“She worries too much,” the duke said as soon as she was gone. “The whole ordeal is chafing her nerves.”
Florian raised an eyebrow and approached the bed. “I would say she has good reason to be concerned, Uncle George. She loves you and fears your demise.”
“It is not healthy, though. She ought to get out and socialize more.”
“Her time with you is limited, Uncle. I doubt either of us can convince her to stay away. And you know I am right because you would do the same for her if the roles were reversed, would you not?”
Instead of answering, George winced, his face contorting for at least three seconds before he released a shuddering breath. Florian quickly opened his bag and retrieved the new bottle of morphine he’d come to deliver. He poured a measure into a thimble-sized glass and helped his uncle drink.
“Ah, you’re a good lad,” George murmured. “Your parents did a fine job raising you. I have always thought so.”
The mention of his parents made Florian flinch. Fighting the vehement feeling that threatened to overwhelm him, he lowered himself to the chair his aunt had vacated and forced a grateful smile. “Thank you. They will be thrilled to hear you said so.”
“Your brother’s not bad either. More of a scoundrel, I suspect, but his heart is still in the right place, and as far as I am concerned, that’s the most important thing.”
“He would take a lead ball to the chest for anyone in the family,” Florian said, agreeing with his uncle’s assessment of Henry.
“I fear he may take one on account of a woman if he’s not careful.” George shifted against the pillows propping him up. “If the rumors I hear are true, he’s likely to one day top a married one at the rate at which he is going. Simple odds, Florian.”
“He wouldn’t do that.” Although Henry seemed to enjoy his reputation as a rakehell lothario, Florian knew he would never set his sights on another man’s wife. “Opera singers, ballerinas and widows are more to his liking.”
George grunted. “Either way, he is your father’s heir.” Florian stiffened in response to those words. If only he could return to that blissful time before he’d been made aware of his true paternity. “And one day he will inherit your grandfather’s title as well,” George continued, “and become the Earl of Scranton.”
“That is how primogeniture works, Uncle.” And thank God for that. At least Florian could take some comfort in the fact that Henry was the oldest and it was he who would inherit Armswell’s title.
“Your father is a fortunate man, Jonathan.”
Florian flinched at the use of his childhood name. No one had called him that in years, not even Henry. Since reaching adulthood, he’d chosen to go by his middle name and had continued to do so as a physician because it helped differentiate between himself and his brother.
“He has an heir and a spare.” George spoke with increasing weariness. “His legacy is settled, while mine has always been so uncertain.” He started coughing, and Florian quickly rose to help him sit up a bit more. Grabbing a glass of water that stood on the nightstand, he helped his uncle drink. “Thank you, my boy. You really are a good physician.”
Florian grinned, amused by his uncle’s brief attempt at humor. It was extraordinary that the man was able to find anything to joke about in his current condition. “I do try.”
“I know you do.” George settled back against the pillows once more, and when he looked at Florian again, seriousness filled his gaze. “Your determination is unparalleled. You persevere, setting goals and hunting them down until you reach them. It has been a pleasure to watch, and although I know there are those who question your medical methods at times, I want you to know that I have always admired you.”
The compliment was almost too much to bear. It filled Florian with extreme discomfort, for he knew that what drove him came from a darkness that no man would ever approve of. As always, he considered revealing as much in a futile attempt to alleviate his guilt. Except doing so would likely cause more harm than good. So he kept silent and thanked his uncle instead.
“Which is part of the reason why I decided to make you my heir.”
Florian froze. While Society seemed to have taken the news of his new position in stride, he was still having trouble getting used to the idea.
George offered a tight-lipped smile. “Lowell’s future is settled. Yours, on the other hand, will be more promising with a title and all the funds and properties that come with it. Just think of all the good you can do.”
“I only wish I could do so without gaining a title.” He didn’t deserve it and yet he had not been able to dissuade his uncle without revealing the truth.
Strong lines fell into place on George’s forehead. “You are my only chance at leaving a legacy, Florian. You know that. And you needn’t worry. My man of affairs has been thoroughly briefed. He will assist you with your new responsibilities. Additionally, there’s an army of employees for you to rely on, leaving you free to pursue your career to your heart’s content. As you have requested.”
Although they’d already discussed this at length, Florian couldn’t help but wince. “It is unheard of for a duke to have a profession. I shall bring scandal to the title.”
“Unlikely, considering you will outrank anyone who dares to insult you. And your profession is a noble one. You have patients who would no doubt be sorry to lose you, which is why I insist you continue on as usual, in spite of the title.”
“If it were only that simple.”
George studied him a moment from behind a pair of droopy eyelids. “If I didn’t know you better, I would think you were being ungrateful. But that is not the sort of man you are. Is it?”
Rising, Florian strode to the window and drew the heavy curtain aside so he could look out. It was dark now save for the yellow glow from a gaslight. “It is not that I am ungrateful, Uncle. It is just . . .” He drew a heavy breath and felt his chest tighten in response.
“You feel unworthy.”
