“I don’t believe you understand the significance,” Elizabeth said as she plucked at the cuff of her dress. “Our title, our station, is based upon the belief that God has chosen us to lead.”
“Really, Elizabeth?” his father said as he shook his head. “I’ll ask him in a couple of weeks. At least I hope so. In the meantime, we need to solve a problem.”
Jack’s gut tightened. That was it, he was to be a solution, nothing more.
“Either we have a new Duke of Oxford,” his father continued, “or the title returns to the crown. Do you wish to have the Prince in charge of your allowance? The way the man goes through money. I wouldn’t expect it to be there a year from now.”
All three women turned white. Jack watched them closely. This was it. The ultimate factor. Money.
Elizabeth looked across the room at him, her eyes narrowed. He returned her stare, holding it. Finally, her eyes dropped and returned to his father. She would be a strong enemy he realized. Either that or the best of allies. For some reason, he wondered if she had decided which.
Isobel smiled down at the Duke, then glanced over at Jack. Her eyes were creased with concern and worry. “He is handsome. A war hero I am told.”
Mary scoffed. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes even farther.
Jack could only stand there and allow this to play out. He might feel like a side of beef hanging in a butcher’s window, but his father had insisted he remain quiet until this was done.
“You will sign the paper,” the Duke said as he punched at a piece of parchment on the side table. “Prinny is insisting on it.”
The three sisters looked at each other.
“In addition,” his father said, “I will expect you to find him an appropriate wife. This is all rather fruitless unless the man produces an heir.”
Jack stiffened. Now, they were going too far. His father shot him a quick look to remain quiet but Jack refused to comply. This was his life. Besides, the old codger would be gone soon and couldn’t dictate from the grave.
“I will not be marrying,” Jack said with finality.
His father’s face began to turn red. The three sisters frowned at him, obviously unable to understand.
“Of course, you will marry,” his father sputtered through clenched teeth. “Why else am I doing this?”
Jack almost smiled. It felt liberating to realize he had power over the man in the bed. Finally, his father was forced to deal with him directly.
“I could always father a bastard of my own,” Jack said. “Ignore him his entire life, then recognize him just before I die.”
The Duke’s face grew even redder as Jack worried the man would die there and then, his heart exploding with anger.
“I didn’t ignore you,” his father insisted firmly, then wiped at the spittle specking the corner of his mouth. “Every month I received a report from the school. Then I used my contacts to make sure you received orders to the best of ships with a good captain.”
Jack scoffed in shock. “Do you really believe that exonerates you from your cold disregard for me and my mother?” The anger rushing through Jack threatened to explode. “That a distant command replaces a father’s regard. Replaces a father’s advice and guidance. Do you really feel as if you did your duty as my father? He noticed all three of his aunts staring at him opened mouthed and wide-eyed. No one talked to the Duke this way.
Clenching his jaw, Jack forced himself to stop talking before he said something unforgivable.
The two men stared at each other, ignoring the three aunts looking first at one and then the other like crows on a branch.
“Why do you think I am doing this?” the Duke said through clenched teeth. “Them?” he added as he waved a hand at his sisters. “Not bloody likely. No, you are my son. A son to be proud of. This is all I can do for you.”
Jack rocked back on his heels as his world shifted. Was it true? Did his father really care?
“Now then,” the Duke barked at his sisters, “Sign the damn thing and let me die in peace.”
Jack froze as he tried to wrap his mind around what was happening. Had his father actually said he was proud of him? Had he heard correctly? His father refused to meet his gaze. As if embarrassed by his outburst.
That would be it, Jack realized. All the tenderness for an entire life exposed in one brief statement. His father had returned to his cold, stone-like continence. Sighing heavily, he watched as his aunts dipped a quill and signed the paper, each of them shooting him a quick look before putting their name to the document.
“I have arranged for you to meet Prinny and his mother, The Queen, later this week,” his father said without looking at him. “Carmichael has the details.”
Jack came to full attention. He knew a dismissal when he heard one. Very well, they were back to their distant arrangement. Nodding to his father, Jack turned to leave. Just as he reached the door, his father called out.
“And you will marry and produce heirs or I will haunt you from my grave.”
Jack paused, his hand on the knob, then opened and stepped outside without replying. It was the last request of a dying man. His father. Could he ignore it? A sinking feeling filled him as he realized once again his father would dictate his future.
.o0o.
Jack stood before the window of his father’s parlor and looked out at the perfectly manicured grounds. Leave it to his father, everything in his world was as it should be. Everything except for his relationships with his family. It was as if the man was unable to see what was important in this world.
Last night, his aunts, the witches’ coven as his father called them, had been both afraid and uncaring when it came to the Duke’s health. But what should he have expected? The man was harder than granite. This morning had been worse. He shuddered when he thought about the look of hate in his Aunts’ eyes. He just thanked God it had been directed at his father instead of himself.
Taking a deep breath, Jack tried to wrap his mind around his new life. It was almost impossible to map out the way forward. The letter he had sent Chunley had eaten at his very soul.
