Dory did not deserve this. She was the woman he loved and he should have protected her. He hadn’t before. But he would do so now.
“Pift!” His mother plopped back down onto the settee, all pretense of her usual decorum and refinement gone. Meaning the gloves were off. That was fine. It just meant that the fight was about to get dirty. Jeremy was ready for that. “You’ll find another chit to spread her legs for you easily enough. More than one a night at that damnable club of yours, from what I hear.”
“Idle gossip is usually nothing more than a pack of lies,” he snapped, trying how to best get the advantage of his mother. “And my relationship with Dory is none of your concern. My life is not your concern! All you should care about is whether or not I increase your allowance and allow you to stay in what is essentially my home!”
His mother’s eyes grew calculating and she rose again, her hands on her hips – something Jeremy had never seen her do before. “As I said, this family and our reputation – your brother’s reputation – is all I care about. Not you, so do not flatter yourself by thinking otherwise. Wilson is the heir. Not you. Best you remember that.” She gave him a caustic glance. “Still, she wasn’t even really good enough for you. Hardly fit to serve your tea. I did what I did for your own good.”
Jeremy was incredulous, his mother’s words throwing him off his mental balance a bit. “Now? Now you give me credit for something and hint at my value? For God’s sake, Mother, are you insane? Or are you just hoping to blackmail me into handing over the purse strings and all things related to Wyncliffe so you can spend the dukedom into oblivion again?”
“I want what is mine by right!” Backlit now against the window with the morning sun shining through, the dowager looked more like a devil than Jeremy could ever hope to be. “You have no idea what it is like to have everything taken from you! