After he locked the door to the bank, he’d come straight to his sanctuary, his study. He loved her, and she wanted nothing to do with him. As he took a sip of brandy, its normal fire failed to offer comfort. His life was a complete shambles, and his father had predicted the result. Nick raised his glass in salute to the fire. What a fitting tribute.
Hamm stepped into the room. “My lord, the Earl of Sykeston is here to see Lady Somerton. Since she’s not available, he’s asked if you might have a moment.”
“Send him in.” Why in the devil had he come to see Emma? She’d made their visit sound as if it was a disaster and Sykeston couldn’t wait to be rid of her.
Hamm escorted the earl into his study and closed the door.
“Lord Somerton, thank you for seeing me on such late notice.” Sykeston held himself much like a military man. Though his uniform was missing, the cut of his clothes indicated a man of precision and good taste. His posture was perfect, and his face was a mask of indifference.
Nick waved a hand at a chair in front of his desk and waited. Sykeston’s labored gait jerked and bobbled resulting in his use of a cane to walk, but his bearing indicated a proud man, one who would be offended if Nick offered any help.
Once he reached Nick’s side, he slowly lowered himself into the chair. “I apologize I didn’t send a note around, but I don’t have much time. I have a practice scheduled at Manton’s shooting gallery later on.”
“Please, it’s no inconvenience.” Nick took his seat. “Would you care for a drink or other refreshments?”
“No. I’m not drinking, not today.” He took a deep breath. “Your wife came to see me about my sister’s and niece’s deaths. I was quite rude to her.” He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “I came to apologize.”
“Indeed, she was quite upset.” That was putting it mildly. She’d been distraught at Sykeston’s total lack of regard. Much to Nick’s dismay, he had added to her devastation by refusing to help Howell.
Simply put, he’d decimated her, and she’d done the same to him.
Sykeston rested his elbows on his legs and studied the floor. When he looked up, pain and grief lined his face. “Emma came to me demanding that the travesty of Lena’s death be answered, and I was too lost in myself to see what she was offering me.”
“What was she offering?” Nick asked. He envisioned her standing before Sykeston with an unbendable will.
“For at least a couple of days, I could forget my own circumstances. It forced me to find the nerve to consider my sister and everything she suffered.” He rubbed his hand across his face. “She married a savage fiend, and I’ll never forgive myself for approving the match.” The earl was lost in his thoughts until he straightened in his chair. “Will you relay a message to Emma—Lady Somerton—for me?”
Nick nodded.
“I’ve challenged Aulton in a duel to the death. The idiot picked pistols as his weapon of choice. Hampstead Heath at dawn tomorrow. He’d have a better chance if he’d have picked swords.” The coolness with which the earl relayed this message indicated he possessed a supreme confidence. He stood to take his leave.
“If you need a second, I’ll stand for you.”
Sykeston bobbed his head. “Lord William has agreed, but thank you. If I survive, there will probably be a scandal, something I’m sure you want no part of. So, I must ask why?”
He’d do it for Emma. He’d walk through the bonfires of hell for her—he knew that now. “My wife needs you to succeed. Your sister’s death has affected her greatly. Anything I can do to help you, helps her.”
“A man with ulterior motives,” he jested as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Don’t worry, I’ll succeed. Anyway, I have matters that need my attention this evening. Please tell Emma I appreciate all she did for Lena, Audra, and me.”
“I will.” Nick joined him around the other side of the desk. “Good luck.”
“Thank you. I’ll send word after it’s over.”
Nick waited until the door closed, then collapsed into his chair. Emma’s commitment to justice was finally coming true, but not in the way she’d envisioned it. She’d wanted the earl to bring charges against Aulton, but Sykeston was of another mind. There would be a scandal afterwards, but Lena’s memory could be preserved without Aulton having a pulpit to smear his late wife’s character and virtue as he sat through a trial.
The revelation began to hum in his blood as he considered Sykeston’s words. He said Emma gave him an opportunity to change his life.
Wasn’t that what she’d given him?
She supported him in his work, but more importantly, she’d opened his eyes and shown him how he could change his stark existence and make it into a life worth living. She’d taught him how to love and made him truly believe he deserved more than just wealth, a poor substitute for the affection and companionship he’d thirsted for his entire life.
What he wouldn’t give to turn back time and say all the things he needed to say, and do the simple acts she’d asked of him. He’d convinced himself his reasons were sound, but the truth demanded he acknowledge his duplicity. To protect himself, he’d become a man who could only see value if it increased his wealth, his power, and his ability to make himself invincible from being hurt.
What good was any of it if he didn’t have Emma?
What he believed was worthwhile in life—his so-called honor—had in turn caused him to be the weapon of Emma’s deepest hurt. He’d chosen his own wealth, the demon he’d listened to all those years. He’d accepted the shallow and pithy words that nothing mattered except how successful he’d become.
A wrenching ache caused each beat of his heart to intensify until he thought it would burst. It was as if a hammer was striking an anvil inside his chest. His trite words from earlier echoed in his ears. He’d told her he loved her, but he couldn’t show her how. Was it any wonder she doubted they’d ever find happiness with each other?
Hamm rushed forward, his cheeks red as fire. “I apologize sir, but you have another visitor who says it’s urgent.” The butler’s voice dropped several octaves.
“Do you have his card?” Nick started walking before Hamm could respond. He didn’t have time for another visitor. He had to find Emma and bring her home.
“My lord, he’s in the formal salon. Hamm added softly,” Next to Lady Somerton’s sitting room.
“Of course, I know where the salon is. Do you think I don’t know what is in my own household?” Nick scolded. Whaley must be giving Hamm acting lessons. Indeed, his whole staff must think him a loon.
They wouldn’t be far off the mark. Nick chuckled for the first time today.
His first priority was Emma. He’d give the visitor five minutes, then he’d go find his wife. Nick threw the double doors open and walked in without breaking stride. A bright fire warmed the room with hospitality.
But when the man turned to face him, Nick’s insides turned to ice, the kind that cracks from a sudden deluge of artic cold. He stopped midstride to catch his breath. “You are not welcome here.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“I’m well aware I’m not welcome.” The Duke of Renton’s face went slack, and he stared down at his hands. “You’ve made that abundantly clear. Please just give me a moment.”
The years had not been kind to the stranger before him. The duke’s blond hair had grayed, and the pronounced lines on his face proclaimed he’d lived a hard life. What was most startling was the stoop in his once proud carriage. The man looked like a shell of the imposing duke Nick remembered.
An itch, one of those irritatingly inaccessible prickles, encouraged him to pivot and leave the room. He hadn’t suffered such an aggravation in years, not since the last time he saw his father. His own sense of worthiness started to crumble as all the pain and anger crept to the surface. After all these years, his father’s presence conjured the familiar bitterness and shame—all spinning into a whirlpool that threatened to drown him in his contempt for the
old man standing before him.
No, he’d not succumb to the duke’s power to inflict cruelty. This was his home. The only solution to remedy the discomfort became obvious. After he grabbed his father by the scruff of the neck and threw the bastard out, he’d order the salon cleaned from top to bottom.
The Duke of Renton waved a hand toward a chair, oblivious to Nick’s torment. “Would you mind if I sat? My knees give me fits during this type of weather. Mr. Martin was kind enough to build up the fire on my behalf.”
“You must have mistaken me for someone who cares.” By design, he attacked first because he intended to cut the old man in two.
“I’ve waited sixteen years to see you.” The duke’s eyes were red. “Son, I need—”
“It’s time for you to leave. Neither of us has anything to say to the other. Hamm will see you out—”
“When I wake in the morning, my first thought is always how much I regret our last meeting. I treated you horribly.” The duke’s hushed words were barely audible. He slowly sat in one of the brocade chairs that flanked a matching sofa. “Please?”