The words ricocheted through the room, forcing Florian away from the window. His eyes caught the look of deep understanding now etched on his uncle’s face and realization finally sank in. “How do you know?”
“Because your moral compass has always been very precise and because I am also aware of your heritage. Your mother told me everything before you were even born.”
The admission brought Florian back to the chair on heavy feet. He sank down and stared at the man who’d always been nothing but kind toward him—the man who insisted on making him heir and who’d gone through hell in order to do so. “Did she tell you who my father is?”
“As far as I and the rest of Society are concerned, Viscount Armswell is your father. He and your mother were married at the time of your birth so you are not the illegitimate son you insist on pretending you are.”
Angered by that comment, Florian scowled. “I do not pretend to be anything I am not, but the fact is that I was conceived in a manner that I wish to this day I had never learned about. So call me what you will but there is no denying my blood is tainted.”
Silence followed, the two men staring back at each other until George quietly asked, “How much did your mother tell you?”
“Enough for me to know where to lay the blame.”
George nodded. “I would have killed the vile miscreant myself if I had been given the chance to do so, but the situation was complicated and . . .” His voice broke and he turned his head away. “Claire got no protection from me or from her husband. It is a wonder she was able to forgive us.”
Feeling bile creeping up his throat, Florian closed his eyes and focused on deep inhalations. He hated being reminded of what had happened when Henry was two years old and his nanny had gotten sick. Claire had taken him to the park herself. It was there Bartholomew had seen her and decided to do what he’d since made a habit of doing: taking what he wanted. But being a selfish, heartless bastard, he’d chosen the cruelest path available. When Henry went missing a week later and
Claire was summoned by Bartholomew, she immediately did what had to be done in order to save her son.
Florian shuddered.
“At least he is dead now,” George said, filling the silence with an edge of gratitude. “There is some relief to be found in that.”
“I quite agree.” Florian would not take this small bit of solace away from a dying man by informing him that a doppelganger had died in Bartholomew’s place.
“So you see, you need not worry about sullying the title. I know how you came into this world and I am sorry for it, but you are still my sister’s boy and the only man able to continue my lineage.”
Holding his uncle’s gaze, Florian studied the man who’d known of his paternity long before he’d discovered it himself. George had loved him, championed him and offered support throughout his entire life and his career. Armswell had not had the capacity to do as much and it was not until Florian turned sixteen that he had finally understood why the viscount had favored his brother. It wasn’t just that Lowell was his heir, but that Florian was the product of something Armswell wished to forget.
“Thank you, Uncle,” Florian murmured. “You may rest assured that I will do my best to honor your wishes.” He would deal with the problems it threatened to cause later.
Chapter 7
The Brighton ballroom was ablaze with light, the bright glow from chandeliers catching the facets of countless jewels and inviting them to shimmer. Finishing a reel with an eager gentleman who’d claimed the dance seconds after her arrival, Juliette went to join Gabriella who was presently conversing with her aunt, the Dowager Countess of Everly.
“Gabriella tells me you’re joining the committee at St. Agatha’s Hospital,” Lady Everly said. She smiled slyly. “I wouldn’t mind sitting at a table with Florian either.”
Instinctively, Juliette glanced around, seeking the man in question. She hadn’t seen him since she’d met with him in his office. He hadn’t attended a single social event, and when she’d asked Lowell about his absence, she’d simply been told that Florian was busy.
“He has always fascinated me,” Lady Everly continued.
Juliette blinked. “Who has?”
Lady Everly gave her a quizzical look. “Why, Florian, of course.” A hint of mischief lit her eyes. “All that red hair, you know?”
“It is an unusual shade,” Gabriella agreed.
Juliette didn’t comment. She was not about to delve into a conversation about the exact shade of Florian’s hair, which wasn’t red at all. It was an intricate collection of color, mostly copper and bronze. “My reason for wanting to join the committee has nothing to do with him.”
“Of course not, my dear,” Lady Everly said with a sparkle to her eyes.
Despite her best efforts, Juliette couldn’t stop from getting defensive. “He is an extremely skilled physician and surgeon.” A far more impressive aspect than his looks, though she had to admit he was strikingly handsome.
Raising her fan to provide a private shield, Lady Everly leaned toward Gabriella and Juliette. “From what I hear, he has traveled the world, gathering all sorts of unorthodox methods from various places.”
“His patients do not seem to complain,” Gabriella said. “I personally believe he is the most skilled physician there is. I refuse to use anyone else.”
“Do you know he advised against bloodletting and purging when I had the measles?” Juliette asked. “According to him, it does more harm than good.”
“Yes. I do believe that particular opinion of his has been much debated in the medical community. He is not always popular with other physicians and has been widely criticized by some.” Lady Everly snapped her fan shut. “If you ask me, one need only look to the success of St. Agatha’s Hospital to know they are all mistaken. Florian is the genius behind that facility and it is doing very well indeed, without the bloodletting or the purging.”
A couple of gentlemen approached at that moment, asking Juliette if there was still room on her dance card. So she handed the card over and watched as they added their names before moving off. “I have almost filled it completely,” she said, staring down at the long list of names. Her feet hurt and still four dances remained.
