The Unclaimed Duchess

by Jenna Petersen

  “I apologize,” he offered through gritted teeth. “That was out of line.”

  Anne moved toward his mother, her smile gentle and soothing. It seemed her nature to put others at ease, and he saw his mother relax when Anne’s arm came around her.

  “Your Grace, please understand how deeply this has affected Rhys, just as I’m certain it’s affected you and your life over the years. You are the only one left who can provide him the answers I think we all know he deserves.”

  His mother looked at his wife briefly and then she nodded. Swiping at unshed tears, she straightened her shoulders and met his eyes with unflinching steadiness.

  “I am the one who is sorry, Rhys,” she said, and this time there was no trembling to her tone. Only strength and certainty. “Your wife is right that you are owed an explanation. Forgive my hesitance to offer it to you sooner. You see, this is a great shock to me as well. I’d somehow hoped this day would never come.”

  “And yet it has,” Rhys murmured, wishing briefly that his mother’s hopes had been realized.

  The dowager nodded. “Indeed. I fear you will judge me, but I must tell you the entire story for you to truly understand my actions.”

  Rhys glanced quickly at Anne. She nodded slowly, as if encouraging him to hear his mother’s side. To give her the concern and care that the dowager had spent a lifetime gifting to him even as the last Duke of Waverly pulled Rhys further and further from her.

  “Very well,” he said as he motioned her back to the table. “I’d like to hear your tale.”

  They returned to their seats, and his mother took a long drink of her tea before she clenched her hands together on the table and let out a great sigh.

  “What you must know above all else is that I loved my husband.” She shook her head. “When we married, I had great hopes that we could one day be very happy and develop a love match. But I was a fool. To your father I was nothing more than a hostess for his parties and a mother to his children. He didn’t care for me beyond what I could provide for his comfort. It only took a few months into our union before I realized he never would.”

  With every word from his mother’s lips, Anne tensed beside him. From the corner of his eye, he looked at his wife and saw the pale sadness of her expression. In some way this was her story, too. Her path.

  And he had been the one to place her upon it.

  “What happened?” Anne asked, her tone surprisingly even and calm when he could tell his mother’s words tore at the very core of her heart.

  The dowager looked at her and smiled. It was a soft and sad expression. In that moment it was clear the two women had connected on a new level. That they each recognized the hopeless love the other felt for the man she had married. In their longing, they were sisters.

  Only his mother had strayed away somehow, broken free of her bonds at least once, and sought happiness in someone else’s arms. The very idea of Anne doing the same made Rhys sick, even though he’d given her his blessing to do exactly that one day.

  “I was brokenhearted, of course,” the dowager said, her words breaking through the haze of Rhys’s thoughts. “I sank into my sadness and believed there was no hope for happiness ever again.” She frowned. “That was when the Duke of Billingham took an interest in me.”

  Rhys couldn’t hide his reaction to this part of his mother’s tale, as the heat of blood rushed to his cheeks. Her reaction was just as powerful. Any joy, any happiness that normally touched her expression was gone. She appeared to be as embarrassed as he was by the indelicate subject.

  “Although his reputation was one of goodness and even piety, when it came to women, it seemed he could sense weakness and pain,” she whispered, her gaze clouding with unpleasant memory. “He used it, manipulated it, until he had what he wanted. In my case, the attention was flattering at first, since your father had so little interest. And I admit I allowed Billingham to go too far.”

  Rhys pushed from his chair and paced away. He didn’t wish to imagine his mother so compromised, or to think about the results of that indiscretion. But how could he not? There was no avoiding inserting himself into her most private mistake. After all, he had become its central consequence.

  After a moment’s pause, his mother continued her story, her voice wavering slightly. “I regretted the moment immediately, but it was too late. And I do not regret you, my dearest. You must know that.”

  There was an unexpected relief that accompanied that statement. How he would have hated to know that his mother despised him on some level each time she looked at him. That he was the physical manifestation of all her past wrongs. Her love had been so important throughout his life, he didn’t wish to lose it.