Chunley had replied that the Admiralty had notified them with the arrival of a new Captain Stewart.
Jack’s insides had clenched at the thought of another man taking possession of his ship. It was as if his true love had left him for another man.
Biting back a curse, he began to pace.
A soft knock and the door opening interrupted his wool-gathering. He turned to see Carmichael, his father’s butler enter.
“Excuse me, Sir. A man to see you. He refused to leave.” The look of disdain in the butler’s eyes piqued Jack’s curiosity.
“You are slower than a Spanish Galleon in a squall,” Thompson said as pushed past the butler and into the room. A white cotton sea bag over his shoulder.
“Bosun,” Jack said as he raised an eyebrow. “Is everything all right aboard the ship.” His stomach rolled over with worry until he remembered the ship was no longer his responsibility. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from worrying.
Thompson ignored him as he slowly examined the room, his eyes growing big as he took in the large paintings, exquisite sculptures and refined furniture. Once he was done, the Bosun turned and looked at Carmichael with a stern expression that let the butler know he was no longer needed.
Carmichael glanced at Jack. He nodded and the butler left.
Only after the door clicked shut did Thompson turn to him. “I brought your sea chest, your books, and things. Told that toady to put them in your room.”
Jack fought to not laugh. He was sure Carmichael was a perfectly good butler. But to men like Thompson, they were no more important than driftwood on a beach.
“Thank you,” he told the Bosun. He hadn’t even thought about his things. Thirteen years of service and everything he owned could fit in a sea chest.
“So, it’s true then,” Thompson said. “They’ve cast you ashore. I never thought I’d see the day.”
Jack nodd
ed. “Yes, well when the Prince Regent says to do something, people have a habit of listening.”
Thompson scoffed and started to spit, then quickly stopped himself. Even he had enough sense not to spit in a Duke’s residence. It just wasn’t done. Instead, he swallowed and sighed heavily.
“Just wanted to be sure before I gave me notice,” the Bosun said.
Jack frowned, “Notice. Why?”
“I warned them. Believe it or not, they sent me miners this time. Six of them. Straight from Cornwall. And they expect me to turn them into sailors in a fortnight. It can’t be done, I tell you.”
Jack shook his head. He knew the man. That wasn’t the true reason.
“The truth, Mr. Thompson.”
Thompson sighed heavily and held up two gnarled hands. “The Rheumatism, can’t barely bend a line or twist a knot. Let alone climb to the yards.”
Jack examined the man’s bent and twisted fingers. Why had he never noticed? Because Thompson had always been a force of nature. A rock. It had never occurred to Jack that the man might be suffering.
“Thirty years at sea will do this to a man,” the sailor said. “I was eight, on my father’s yawl the first time. Should have left a couple of years ago, but I didn’t know if you could handle things without me around to keep an eye on you.”
A short laugh erupted from Jack before he could stop it. It was funny because it was true. This man had been looking over him since he’d reported to his first ship as a midshipman of fourteen.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
Thompson shrugged his shoulders. “Always fancied working in a pub. Somewhere down near the docks.”
Had the man spent all of the prize money from the French Brig? Shameful. A deep frown settled over Jack as he thought about losing this man. His friend, he realized. The one man who knew what it was like to fight a storm off the coast of Africa one day and a week later fight the French off Gibraltar.
“Come to work for me,” Jack said before he could think it through.
Thompson frowned as he looked around the room. “I don’t belong in a place like this. The deck never moves and the wind never blows.”
“I’m serious. I’m entering unknown waters here. I need a good bosun to keep me off the rocks.”
Thompson continued to frown. “I wouldn’t be much use in these waters.”
“I’ll have them get you a room near me.
The old sailor blanched, “No, I’ll be more comfortable down with the rest of the crew. Never could see living aft of the mast.”
Jack smiled. “Then you will do it.”
The old sailor’s brow furrowed for a moment before he nodded. “I’ll help you get settled. But, I’m buying that pub. A man’s got to have a goal.”
“Good,” Jack said as a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders. He knew that Brock, Ian, and Duncan when he returned, would help him with the unique aspect of being a Duke and operating in this new world. But it was nice to know there would be someone watching his back and keeping him from making serious errors in judgment. Someone from his old world, not someone from this new one.
“Carmichael,” he yelled.
The butler entered almost immediately.
“Mr. Thompson will be joining our staff. Please see that he is settled.”
The butler hesitated. Jack watched him as the man slowly began to realize that Jack would soon be the Duke and the master of the house. It was probably best not to upset him.
Carmichael nodded and indicated Thompson should follow him.
The old sailor leaned forward and whispered to Jack, “I am going to enjoy making that man’s life miserable.”
Jack bit back a chuckled and shook his head.
Chapter Five
Lady Arabella Dupont forced herself to go slow. Her limp became more prominent if she hurried. But her curiosity was killing her and this was the first time in a fortnight that the three Osborn sisters were in attendance. The rumors had flown quick and fast through the ton. Arabella desperately hoped to learn the truth tonight.
