fetch him during that troubled tenth year of his life. The day he’d been returned to her after the scene which haunted him.

She’d taken John from school previously, in the middle of the night. John’s stepfather had been with her then, but he’d been a stranger to John at the time. They’d travelled north for miles and then she’d married that stranger.

It was only a couple of weeks after that John’s grandfather had come to take him back.

The day his mother had collected John here, his grandfather had acknowledged her for the first time.

The drawing room door was ajar. John could hear the women talking.

“I have no idea what else to do. He will see no other physician but he is so obviously in considerable pain and yet he will not take laudanum,” John’s grandmother was saying. Her voice sounded weak and worried.

Both she and his aunt Penny had been mothers to him until he’d been ten. His grandfather’s monster wanted to roar even now, and yell at them when he entered; why had they needed to be? Why had his mother not been here? He’d never understood who to blame for his loss.

He thrust his maudlin childish thoughts aside and pushed the door wider to enter. “Grandmamma. Aunt Penny.”

Both women stood, exclaiming at the sight of him then crossing the room, their eyes wide. He had shocked them.

“Grandmother,” he kissed the back of her fingers, bowing, but when he rose he saw tears in her eyes, and then he hugged her gently and pressed a kiss on her temple before letting her go.

“Oh John, your grandfather will be glad. I am glad. It is good to have you home. You look well. Your journey was not too difficult?”

“My journey was long, and difficult, but that is travelling, and particularly in winter. It is good to see you too, Grandmother. You have not aged a day.”

She smiled. “Flatterer.”

“You have an air of mystery about you now, John, and I think it suits you,” his aunt said.

John turned to her, smiled and opened his arms.

She hugged him. “Ellen must be overjoyed.” She was crying too when she pulled away and she reached for a handkerchief.

“I have not seen Mama yet. I thought it best to come here first. Is she in town?”

“Oh John, yes, she is in town, and she will never forgive me for seeing you first.”

“I shall have Finch send word,” his grandmother said. “The whole family are in London…” Because of my grandfather’s illness? “I shall have him contact them all.”

“John.”

John turned to face Richard, who stood at the open door.

“His Grace wishes to see you.”

A moment later, John was walking back along the statue-lined hall beside his uncle.

“How long is he likely to live?”

His uncle glanced sideways. “It could be hours or days or weeks, John. There is no certainty. He has defied a hundred predictions already.”

John nodded, feeling his anxiety rise again.

“You have nothing to fear,” his uncle stated more quietly.

John was thrown back into the position of a ten-year-old child.

Richard rested a palm on his shoulder.

John shrugged it off. He was not that child anymore, and if his grandfather was so close to death, he needed to earn respect not pity. “I am half his age and in my prime. He is on his deathbed. He can hardly dominate me now.”

“I was not challenging you, John,” his uncle answered with a smile. “I know you are capable, but I also know how cutting his words can be, pay no mind to them. I have never done so.”

John tried to recognise Richard’s good intent but only felt discomfort. He felt emotionally naked here. He was not used to the feeling. He was no longer used to people who knew him so well. He did not like it.

Richard knocked on the door of the state bedchamber and waited to be called in.

John’s heart raced when Richard turned the handle.

The red and gold decoration in the room was subdued by the low light. Just two candles were burning: one on either side of the bed, casting shadows. The canopy towered above them, and long curtains fell to the floor at either side, screening his grandfather from view. But John could hear his laboured breathing, and the chamber had the putrid smell of sickness.

His grandfather’s valet stood across the room and another man was beside the bed. The physician?

“Your Grace, I have brought John.” Richard moved forwards.

John followed.

The Duke of Pembroke was propped up on pillows and his head lay back, as though he could not lift it. He was extremely thin, a ghost compared to the statuesque giant who’d intimidated John as a child. He was unrecognisable. His skin was grey and his cheeks sunken. His hands, which rested on the red cover, were skeletal.

The old man took a breath, which looked painful, and lifted his hand an inch from the bed. He breathed John’s name and then it fell.

John passed his uncle, moving to take his grandfather’s hand. He pressed a kiss upon the bony knuckles. “Your Grace.”

“My… boy.” The words were barely audible as he fought for breath.

“John.”

John turned to see Richard had brought a chair for him. He sat, still holding his grandfather’s hand, and rested an elbow on the bed, leaning forwards.

“Grandfather, I was sorry to hear your situation.”

A condemnatory sound escaped the old man’s lips “Because… it… meant… you… must… come… home… Sayle.” The Duke was the only one who called him by his token title, the Marquess of Sayle.

“Because it meant you were dying,” John corrected. “I do not relish that, Your Grace. True, I do not hunger for the reins of the dukedom, but nor do I wish to see you gone; you are my grandfather.” It was probably the most honest statement he’d ever made to the old man. It was about bloody time he spoke truthfully.

“Unlikely… But… now… you… are… back… I… may… go… in… peace.”

“And that is equally unlikely.” John smiled as he met his grandfather’s gaze. The old man’s body may have been weakened, but his direct gaze and the mind behind it had not.

“Enough… of… your… cheek.”

John smiled more broadly. “So do you wish to know what I have been up to in my absence?”

“I-know… your… mother… has… read… your… letters… to… me—” the Duke’s words were cut off by a painful-sounding cough.

John rose and pressed a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder. “Perhaps I ought not disturb you.”

The Duke’s fingers lifted from the bed. “Stay,” he breathed.

John sat again.

“I… have… waited… for-you. You-must… speak-to… Harvey… about… business—”

“I am sure I shall manage, Grandfather.”

“I… know… you… shall.”

John smiled again. That was possibly the only compliment he’d ever heard from this man.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Richard said. The Duke’s gaze reached across John’s shoulder, then John heard the door open and shut.

As soon as it did, the Duke’s hand moved and touched John’s forearm, which rested on the bed. “But… you… must… promise-me… one… thing. You… will… not… wed… beneath… you. You… must… choose… a… wife… to… preserve… the… bloodline.”

John felt his face twist in disgust. Even now, even on his deathbed, the old man sought to cast orders and manipulate John’s life. Still, when the time came to set up a nursery, John would have plenty of choice from those in his own class. With a self-deprecating smile, he nodded. What did he care, it would not matter who he picked.

“You swear,” his grandfather pressed on a single breath.

“I swear,” John answered, his smile falling. He knew the old man’s game but chose to play.

“Now… talk … to… me… of… what… you… have… done. I… will… listen.”

John smiled again and leant back in the chair, folding his arms over his chest and stretching out his legs.

He spoke of Europe, of what he’d made of it, the things he’d seen and done, and he made his stories humorous and even caused the old man to express a muted laugh. It ended in another visibly painful coughing fit, at which point the old man’s valet stepped forward to plump the pillows and make the Duke more comfortable. John would have left, but his grandfather once more bid him stay.

John changed his subject to his true passion, to Egypt, and began talking about the place and people, about the amazing artefacts and architecture of that ancient world. He talked of the finds he was shipping home.

While John spoke, the old man smiled and shut his eyes, his chest rising and falling with each rasping breath.

It was strange watching him thus – this ogre who’d dominated John’s life – as a man and not a child. His grandfather was just a man too, with human frailty.

John felt a heavy sense of regret as he continued recounting a pointless search he’d set out upon once.

A sound of humour escaped the Duke’s lips.

If John had returned in better circumstances, he wondered if they’d had more time, man to man, whether the past could be put straight between them.

His grandsire’s physician stepped forward a while later, advising His Grace to rest.

John rose and laid a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder. The old man opened his eyes.

“I… do-not… want… your… pity… Sayle.”

John laughed. “You’ll not have it, Grandfather. But you will have my admiration.” He bowed, slightly. “Your Grace, I’ll leave you to recoup.” He had never spoken so openly to the old man in his younger days.

John’s hands slid into his pockets as he walked back along the hall, his head was full of drifting thoughts. He wondered now if the perceptions he’d held as a child would have changed with an adult’s view. Possibly? Probably. But it was too late to know now.

“John!”

Looking forward, he saw a slender, strikingly beautiful young woman. She had ebony hair and pale-blue eyes, like his own. A beam of joy lit her face, and then she caught up her skirt and ran at him.

Good God, was this Mary-Rose, his sister, all grown up?

She hugged him fiercely, her arms about his neck, and he held her loosely. “John! Oh John! I am so glad you’re back.” His baby sister was not even a child anymore. She’d been about ten years old and not much taller than his midriff when he’d left. Now she was as tall as his shoulder.

He lifted her off her feet and twirled her once, smiling, before pressing a kiss against her temple. “Mary-Rose, my not-so-little-anymore sister.”

Her fingers gripped his coat sleeves and she leant back, grinning as she looked him over. “You are no different, other than a little older, and no one calls me Mary-Rose anymore, it is just Mary now. That is a childish name.”

“And more worldly,” another female voice reached along the hall.

John looked beyond Mary and saw his mother had stepped out from the drawing room. She was also still strikingly beautiful, their colouring was hers. But there were now two wings of grey in her hair at her temples. His smile softened. “Mama.”

“John.” She swept towards him as Mary moved aside, and she was in his arms in a moment and pressed a kiss on his cheek. “You have been away too long. I’ve missed you.” There were tears in her eyes.

“And I have missed you too, Mama.”

“Liar,” she whispered before she drew away, low enough so Mary could not hear. It was not a malicious word, just the truth, and they both knew she was right.

Tapping her beneath the chin, he made a face. “I am home now, anyway.”

“And I am glad. Come and meet everyone else.” She slipped her arm through his as she turned back towards the drawing room. Mary occupied his other arm, and both women questioned him eagerly as they walked.

He felt very strange and disorientated to be so besieged.

When they reached the drawing room, though, all hell broke loose. He was mobbed by his various aunts and elder female cousins.

Once they finally pulled away, hankies in their hands, John was then greeted by the men, his uncle’s by marriage first, and then his male cousins. His stepfather, Edward, held back.

When the pandemonium ceased, John looked at his stepfather. He stood across the room with a youth beside him. Robbie, John’s eldest brother, he looked so like his father it was unmistakable. Robbie was fifteen; the age when awkwardness set in. He seemed to deliberately not look at John. That must be why Edward stayed back, torn between welcoming his stepson and supporting his own son.