  He found his gaze slipping to Anne before he spoke again. She hadn’t moved from her place at the table, but she was so fully focused on him that it felt as though she was at his side, regardless. Her continued comfort was, as always, greatly appreciated.

  “Did my father—” He broke off with a shake of his head. “Did your husband know of what had transpired between you and Billingham?”

  “No.” His mother looked at him evenly. “And I didn’t keep the truth from him in order to save myself, as you might imagine.”

  “No?” Rhys asked, his tone hard.

  “I loved that man, even if he didn’t care.” The dowager’s lower lip trembled ever so slightly. “When you were born, he was so happy to have a son. It was the first time I felt bonded to him in any important way. I refused to take that…to take you…away from him. So I didn’t. It would have done nothing but hurt everyone involved if I had confessed what I’d done. And legally it would change nothing in our circumstances. I thought no one ever had to know.”

  Rhys moved back to the table and sank into his seat with a heavy sigh. “Unfortunately someone does.”

  Any remaining blood that colored his mother’s already pale face drained away. In fact, despite the fact that she was seated, she seemed ready to swoon, and Rhys reached out to steady her on instinct.

  His touch seemed to soothe her, for she whispered, “Someone knows?”

  He nodded once. “The Duke of Billingham kept records. He made some kind of payment to you?”

  His mother turned up her nose. “He tried, in the most vile terms, to buy my silence in order to protect his precious reputation. Of course I refused, but he continually sent me the same money over and over. Finally I donated it to the orphan fund of my ladies’ group and that was the end of it.”

  “Well, he recorded the transaction, along with some other details and a few incriminating letters which passed between you during that time.” Rhys sighed. “He trusted the wrong solicitor, for it seems that man was willing to share with another what he was meant to protect. Simon and I suspect a blackguard named Xavier Warren.”

  His mother’s eyes widened. “Dear God.”

  Anne reached out and covered the dowager’s hand in comfort. “The man is out of the country after being accused of treason, but Rhys and Simon say he’s coming to meet with them in a few days. To arrange for some kind of terms for his silence, no doubt.”

  His mother flinched. “Then it is to be blackmail.”

  “Perhaps not.” Rhys shrugged. “If we wish to avoid such a thing, then the best course might be for me to reveal this truth on my own terms. It would end any potential for blackmail now or in the future.”

  His mother gasped. “But the scandal, Rhys!”

  “Yes, I’m well-aware of that,” he said, unable to soften the bitterness of his tone. “But perhaps Society deserves its chance to revile me. To know the truth of my blood.”

  His mother lifted her hand to her eyes. “Blood, blood…you sound exactly like your father.”

  “He wasn’t my father,” Rhys snapped.

  “He was in every way that mattered,” his mother retorted with just as much heat. “And he was wrong in many ways. He taught you to believe bloodlines made more impact than feelings or behavior. He taught you that love and emotion
were weakness. He somehow convinced you that families were only about history and purity, not people. I allowed it at the time because of my own guilt. But I cannot remain silent any longer. This secret has remained hidden for over thirty years. Revealing it now will only hurt you and everyone around you.”

  “I realize that, Mother,” he said as he got to his feet again. “Do you not think that the consequences to you, to my sisters, to my wife weigh on me? But the man who raised me, the one I called Father, also taught me that right was better sometimes than good or easy. And there seems to be no escape from right if this Warren fellow knows the truth. This entire house of cards you’ve built is destined to come down now. I sometimes think I would rather tear it down myself than have someone else do it.”

  His mother’s lips pursed, but she slowly got up from the table with all the regality that accompanied her rank. Anne scrambled to her feet and watched her as intently as Rhys did. His mother smoothed her skirts slowly.

