Duke of Sorrow

by Blake, Whitney

  Will had forgotten how snobbish Diana could be, and Peter was neither titled nor in possession of much wealth compared to him.

  He held out his hand to her and she came across the small space of the first parlor. She did not mistake his meaning and he heard her unhook the small brooch he had given her as a token. He stood to receive it and its negligible weight settled in the flat of his palm. He could remember what it looked like, a delicate rose wrought out of gold, but it only appeared as a small and indistinct glimmer, now.

  Diana made to rise with a small, soft hand to his face but, at the last second, she could not bring herself to touch him.

  This wounded him more than he would admit to anyone.

  “I am sorry, Your Grace.”

  “You do not need to be sorry. You should celebrate,” he said with no small measure of bitterness. “You are free to live your life without a monster to encumber you.” The feeling went to his head as quickly as a strong liquor, and his tongue was loosened. “I wish you great joy with the next beautiful man whose path you cross. Perhaps another duke. Or an earl.”

  Diana crossed her arms. “You cannot possibly expect me to accept…” she gestured reflexively, and Will could imagine her deep brown eyes gleaming in her high-boned face. “This. Stepping out with this, night after night.”

  “It is a good thing we did not get to the ‘in sickness and in health’ stage of our relationship, isn’t it?” His words were glib, but his heart hardened as he spoke.

  He thought Diana flinched, but couldn’t be sure. “Yes, things are far less complicated this way,” she said sharply. “We were never fully bound to each other.”

  “Will you miss anything about me?”

  “I already miss what you used to be.”

  “Anything else?”

  Will wanted to hear her say what he suspected was at the root of her enthusiasm for his proposal. He did not know if she would, but it also seemed that she did not feel the need to assuage his ego any longer. Things were over now.

  “Do not make me say it, Your Grace.”

  “No, no, I think it would be healthy for us to fully understand one another, my lady.” Will all but snarled the words. Inwardly he was flinching. He hated confrontation and although this was a necessary one, he knew he was making it unnecessarily vitriolic.

  Part of him, the animal part of him, did not care. It was one small moment in which his face matched his emotions.

  The rest of him would care again in the future. Perhaps as soon as tomorrow or as late as a year from now.

  “I did look forward to living in comfort for the rest of my days,” Lady Diana said. She did not sound especially apologetic.

  There it was.

  “Thank you for telling the truth.”

  She backed away from him as though she were frightened to turn her back. Will noted with some interest that his first impression of her was right. His aunt told him he was being harsh to call Lady Diana cold, and he’d agreed at the time that perhaps he was. But now? She thought only of her own reactions to him, and doubtless of the social awkwardness she would have to endure if she married someone whose war injury was so bluntly gruesome.

  This was neither a missing limb nor an injury of the mind. There was simply no way to obscure it, save a mask, and that was sure to mark one just as starkly.

  When she quit the parlor, Will went for the delicate cherrywood end table that had belonged to his mother. He could make out the familiar service items, the crystal decanter of sherry and little matching cups, and he was determined that he would not call for any help to serve himself from his own stores of sherry.

  Fumbling, he poured himself a cupful and brought it to his lips.

  One of the effects of his disfigurement was, oddly, that his nose was not only more sensitive to normal scents, it was much more vulnerable to the burn of alcohol. He ignored it and leveled the sherry into his mouth. Licking his lips gently, for it was harder to be neat about these things now, he poured himself another in the delicate glasses. If he had to live his life in a perpetual twilight, he sure as hell was not going to descend without the proper accompaniment. Utter intoxication would suit him well enough.

  Chapter One

  Six months later

  Lady Jane Pippin appeared ready to collapse due to both the strength of her fervor, and the exertion of chasing her fully-grown nephew as though he were a young child in danger of falling down a well.

  “Nephew,” she declared. “You must know that nothing short of seeing you entering into society again will make me happy.” She followed Will as he traipsed through the gardens. “Except, perhaps, for you deciding to stop taking these nighttime strolls.”

  Will had heard these exact words countless times. Tonight, as with past nights, he elected to ignore his relentless aunt and continued walking in an easy, unaffected manner. It was an exceptionally mild, lovely night but, to him, all nights were beautiful, each holding its own grandeur. Stars twinkled above his head and he fancied that, if he wished, he could reach up and grab as many of the hazy things as he liked. The passage of time had bred the return of his old, innate sense of calm. He was pleased to say that it had returned in full without the use of opiates. He was not drugged or sedated.

  The breeze was gentle as it caressed his cheeks and played with his hair. He laughed ruefully and looked back at his aunt. “I love the night, Aunt,” he said. “And I feel as though it adores me back… it’s the only time I ever feel like my, well, former self. You must forgive me if I find it easier to take constitutionals at a time when everything seems so ethereal.”

  And it was strange, but the light did hurt him sometimes. All that he and Peter could make of it was precisely that his eyes were still healing. Therefore, it might be akin to exposing raw skin or a sunburn to the sun. Peter also offered the idea that some of the blindness was a trick of his mind. But regardless of which was truly the case, if he were to estimate how much of his sight had returned, he would say about eighty percent of it was back. With spectacles, which he did not have, he wondered if it might improve even more.