Something about the tall stranger pulled at her. Had his father actually recognized him and elevated him to be a Marquis and a Duke’s heir? Would he be in attendance tonight? She hoped he was faring well. The thought surprised her, they had never even spoken, yet she was worried for the man. Why?
Leaning on her cane, she waited for a man to move, Abigail looked up and froze. Her arch-nemesis, Lord Bristol stared down at her as if she were a bug crawling across the floor. His cruel smile sent a shiver down her back. The man had always been evil, as she well knew, but now, he looked as if he were enjoying being evil.
Gritting her teeth, she wove her way past the man. She had more important things to worry about than ancient history. She needed to hurry if she was to get a spot close to the sisters. With the way the stories had tumbled through the ton, there was a danger some other woman might take her preferred place with the observers.
Sighing internally, she ignored the looks of pity as she made her way through the crowd.
“Here,” Lady Isobel said as she patted the chair next to her. “I saved it for you.”
Abigail smiled her thanks as she gently lowered herself down onto the chair.
“So,” Isobel said as she leaned over, “It appears your cousin Rose has caught the eye of Lord Smalley?”
Abigail cringed inside. The last thing she wanted to talk about was her beautiful, seventeen-year-old cousin with her golden hair and blue eyes. And of course, her perfectly functional legs that allowed her to dance and twirl like a fairy princess. And now, the girl with everything may have caught herself a young Baron.
“Yes,” Abigail said, “she has asked me to provide the lace for her wedding dress. The man hasn’t even talked with her father. Let alone actually proposed.”
Isobel smiled as she patted Abigail’s good leg, “I always forget about your … unique talent making lace. I am sure it will be lovely.
Abigail cringed inside. Lacemaking was the one thing in this world she was better at than anyone she knew. And the fact that people found it unique, or different than the normal pursuits of the ladies of the ton. It really wasn’t that different than needlepoint, but people still found it strange for some reason. Well, she didn’t care. It had saved her from going insane after the accident. Bed-ridden, scared. It had been a gift from heaven that stopped her from sinking into despair.
Her mother’s mother, Nanna, had taught her. The two of them had spent countless hours working together. The memory always brought a smile to her lips. It had been her Nanna that had pulled her up out of a depression that had threatened to swamp her. The one person who hadn’t been disappointed in her.
“Yes,” Abigail whispered back to Isobel, “I am thinking a Battenburg tape lace of silk for the hem of the wedding dress. And, a gauzy Brussels for the veil.”
She so wanted to bring up the subject of the woman’s nephew but she knew the rules. Isobel had the information that everyone wanted. It was her turn to bask in their attention as they tried to pry it from her.
“I am sure it will be lovely my dear,” Isobel said as she turned to look out over the crowd forming for the first dance.
Abigail bit her tongue, patience she thought to herself. Isobel wasn’t going anywhere. Like herself, she would sit here through the entire evening.
“The Queen is looking well,” Isobel said without turning from her perusal of the crowd. Abigail balked for a second as she tried to understand where the conversation was going.
“We called on her last week,” the older woman added. “When Newcastle was received by the Queen and the Prince Regent.”
Abigail’s forehead creased with deep lines as she tried to understand the woman. “Newcastle?”
“My nephew,” Isobel whispered. “The new Marquis.”
Of course, Abigail thought with an inner smile. The tall Captain. So, his father had gone through with it. The rumors were true. Good for him, she thought.
Isobel glanced over at her two sisters, then back at Abigail and leaned towards her. “Do you feel up to a stroll around the room?”
Abigail hesitated. While she was perfectly able to walk with Isobel around the room. She despised the looks she received from the other guests, especially the other young women. But this appeared important. And perhaps her only way to obtain the best gossip.
“Of course,” she said as she took her cane and stood up. Perhaps with most people dancing she would not be the focus of attention.
The two women nodded to the two other sisters then began to walk slowly past the dancing couples.
Isobel took her free arm and pulled her close, “I didn’t want Elizabeth to hear, But … I must say. I like the man.”
Abigail raised an eyebrow and waited for more. Surely this was not all of it.
“We have been tasked,” Isobel continued, “to help find him a wife, and quickly. Unfortunately, I believe Elizabeth doesn’t understand the man at all. She believes she can dictate who he should marry and he will accede to her wishes.”
The snort Isobel gave out let Abigail know what the older woman thought of that idea.
“The man will not be pushed into anything,” Isobel continued. “I can assure you. He is too much … man. If you know what I mean.”
Abigail couldn’t help but smile as she thought about the tall captain and his wide shoulders. She could well imagine that he would refuse all orders and dictates from his aunts. Or any female for that matter.
“That is why I need your help,” Isobel said as she stopped walking and turned to confront Abigail directly. “The candidates Elizabeth pushes forward will be meek, pliable, and completely inadequate for a man such as our Captain. He will rebel and as a result never marry.”
A sense of surprise washed over Abigail. She had never been aware that Isobel was so insightful. Perhaps she should have paid more attention to the older woman over the last few years.
“We need a strong, intelligent woman.” Isobel continued, “That is where you come in...”
A Duke's Duty (The Duke's Club Book 2) Page 3