John smiled and approached them. He greeted his brother first. Robbie was already over shoulder height when compared with his father. “Robbie.”

The boy coloured up with palpable self-consciousness. John’s smile broadened. Robbie had idolised John as a child, but he’d only been eight when John had left. The gap between them was too wide for any real relationship.

“John.” Robbie took the hand John had offered and shook it limply. But John used the grip to draw his brother into a brief embrace and patted his shoulder.

“You’ve grown,” John stated the obvious as he let Robbie go. “Would you like me to take you to Tats with me when I look for a carriage and horses?”

“Yes.” The enthusiasm thrust into that one word was completely at odds to the demeanour of his welcome and the boy’s face lit up as Mary’s had done earlier. “God, John. Will you really take me?”

“If you’re good.” He lifted a closed fist to press to his brother’s jaw, in a masculine gesture of affection, but the lad ducked away laughing.

“I’m always good. You’ve just not been here to know it,” the cocky brat responded, and John laughed. Then his stepfather interrupted.

“Perhaps you ought to ask me if he’s been good. I think his masters at Eton may have some tales to tell if they were asked.”

John turned.

“John.” His name was spoken with warmth and layered with hidden emotion.

John smiled again. Edward’s hair was still a dark brown, untainted by age. He was younger than John’s mother and yet there were definitely more lines about his eyes, marking John’s absent years. “Father.”

A twinkle in his eye, Edward said, “Son,” and gripped John’s shoulders firmly. The man had always treated John as a real son, no different to Mary or Robbie or the rest. “I’m glad you are back.” Edward’s grip fell away.

Robbie then began urging his father for agreement on their outing to Tats.

~

John was woken by a sharp rap on his bedchamber door. He sat up and threw the sheet aside from where it had lain across his hips.

“My Lord,” a low voice called.

“Yes, what is it?” John was already swinging his legs from the bed and rising.

“His Grace, my Lord. The physician believes there is not much time. He sent me to fetch you.”

“I’ll be there in a moment,” John called back, instantly shifting to search for his clothes in the dark room.

It felt bizarre to be here. It had felt odd to see his grandfather ill, and now… It was like a dream, not a nightmare though. He only felt emptiness inside, not fear.

Finding his trousers, he slid them on now his eyes had adjusted to the dark.

The family had taken supper together before they’d left, sitting at the long dining table en masse in an impromptu, informal meal. It had felt like a celebration. The only quiet person was his grandmother, who’d sat at the far end of the table as John was encouraged to take his grandfather’s place.

Perhaps it was wrong to have held such a gathering while his grandfather lay on his deathbed, but John had appreciated the gesture and the jovial conversation, even though at times he kept feeling the axis within him shift as though he was poorly balanced.

He pulled his shirt over his head.

He’d said goodnight to his grandfather, as had the others before they’d left, one by one, and he’d wondered then, how long.

Hours.

He sat and pulled on his stockings.

God, this world felt strange to him – strange and a little surreal.

When John left his room, the hall was morbidly silent and the statues seemed like sombre mourners.

John gently knocked on the door of his grandfather’s chambers. “It is the Marquess of Sayle.”

The door opened and a footman bowed. “My Lord.”

His grandmother sat in the chair John had occupied earlier, her hand resting over his grandfather’s. She looked across her shoulder at John. “John.” Her voice was heavy with emotion, though he knew their marriage had never been a love match. For her it had been more like endurance.

John stood behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders.

There were three footmen in the room, his grandfather’s valet and the physician.

“His Grace’s heartbeat is very weak,” the physician said quietly. “He is unconscious.”

John nodded acceptance and then his eyes fell to the bed – to the man who’d always been a significant figure in John’s life. Even during the years he’d hidden from that influence abroad, he’d still been the Duke’s heir. He’d never been able to escape that.

The old man was barely breathing, weak and wraith-like.

John took a deep breath, stepped about his grandmother, leant forwards and rested a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder, then pressed a kiss on his cold brow.

“Goodbye. I never thought I would miss you, but I shall,” John whispered, before rising.

The Duke had probably not been able to hear it, there was no sign that he did, yet John felt better for saying those words. They were true.

The old man passed away in moments, as John stood with his grandmother, watching.

The room fell completely silent when the Duke of Pembroke took his last breath.

John’s grandmother rose and leant to kiss the Duke’s cheek, tears slipping from her eyes.

John felt only emptiness, oddness, a lacking…

When she drew back, the physician walked past them both and lifted John’s grandfather’s wrist, checking for a pulse. Then he bent and listened for breath, before finally rising and drawing the sheet up and over the old man’s face.

John’s grandmother turned sharply and John opened his arms to her.

While he held her, the men about the room bowed and his grandfather’s valet said, “Your Grace.”

John felt the ground shift sideways beneath his feet. He’d known this day would come. But God, it was strange now it was here. I am the Duke of Pembroke. This house, everything in it, and several more like it, acres and acres of land and the tenants living and working upon that land were all his to manage and care for.