  Aunt Jane did not share his reverence for the night. But in the past months that she had invaded, then moved into, his home, she never failed to walk by his side.

  Needling him endlessly about his disappearance from society.

  She meant well.

  Society, according to his beloved aunt, was where a titled man belonged.

  “When will you listen to me, William?” To her, he was always “William” and never “Will”. She thought the pet name was demeaning. She thought all pet names were. “This has gone on long enough. What could you possibly hope to gain from this self-banishment?”

  The duke’s face curled up in a rakish grin that would have been heartbreakingly handsome but for his disfigurement. In the mild light of the moon, the smile almost looked like a wolf’s sneer.

  “My design has nothing to do with gains, Aunt. As you well know, my coffers are sufficiently full enough.”

  He easily heard the scoff of exasperation that followed this announcement. His aunt was nearing the point where she always gave up her fight in favor of completing their walk in stony silence. That, of course, was exactly where he wanted her.

  “I am no stranger to your wealth, William. Your father was my own older brother. Do not brag. Will you not consider my nerves in this matter? I tear myself to pieces thinking you shall be all on your own after my demise.” She nearly tripped over a pink rose bush.

  This is a new attack, Will thought. Her pronouncement surprised him. His aunt rarely referred to death on any occasion, even when someone had actually died. He couldn’t ascertain if she felt that speaking about death itself was vulgar, or if she believed she was invincible. She was turning sixty this year, and she was both spry and quick of mind.

  Surely, she has enough vitality in her to scare off death for another century, at least, he thought wryly.

  But no matter how irksome she could be to him, the thought
of Jane departing the world brought a bitter taste to his mouth. He shook his head. It was true she had forcefully entered his life, but the kindly lady was his favorite relation despite her constant wheedling.

  She was also his only relation.

  Still, he couldn’t quite show that he took her seriously. It would not do.

  “Is anything wrong with your health?” Will turned to her solicitously. “How do you fare these days? Do your knees bother you? Perhaps we should go back to the manor if you do not feel so well.”

  Jane breathed out with such consternation that Will would not be surprised if it could be heard in the next county over.

  “William Percy Ainsworth, my health is in excellent condition and you still have not satisfied my fears on many counts. We may continue this sort of walk that you are so blasted fond of.”

  “Did you just utter an oath?”

  “Perhaps I did, William.”

  Fighting down a chuckle, Will kept his silence. If nothing else, his aunt’s conviction was enough assurance that she would try to take a paddle or her fist to his head should he mention a word about her health again. With the exception of her knees, which generally hurt only in the cold although she complained about them daily, his aunt took pride in her youthful appearance, as well as her vitality of spirit.

  She detested any mention of illness in relation to herself.

  “Very well, Aunt Jane,” he said, secretly very glad that Jane was markedly healthy.

  “Do not ‘very well’ me! I know what you are up to, you rake, and I absolutely refuse to be outfoxed. Your self-imposed isolation is a curse that must be lifted. You must… ah! Lady Riverdale has sent us invitations for a ball on the grounds of her castle. I have it on good authority that every fashionable person of the ton shall make an appearance. It is certainly going to be one to talk about for months – not that I expect any less from Lady Riverdale.”

  Will breathed a sigh of his own, listening inattentively to her prattle. “Huzzah for Lady Riverdale,” he muttered.

  “William!” Jane nudged his arm rather forcefully. He grumbled. “This is exactly the sort of thing you need for your reintroduction into society. Nobody will gawk at you if there are other people to gawk at.”

  “You are so very sensitive,” said Will. He tried not to let his amusement creep into his tone.

  “We must accept the invitation.”

  “By all means, accept the invitation, as I can see that you are rapturous at the prospect,” said Will. “Just remind me to inform James, the butler, to go with you. You are such a handsome lady that it will be unwise to send you on your own, despite your…” Will smirked and thought that if his late uncle could see Jane now, he would be cackling with mirth. “Widowed status. I simply cannot trust that you wouldn’t be at the mercy of every lone male.”

  It took Jane some time to sense his sarcasm.

  She stuttered a couple of times before the power of speech returned to her.

  “Of course, it is my wish that we go together!” she told him.

  “And I have no such wish,” replied Will steadily. “You must go without me, and remember to tell Lady Riverdale that I appreciate the invitation. It’s common knowledge that I do not attend such events. I just don’t want to be thought of as rude.” He paused to smell one of the night-blooming flowers. His knowledge of botany was horrendous but, perhaps, he could ask the village apothecary, Croft, what the soft, yellow blooms were called. Of course, that would mean actually venturing into the village during business hours. “I appreciate her good manners.”

  “What purpose would there be for me to go to a ball without you?” asked Jane gruffly. “I shall not go if you insist upon remaining behind. And what silly opinions you have of your friends! Even of your acquaintances! They would send you invitations to their parties if they had any reason to think that you were ever inclined to accept their attempts.”

