‘Then who is my father?’
Blackwood finished off his wine in one gulp. ‘She wouldn’t tell me, no matter how hard I tried to beat it out of her.’ His face contorted in anger. ‘So you see, you are a bastard. A bastard no one wanted. You thought I wanted you because I needed an heir. I’d rather the line pass to some feckless cousin. You don’t deserve any of it! You want to know why I dismissed every tutor you grew attached to? You want to know why I bedded that girl? It’s because you don’t deserve happiness. I haven’t been happy since the day you were born.’
Hart’s legs felt weak, but he raised his chin and held his ground. ‘Why tell me this now?’
The man shook his head as if he could not explain his unprecedented outburst. ‘I will not denounce you, if that is what you fear.’
There was only one thing Hart feared and he still had enough rational thought left to recall what brought him here in the first place. ‘I don’t care if you denounce me, but I’m warning you,’ he said through his teeth, ‘stay away from Miss Forrester. There is no reason to drag her into this vendetta of yours. She means nothing to me.’
‘Don’t think you can fool me. I know what I see when I watch the both of you.’
‘Your mind is playing tricks, old man. This is your only warning. Stay away from Miss Forrester.’
He strode from the room to the front door. He needed to get out. It was becoming difficult to think clearly.
* * *
Hart had walked around aimlessly for hours, trying to make sense of this revelation. All his life, the man had treated him with derision or with no care at all. While he was away at school his friends’ families would send packages to them with knitted scarves and gloves and their favourite treats. Not once did he ever receive anything from home. The fathers of his classmates would periodically arrive at school to check on their progress. The only time his father saw the inside of Cambridge was when he himself had attended it.
It had been painful.
The only consolation he’d had was knowing that as much as his father despised him, he would have been pleased he was a boy. Now he didn’t even have that.
The idea of going home to his empty set made him cold and clammy. Even after the loss of his mother he had never felt this alone and confused. He needed to be in Lyonsdale House. He needed to talk to Julian.
* * *
The door to Lyonsdale House opened halfway as Reynolds guarded the entrance. Hart had known Reynolds all his life and he always followed the butler’s directions when he called, regardless of the room he was placed in to wait. This time he pushed past him before Reynolds could even say if Julian was even home.
‘I will wait for him in his study if he isn’t here. Do not think to dissuade me on this.’
He stormed down the hall with Reynolds hurrying after him. He was so fixed on his thoughts, he didn’t even notice passing Sarah and Katrina as they stepped into the hall. When he opened the door to Julian’s study, he was met with his friend’s surprised expression from where he sat at his desk.
Before Reynolds had a chance to explain Hart’s presence, Julian waved him off with a lift of his hand. ‘What has happened?’ he asked when the door closed, concern evident in his expression.
‘I don’t even know where to begin.’
‘That’s a first. Would you care to sit?’
‘No. I find it’s best if I keep moving.’ He paced back and forth in front of the desk.
‘Brandy?’
Hart shook his head. A case of it would not change the fact he was a bastard. Julian came around, sat at the edge of his desk, crossed his arms and waited.
‘I just came from my father’s...rather, Lord Blackwood’s house.’
‘You shouldn’t have gone to him,’ he stated firmly. ‘I told you I would help you if ever you needed funds.’
‘I have plenty of blunt. I went on my own accord.’
Julian’s brow wrinkled. ‘About?’
‘I needed to resolve a matter, although I may well have made the situation worse. I have no way of knowing.’
There was more of course—so much more. It was apparent Julian would wait until Hart was ready to explain. Hart braced himself for his friend’s reaction. If it were true, he would have to grow accustomed to saying it.
He stopped pacing a few feet from Julian and looked down, finding it easier than looking at his closest friend.
‘I’m a bastard.’ The words were like acid on his tongue.
‘What did you do now?’ Julian muttered in exasperation.
‘That’s not what I meant,’ he said through his teeth.
‘I’m not following.’
‘I’m a bastard... A by-blow... A chance-bairn!’ His voice was rising with every word. ‘He told me.’
Julian stood frozen. ‘Your father told you this?’
‘Bloody hell! Have you not been listening? He took great pleasure in informing me of it!’
‘Are you certain you heard him correctly?’
Hart picked up a book from Julian’s desk and threw it against the wall. The unusual display of temper made Julian stand up.
‘It is not something one misinterprets!’
‘Surely he is trying to provoke you. Why tell you now? After all he has done in the past, one would think he would have used this to his advantage before now.’
‘I’m not sure. I got the sense that he regretted telling me, more as if he wanted to take his shame back than to spare me any hurt.’
‘Do you think it’s a lie?’
Hart shook his head. His father’s rage had been so raw, so honest. Hart knew it wasn’t a lie.
‘Do you believe he will use this against you? That you will not inherit?’
‘He has publically claimed I am his son. My mother is dead. What could he say now? What evidence could he give?’
‘So this was just for your own edification.’