  “I know you, Rhys. And I can see this decision is not one you make lightly. If you do decide to reveal the past, I’m sure you will do it as a last resort in a desperate situation. But I hope it won’t come to that. Not for my sake, as I know I deserve all the censure the revelation will bring. But for the others who will be drowned in its wake, including yourself.”

  Rhys cocked his head, filled with surprise at the fact that his mother didn’t argue with him further. Although she had hidden the past for so long, she seemed willing to let him handle the future without question or comment.

  And that made the idea that he might have to betray her all the worse. His stomach turned at the thought.

  She looked at Anne with a smile. “You are much like me, I think, aren’t you? Your story, it is similar to mine.”

  Anne sucked in a breath and cast a quick glance at Rhys before she jerked out a nod.

  The dowager touched her daughter-in-law’s cheek briefly. “I thought so. But I can see my son has deeper feelings than perhaps he admits, even to himself. Don’t allow him to give up on you. And please don’t give up on him.”

  Anne blinked, and in that moment all her pain was clear on her face. But then she squared her shoulders and the strength he had come to admire settled over her expression.

  “I have no intention of giving up on him,” Anne whispered, but she didn’t look at Rhys.

  “Very good.” His mother shook her head and let her gaze fall on her son yet again. “Have I told you enough?”

  Rhys nodded. “For now.”

  His mother let out a sigh. “Perhaps there is some way I can help. I still have some influence, you know. And I have a…well, a friend, someone who might be able to assist us if you allowed me to—”

  Rhys barked out a laugh, though he felt no humor. “A friend, Mother? Do you really think some lady in your sewing circle could assist us in this?”

  His mother pursed her lips, annoyance lining her face. “I’m not so foolish as to think that. This friend is not a lady but—”

  He interrupted her again, this time with a wave of his hand. She was being utterly foolish and perhaps delusional in this line of thinking. It was better to cut her off now.

  “No, Mother. No. While I appreciate the sentiment of your offer, there is no one outside of those who already know the truth who can help us at this point. Simon and I must meet with this person who is blackmailing us and only then can I determine the best course of action.”

  The dowager frowned and almost looked as if she intended to say more, but finally she shook her head. “I see what you are saying. It is only that I started this, if I could play some part in ending it, I would.”

  Rhys scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration. If only she was correct. The idea of escaping this situation was tempting indeed, but he could see no way.

  “No,” he said softly.

  His mother’s shoulders slumped. “So much like your father. I want to talk to you about this again, but not now. Now I’m exhausted and I need some time to reflect, as I’m sure you do. I’ll see myself out.”

  She turned without allowing either Rhys or Anne to answer and slipped from the terrace quietly. When she was gone, Anne moved toward him. Rhys tracked her every move, anticipating her touch and unable to stop from expelling a sigh of relief and pleasure when she finally wrapped her arms around his waist and held him.

  “You should hear her, Rhys,” she said as she looked up into his face. “She has carried this secret a long time and her advice could be of use.”

  He shook his head slowly. “I realize that, but it’s different now. She might have been able to pretend away the secret, but I can’t.”

  She pulled away, and he saw the frustration on her face. “Then you have much to plan. I’ll leave you to it.”

  She moved toward the door. Rhys longed to call her back, to give her what she demanded, if only to see her smile and revel in her warmth.

  But instead he only watched as she left the terrace, left him alone once again.

  Chapter 18 The alleyway was dark, with a dank smell of human desperation and sweat all around, as well as far more unpleasant odors. It was no place for a gentleman, that was certain, and Rhys felt Simon on alert for attack the same way he was.

  “Are you certain this is the place?” Rhys whispered, continually scanning the darkness for any sign of a trap.

  Simon bobbed out one nod of his head. “Indeed it is. And we are right on time.”

  In the distance there was a scrape of boot on cobblestone and then a voice hissed, “You got that from your father.”

  Rhys and Simon tensed at the same moment, and both of them pivoted to face the voice in the dark. Rhys watched as a haggard, thin man moved into the dim light of a lamp. Dragged himself was more like it, for one of his legs had apparently been injured and healed improperly, rendering it almost useless. It twisted oddly behind him and scraped along the sidewalk with a gut-wrenching sound.