“Let me see,” Lady Everly said. She peered at the card, nodding in response to the various names, each more formidable than the last. “Your popularity is growing. And yet, no one has claimed the waltz.”
Juliette blushed. “I believe it may be because Raphe threatened to rip Mr. Newton’s throat out last night when he pulled me closer than propriety allows.” A new tune started and Juliette glanced toward the dance floor. “If you will excuse me, I must go and find my next partner.”
She hurried off, engaging in a country dance with a handsome officer, then a minuet with a Mr. Somethingorother, followed by a cotillion and a quadrille. Her slippers pinched her toes by the time it was over and her last partner gallantly escorted her over to the refreshment table.
“You dance splendidly, Lady Juliette,” the gentleman, who’d introduced himself as Viscount Euton, told her. He poured a glass of lemonade and watched her drink.
“Thank you, my lord, I do try.”
For some reason he seemed to find that vastly amusing, chuckling while offering her a piece of cake. She declined and he set it aside. “Perhaps you will permit me to call on you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” She couldn’t think of what else to say except, “I have an engagement with my sister.”
“Tuesday then? We could go for a ride in the park.”
Juliette craned her neck and searched the room while speaking offhandedly. “I do not ride, and even if I did, I have promised my brother to offer advice on—” She spotted the man she sought and instinctively started to move in his direction while saying over her shoulder, “If you will excuse me, there is someone with whom I must speak.”
Ignoring Euton’s attempt at stalling her, Juliette left him behind and wound her way through the crowd. It was quite a crush with several attendees standing shoulder to shoulder on the edge of the dance floor. She would have to circumvent them somehow if she was to reach Florian, which meant speaking an endless series of excuse me’s on her way toward her destination.
An ostrich plumed fan slapped her face and a gentleman elbowed her straight in the ribs while laughing in response to a joke. Cursing having to come here when she would so much rather stay home, Juliette focused on her purpose and continued onward, past a cluster of giggling debutantes and a similar, decades older, group of matrons who eyed her with undeniable censure.
It wasn’t easy ignoring them or pretending their low opinion of her and her family did not matter. It did and it hurt, but there were more important things for her to think of right now. So she ignored her failing confidence and raised her chin even higher. Back straight and eyes on her target, Juliette approached Florian as if she’d been raised in a palace instead of in the slums of St. Giles.
Florian sensed her before he saw her. Engrossed in conversation with Moore, an acquaintance of his who’d recently returned from America, he hadn’t spared a thought for any of the other guests attending the ball. Until now. It was as if his skin came alive beneath his evening attire, the scent wafting toward him so sweet, so captivating, so . . .
He instinctively turned and there she was, a vision clad in a gauzy concoction of blushing pink. Unlike the last time he’d seen her, she wore no bonnet. Instead her light brown hair, streaked with golden tresses, was piled up into an intricate mass of curls at the back of her head.
The sight made Florian want to unpin it and watch it fall over her shoulders. He frowned in response to the unbidden urge and deliberately pushed it aside so he could greet the woman with decorum. “Lady Juliette. What a pleasure it is to see you again. You look stunning as ever this evening.”
Her cheeks filled with color until they matched the shade of her gown in the most delightful way. “Thank you, sir. I apologize for interrupting your conversation but I was hoping for a moment of
your time.” She glanced out across the sea of people. “It took some effort to get here.”
He could well imagine. Addressing his friend, he said, “May I present the Duke of Huntley’s sister, Lady Juliette?”
Moore bowed with all the gallantry of a well-schooled gentleman. “It is an honor.”
Florian turned to Juliette. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Moore. He was just telling me of the last two years he spent in New York City.”
“How exciting,” Lady Juliette told Moore. She served him a radiant smile that provoked the most unsavory feeling in Florian’s gut. He pushed that aside as well and clenched his jaw.
Moore’s eyes brightened with appreciation. “The journey alone was thrilling. I shall never forget the wide expanse of endless water surrounding the ship. And then that moment when we finally caught sight of land! It was extraordinarily exuberating.”
“What was your first impression of the city itself?” Lady Juliette asked. Her eyes were wide with interest.
“Oh, it is grand, thrumming with energy and filled with people all hoping to accomplish their dreams. And the layout of it is simply genius. The streets are straight and parallel, making it simple for anyone to find their way around.”
“How fascinating.” Lady Juliet threw a quick glance in Florian’s direction—the sort suggesting she was either attempting to be polite by acknowledging his presence or trying to confirm he wasn’t missing. Perhaps both. “I hope I have the opportunity to visit one day. Traveling abroad would be such an adventure.” She turned to Florian in that moment, her sparkling eyes prompting him to hold his breath. “From what I hear, you are well traveled as well, are you not?”
It took a second for his brain to get his tongue working again, the effect of being the subject of her interest so astonishingly pleasant it momentarily robbed him of his mental faculties. “Mostly in Europe,” he finally managed to say, “though my profession has taken me as far as St. Petersburg and even Persia.”
The Illegitimate Duke Page 7