‘He was explaining his lack of affection.’
‘I see.’
It was obvious Julian’s ridiculous sense of propriety was preventing him from asking the question he was dying to know.
‘I don’t know who my father is. It seems she never told...Blackwood. Probably afraid of how he would retaliate against the man. So whoever he is or was, she protected him to the end.’
‘Which shows she had genuine affection for the man.’
‘Or wished to prevent the scandal my father’s actions would incur.’
He turned away from Julian to avoid the pity in his friend’s eyes and strode to the window. ‘Damn him! And damn her for not letting me know!’
He stared out the window at the world that had not changed for anyone in it except for him. His world had changed completely with just a few words. ‘I don’t even know who I am...what I am. What does this make me? Am I the son of a footman? Some gentlemen? Or a tradesman’s son?’
‘You are still the man you always have been.’
‘Oh, that is rich! You saying that. You, who almost married someone else to protect your family’s esteemed lineage!’
‘Do not bring my wife into this,’ Julian ground out. ‘And, yes, I struggled with the fact she is American, but I realised none of it mattered because I fell in love with her. If anyone should be able to convince you not to concern yourself with lineage, it should be me!’
And yet Julian wasn’t helping. Julian, who could trace his lineage back hundreds of years to men of outstanding merit and honour, would never know what it felt like not to know who you were or where you were from. Whenever Hart needed reassurance, he would turn to his friend. He should have found some comfort, but now he feared coming here had been a mistake.
‘I want to help. I only wish I knew how,’ Julian said softly.
Hart turned to him and looke
d him in the eye. ‘I know you do.’
‘We can go a few rounds if you think it will release some of your anger?’
‘It’s more like rage. Are you sure you’re up for it? It might get bloody.’
‘I can take it.’ Julian pushed himself off the desk. ‘Let me fetch my coat. Don’t break anything while I’m gone.’
It was too late. Hart was already broken inside.
Some day he would be the Marquess of Blackwood in the eyes of the ton, but who was he really? Who the bloody hell was he?
Chapter Thirteen
The door to Lyonsdale’s study opened abruptly, almost sending Sarah and Katrina careening into the room from where they were standing with their ears pressed against the door. The last thing Sarah saw before he quickly closed it was Hartwick’s back as he faced the window.
‘What are you two doing?’ Lyonsdale demanded, eyeing them slowly.
‘I would think it obvious,’ Katrina replied. ‘We were sitting in the next room trying to have a conversation when we heard the commotion in your study.’
He folded his arms and arched his brow. ‘If it was going on in my study behind closed doors, it was private.’
‘I was listening because I was concerned for your well-being.’
He gave an exasperated huff with a slight smile. ‘I’m off to fetch my coat. We’re going to go a few rounds. It might release some of his anger. Do not go in there. He is in no state to speak with either of you.’ He pointed his finger at both of them in warning and strode off down the hall.
Katrina and Sarah eyed one another.
‘I’ll go in,’ Sarah said before Katrina had the chance.
Muffled yells and banging were not sounds that ever travelled through the walls of Lyonsdale House, as far as Sarah could tell. Reynolds had appeared quite shaken until Katrina dismissed him with the reassurance that Hartwick would never harm her husband. When Sarah had placed her ear to the door, she’d been able to distinguish Hartwick’s voice.
‘He took great pleasure in my shock that I’m not his son! I’m surprised he waited this long to tell me!’
They had looked at one another in obvious surprise. There had followed more muffled talking, which Sarah had assumed was Lyonsdale. Not long afterwards the door had opened.
‘I think I know him better, Sarah. He’s a frequent visitor to my home,’ Katrina said.
‘That’s why I should be the one to speak with him. He may be more guarded with you for fear of offending you.’ She knew with all certainty he had no qualms about offending her.
Katrina went to reply, but Sarah immediately slipped into the room. Taking an uneven breath, she rested her back against the massive door.
This was why she needed to be in here. She needed to see the state he was in. His shoulders were hunched as he rested his hand on the window frame and stared out at the back garden. It always appeared as if nothing and no one could affect him—as if he was above all the petty problems in life.
But this was no petty problem. This was an enormous revelation. And as he stood with his shoulders hunched, he looked broken. Slowly she walked towards him, not knowing what to say.
‘I hope you’ve brought brandy with you,’ he muttered, still staring outside. ‘A glass might be wise before we have at it.’
‘Brandy will not help.’
His head snapped around and those piercing blue eyes narrowed on her. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Visiting.’
‘I meant in this room. Go away, Miss Forrester. I have no wish to spar with you.’
‘That’s a relief. I find I have left my sharp tongue at home. I would hate to disappoint you.’
He faced her and that lock of hair fell over his eye. She was close enough now that she brushed the thick silky strands away for him. As she moved her hand to do it again, he jerked his head back.
‘Julian went to fetch his coat. We’re going out.’
‘I know. I’ll sit with you while you wait.’