  “I always told him that being early was better. For the element of surprise, but perhaps you already guessed that when you received my missive a full week before you expected it.” The other man smiled, revealing a row of rotting teeth. “But your father was always a punctual man. Perhaps that was one of his few admirable traits.”

  “Are you Xavier Warren?” Rhys asked, his voice low in the quiet. He had no idea who else was lurking about. There was no need to project their woes to every vile person within earshot. He and Simon had enough problems as it was.

  “Oh, so you figured it out? Excellent deductive skills,” the man said with a sarcastic snort. “Though I can see that statement shocks the new Duke of Billingham here. Do I meet your expectations, boy?”

  Rhys looked at Simon from the corner of his eye, and what Warren said was true. His brother was staring, clearly taken aback by the man he saw before him.

  “Now that I see you, I do remember you vaguely from my childhood. You came a few times to talk to my father,” Simon whispered as he looked the man up and down with an expression of horror. “You have changed.”

  Warren began to laugh, but the thick, wet sound soon changed into a coughing fit that forced him to bend at the waist and hack in a thin, sickly fashion. Rhys stared in horror. He could almost pity the poor bastard.

  Until he spoke again.

  “I have your father to thank for my current failing condition,” Warren said as he spit something foul across the alley and straightened up. “You see, at some point Billingham decided having me banished to the Continent as a traitor wasn’t enough for him.”

  Simon caught his breath and shot Rhys a side glance. In that brief moment, Rhys saw his friend’s pain reborn over the disappointment his father had truly been. He hated Warren for that as much as for the havoc he intended to bring down on Rhys’s life.

  Simon’s voice was hollow when he asked, “Are you saying that my father—”

  “Sent men to kill me. And almost did the job, too.” Warren motioned to his twisted leg with a rage-filled scowl. “I suppo
se I knew too many secrets, after all.” He looked at Rhys. “Eh, Your Grace?”

  Rhys fisted his hands at his sides to prevent himself from launching across the expanse at the other man and finishing what his father had not. With a few deep breaths, he managed to calm himself.

  “It seems there are a great many secrets to be had. The question is how much you want for them, Mr. Warren.”

  Warren stared at Rhys in silence for a long moment. In the other man’s eyes Rhys saw madness and mental decay, but he also saw rage, pain, and a thirst for revenge that would probably never be quenched, no matter what he did to Rhys and Simon. It made Rhys shiver to see such intense and ugly emotions on another person’s face.

  “For decades I did everything Billingham asked of me like a trained dog.” Warren spat, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I was his right-hand man, I fought when he told me to fight, I brought him his women when he desired them, I strong-armed his opponents, and when someone couldn’t be convinced through money or threats to do as he required, well…I even killed for him.”

  Simon turned his face as if he had been struck and Rhys swallowed past the bile that rose in his throat. Billingham had been quite the actor indeed to hide such terrible truths about his character from everyone around him. And now all those hidden facts were coming to rain down on his sons, both the legitimate and the illegitimate.

  “He turned on you,” Rhys said softly, encouraging Warren to continue, for the man had seemed distracted as he stared at Simon. Warren looked to be reveling in the other man’s pain and disbelief, as though it fed him in some twisted way.

  “Yes,” Warren said, shaking his head and refocusing. “After an argument over a job he ordered me to do, Billingham told me it was time for me to go. At first having me banished for doing the very things he had asked of me was enough for him. But after I wrote to him, asking him to increase the pitifully small consideration he sent me for my years of loyal service, the duke became determined to see me dead.”

  The other man’s face twisted, his haunted eyes telling his tale as much as his shaking voice. “I lived for years in hiding, growing sick from the holes where I was forced to cower, in constant pain from the bullet still lodged in my hip. And all the while Billingham became almost sainted in the eyes of the ton.”