The urge to leave increased to such an excruciating degree that Nick’s flesh burned as if he’d been thrown into a hellfire made by the devil himself. Perhaps he was in Hades. He couldn’t think of anything more miserable than listening to his sire’s litany.
The reasonable part of his mind encouraged him to suffer through whatever ridicule and vitriol spewed from the duke’s mouth. If Emma were here, she’d insist he bear it for his own sake. Before he could change his mind, Nick sat across from his father and waited without a word.
“Thank you,” the duke said, acknowledging Nick’s seeming benevolence. “When I left Eton, I almost came back for you. I actually had the coach stop a mile down the road.”
The duke’s eyes usually held a disapproving gleam whenever he’d bother to glance at Nick. However, today they shimmered in pools of remorse. Nick straightened. He must be imagining things; the duke never experienced such an emotion. His father was too proud to offer an apology. Nick’s constant companion through the years, the niggling self-doubt, started to burn a hole through him.
“I made myself ill. Sick from our confrontation and nauseated by the cruelty I inflicted that day. You were my son, the only family I had, and I threw you away like a piece of garbage.”
The duke’s pain was so raw that Nick actually had to turn away from the intensity and stare at the blazing fire. Before Nick’s very eyes, his father who held such power over him crumbled into a weak mass of wrinkles and bones.
The duke didn’t bother to wipe the evidence of his contriteness away. “I’m most ashamed of the lies I told you that day. After all these years, I’ve come to realize that I can’t die in peace until I make amends, or at least try.…” He clasped his hands before him in a manner similar to Emma’s ever-constant fidgeting. “Your mother loved you.”
“Pardon?” He couldn’t trust he’d heard correctly. His chest tightened to the point he was certain his lungs would explode.
Over the years, he’d let the duke’s diatribe of his unworthiness and inability to find someone to care for him steal his happiness. He’d lived in a self-created shell, one designed to protect and keep him isolated. He’d finally found enough courage to let his wife break through, even if she didn’t want him now. He’d not retreat into that empty existence again.
“When she was carrying you, we’d lie in bed together. She’d take my hand and place it on her belly so I could feel you kick. We’d laugh at your antics, and she’d tell me her dreams for the man you’d become. I’d never seen her so happy. Before we’d fall asleep, she’d whisper that she loved us both.” The duke shook his head as if the memories were too painful to continue. “I’ve never enjoyed my life more than when she was with me. She was my sun. My whole world revolved around her.”
“If you loved her, why did you deny her feelings for me?” None of it made any sense. This rare glimpse of his parents’ life didn’t reconcile with his own perception. The man his father described was not the bitter, aloof duke Nick despised.
His father’s gaze darted from his hands to Nick’s gaze. Pain reflected from the depth of his eyes, but also something more profound. Remorse.
Everything Nick valued in life began to fall into a rubble of doubt. He straightened his shoulders. He’d not forgo the crippling memories because of an old man’s apology and rueful offers of explanations.
“I couldn’t love the way both you and she deserved. When she passed, my weaknesses were finally exposed. I … I was utterly lost. My whole life lay barren before me. The only way to survive my grief was to push all remembrances of her aside. You were the biggest offender. Every day that I saw you, I saw her, and I relived the bitterness of her death all over again.” The duke exhaled and appeared to shrink before his eyes, the old bluster replaced by emptiness. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better father … and a better man to have raised you.”
Nick closed his eyes as the burn of his own tears became too painful. All those years, he thought his father hated him, but in truth, he hated the memory Nick represented. His resentment dissipated somewhat, but in its place a deep sorrow took root for all the things he’d lost as a child. All the security and comfort a parent could’ve offered—should’ve offered—when he was hurt, all the joy of sharing time and company together, all the moments that could have been created and handed down to his own children. A man incapable of dealing with his own grief had stolen it all from him. His father was weak. How had he not seen it before?