  “True,” said Will. He grinned at her. “Then I must say that bravery is the essential ingredient in sending a card ’round to the sad Duke of Ravenwood. I simply must send a note to Lady Riverdale, within which I shall express my admiration for her courageous act. She goes where many do not dare.”

  “Do you mock me?” asked Jane suspiciously. Her expression softened. “William, I only want the best for you.”

  “Never with ill-intent,” Will said, laughter in his voice. “And, I understand.”

  In a few moments, she, too, was chuckling and the sound carried on the soft winds. Jane was never surly, in spite of her candor regarding society matters and what she believed to be Will’s wrong choices. Will might never say so aloud, but he valued her companionship. She was a delightful mixture of quick thinking and kindness, and reminded him of his father in her mannerisms.

  He adored her because she rarely accepted his foibles and would not budge from his side, despite his constant refusals to acquiesce to her wish that he attend some kind of soiree.

  Early in her arrival, Will had felt differently. He was so bitter and mulish that he could not wrap his mind around the idea of having her as even a temporary guest. There was little, he felt, that he could offer her by way of company. Little that he could offer to anyone by way of company. He was still making his way around the manor almost like a mole, able to see to some extent, but relying on his other senses as well as his recovering sight.

  But Jane had not come to either be company or demand his. She came because of his taciturn letters and marked disappearance from the ton’s usual circuit. Before Salamanca, Lord Ainsworth was of note, perhaps a bit quiet for some, but ultimately handsome, intelligent, and diverting.

  It was a pity, they said, about his brothers and his poor mother. Then later, his father.

  However, after he was sent home and the bandages had been removed from his face for good, Will found it excruciating to even consider easing himself back into society’s games. While he might be able to count on many people’s senses of decency and decorum to keep them polite in his presence, he could not control their thoughts or their words about his misfortune. This was repugnant enough to make him a recluse. There was also the chance of running into Diana at some ball or another, and news that she had thrown him over might work in his favor by making those who learned about it more sympathetic to his plight. Or it might not. It was hard to say.

  Jane had refused to leave after a fortnight had passed, which was when he expressed his desire that she should resume her life in London amongst the ton and the city’s bustle.

  She just stoutly replied, “Do not be ridiculous,” and poured herself a brandy from his personal decanter.

  If it was only for her sake and someone, anyone, could guarantee that there would be no consequences for him, he might have considered attending a ball or another gathering. He could see her point, that isolation was not necessarily the best condition under which to live one’s life, but he also could not make her understand what it was like to be utterly changed in such an obvious fashion.

  Although his initial anger at his misfortune had ebbed, Will knew that he would no longer be considered whole by the vast majority of people and it was not the same as being an amputee. Faces were so intimate that a marred one provoked visceral reactions.

  And it was no secret that, even though he was the youngest son and therefore commanded the least amount of family resources, he had once been considered the most attractive son.

  Any reentry of his into the ton would be saturated by tragedy and morbid curiosity.

  Will had no desire to be subjected to misplaced pity or the interest of those who merely wanted to look upon him as a caricature of his former self.

  While he knew that he was already the subject of a rumor or two thanks to Lady Jane’s constant monitoring of the ton’s pet subjects of conversation, he preferred solitude and keeping his peace. The rumors about him were not so horrible, either, especially compared to the ones circulating around Lord Malliston.

  At least I didn’t have a wife before I lef
t, thought Will. They said he’d killed her upon his return.

  No, the rumors concerning Lord Ainsworth were tame by comparison: some claimed he was mute, some said he had lost both of his eyes and his entire nose, and some conjectured that the impact to his head left him simple—such a shame that a brilliant physician’s career had to end. He didn’t know this firsthand, but when Will had pressed, Peter related what he could, being outside the ton. Jane filled in some of the gaps, though she was reluctant to do so. What she would not speak of, his small handful of friends wrote of.

  Further, although he was somewhat uninitiated in the finer ways of the ton as a youngest son, Will was wise enough to know that an appearance at anyone’s ball meant that he was willing to host one in return. He was decidedly not.

  His manor, Blackbrook, was his home, his sanctuary, and Will would have no party of people intruding upon it. He preferred his privacy above all else, including his aunt’s finer feelings. He believed privacy was his protection and since he had money and resources enough, he did not need to seek out another betrothal. And if he was lonely, it was a small price to pay for being left to his own devices. He still had a few friends, but he corresponded with them via letters and no one seemed keen to pressure him into adopting a lifestyle he had only just been accepting before he left England.

  Yes, Jane was doomed to suffer disappointment in the matter of seeing her darling William at a ball.

  He believed he had never disappointed her before, so perhaps he was owed this one instance after a peaceful childhood and upstanding university career. Bram and Samuel, on the other hand, had often driven her to fits that could only be described as apoplectic.

  The problem was, there was no woman in Will’s acquaintance who was more dogged than his aunt. As she had tonight and the night before, and the night before that, she returned to him for another round of the same discussion. He appreciated that she cared and tried to recall the fact when she pushed him too hard. Jane was one of the very few people in his life who did not stare at him, did not minutely recoil when he came near, and, overall, did not treat him any differently than they had before.