‘There is no need.’ It was evident he was trying to remain polite but was hanging by a thread.
It would not be wise to push him, but she had the strongest urge to offer him comfort. She sat down on the sofa by the fire and looked over at him. ‘Would you care to join me?’
‘I prefer to stand.’
‘It’s your choice.’ She folded her hands in her lap, taking in Lyonsdale’s study. She had never been in the room before. It was a decidedly male space with substantial pieces of furniture and a portrait of an unsmiling gentleman over the fireplace. She assumed it was the Duke’s father. Her gaze finally landed back on Hartwick, who was watching her silently.
‘Did Julian ask you to stay with me for fear I will do damage to this room or myself?’
‘No. Actually he specifically told me not to come in here when he found me outside listening with my ear to the door.’
He closed his eyes and shook his head before dropping down beside her. ‘Do you ever follow directions?’
‘When the directions coincide with what I wish to do... Otherwise I find them tedious.’
He stretched his booted feet out. ‘Why are you here, Sarah?’ he asked softly, staring at his crossed ankles.
The intimate use of her given name on his lips for the first time made her heart flip. ‘There is something you need to be aware of.’
‘If you’ve found the diamond, now would not be the best time to inform me of it.’ He rested his head back and stared at the coffered ceiling.
She resisted the urge to stroke his forehead. ‘As much as I would love to have said as much, that was not what I was about to say.’ She turned her entire body to face him, giving him her full attention. ‘I’m aware that here in Britain you place great emphasis on who your ancestors are. Here, heritage and pedigree define a person.’
‘If your observation was intended to help, I should inform you that I think you might be making me feel even worse than I did before.’
‘Let me finish,’ she said firmly. ‘That concept of placing one’s worth on who came before you is very odd to me, and even though I’ve been in London almost two years it is one of your principles I could never agree with.’
He eyed her while his head continued to rest on the sofa.
‘In America, we judge a man by his actions and his accomplishments, not those of his father or his father’s father. The worth of a man is here.’ She poked his chest above his heart. ‘It is not in his blood. It is not in what was handed down to him. It is in what he has made of himself—what he stands for—how he decides to conduct his own life.’ She gestured about the room. ‘The gifts of a fine family are just pretty rooms. Where I come from, it is more impressive if the man built the room than if he were given it.’
He leaned closer and those eyes—those eyes that could be so observant and amusing and devilish—were intently focused on her.
She needed him to understand. ‘Who your parents are has no bearing on the man you’ve become. You determine that.’ She stood up, looked down at him and pushed that lock of hair out of his eyes. ‘I think you’ve done fairly well on your own.’
‘Fairly well?’ he echoed.
‘You don’t expect me to give you a true compliment, now do you? I fear if I did, your head would not fit through that doorway when you decided to leave.’
His lips rose into a slight grin, which raised her spirits considerably. If she could get him to smile—even just a little—than it had been worth coming in here.
She leaned over and kissed him. It was soft and brief, meant to offer comfort, not stir his passions.
‘Think about what I said. Some of your British ways may not be the best.’
* * *
It wasn’t easy to kiss a man and forget about him after he looked like he might fall
apart before your eyes. The entire rest of the evening that Sarah spent at the theatre with her parents, she began to realise how much she actually liked Hartwick and it mattered to her that he was in pain. When he put aside his bravado and showed her his true nature, he was hard to resist.
He would eventually find his own way to make peace with this revelation, but there was an ache in her heart knowing that he would do it without her.
As she passed his residence on her way home from Drury Lane, she scanned the darkened windows of the building and wondered which ones belonged to his set. Had he returned to Lyonsdale House when his match was over to seek the comfort of his friend, or had he sought out a woman instead? The thought of him with another woman turned her stomach.
It was late when she arrived home and she was having no luck pushing Hartwick from her mind. She needed to stop thinking about him and instead try to figure out a way to find the diamond. Soon the blackmailer would send word to her father where he should leave the stone. Her priority should be her family.
In her dressing room, her maid helped her into her night-rail before she dismissed her for the night. She entered her bedchamber, clutching the book she hoped would settle her jumbled thoughts enough so she could fall asleep.
‘What are you reading?’
The book fell to the floor.
Hartwick was sitting cross-legged on her rug in front of the fire in the same black clothes he had worn earlier in the day, looking lost and tired. A part of her had hoped he would come to see her. She wasn’t proud of that part. They had no future together.
‘It’s a collection of poetry by Mr Keats,’ she replied, picking it up and placing it on the table beside her bed. The best course of action seemed to be to pretend his presence in her room was commonplace, which, if he kept this up, it would be.
He toyed with the fibres of the carpet. ‘I needed to see you. Needed to talk with you.’
Her heart gave a funny flip. She lowered herself down across from him, crossing her legs and tucking them under her yellow muslin dressing gown, unconsciously mimicking his pose. Their knees were almost touching as she waited for him to continue.
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