If Nick lost Emma in childbirth, he’d grieve deeply, but he’d take their child and dedicate all his energy to ensuring that Emma’s kindness and goodness were remembered. He’d see their child cared and loved for every day as a tribute to her.
God, his lovely Emma. This was what she’d been teaching him. He needed to find his own happiness within himself so he could love her freely. When he hadn’t listened to her and had failed to consider her words, he’d lost so many precious moments already in their short time together.
The lesson of such a life sat before him. The duke had lost the opportunity for love and wasted his precious time on this earth. Nick had turned into his father, and the realization made his stomach churn in agony.
“Nicholas, I pushed you away selfishly.” The duke’s voice had softened. “It was far easier for me to criticize you and drive you away than face the memories you represented. I should’ve hired the best tutors and kept you at Renton House. My biggest regret is not having you by my side.”
Silence stretched between them. The only sound in the room was the shifting and snapping of the wood in the fire. Finally, the duke raised his head.
“The two hundred pounds I brought you at Eton was all I had left after the harvest failed that year. I still had to pay the tenants and make repairs with loans.”
“I just sent you five hundred pounds. Are you looking for more?” Nick hid the shock of his father’s confession with a roll of his head to stretch his neck. It was a way to relieve the knotted muscles and bide a few minutes to consider his father’s words. Not once did Renton ever mention financial problems with the estate, nor had Nick caught a peep of it before or after that fateful day.
The duke shook his head slowly. “No. I mortgaged some land that year. After a couple of successful harvests and wise investments, the duchy was flush again in cash. It took me a while, but I realized my foolish pride got the best of me that day. I’ve come to offer…” The hard swallow mimicked a man drowning of thirst after being discovered in the Sahara. “I chose you that day.”
The words made his misery acute. Nick could taste the desperation of wanting to believe his father, so much so his own mouth grew thirsty.
“When you wrote to me that those men threatened to harm you if you didn’t pay Lord Paul’s debts, I roared in anger. I could either have saved you from the violence of those thugs Lord Paul had introduced you to, or I could have applied it to repairs on the t
enants’ roofs. I chose you, but I was furious you forced me to make that decision. I blamed all my loses—physical, emotional, and financial—on you. I grew more and more sullen as time passed. However, deep in my heart, the only real choice I had that day was you. Son, you were my last connection to your mother.”
Nick blinked, trying to understand what the man was confessing. He’d actually shirked his responsibilities to the duchy for him, the son he detested?
It was unfathomable. His father, the Duke of Renton, sat before him a broken and humble man asking for forgiveness.
“Perhaps if you had—” Nick drew a deep breath in an attempt to rein in his own grief.
“It’s not something you want to share…” The duke blew out a breath and cleared his throat. “I’ve written in hopes I can make amends. Have you received my letters?”
“Yes, but I’ve never read them.” Nick wouldn’t lie to him just to appease his conscience.
The duke slowly nodded as if accepting his due punishment. “I’ve watched you and your success since you left university. I knew Pembrooke was a major force in your life. I was envious of him, but thankful, too. He’s a good man.”
“I was fortunate we became friends. I hate to think what would have happened if he hadn’t taken an interest in my welfare.”
The duke flinched at his words, but Nick wouldn’t soften the truth. He wouldn’t be the man he was today without Pembrooke’s friendship. “I married.” The announcement came from nowhere. “The Duke of Langham’s daughter, Lady Emma.”
The first hint of a smile tugged at his father’s lips. “Langham wrote me. It gave me the courage to come and see you. I thought if you refused, perhaps your wife could convince you to meet me.” The duke eyes were red and bloodshot. “I met her once when she was a small child. But I remember she was full of life and a true beauty. She’ll make a perfect duchess, just like your mother.”
Was he actually giving Nick a compliment? For the first time, Nick spied the real man underneath the title and the trappings of the duchy, a man who might be capable of affection.
The Bride Who Got Lucky Page 29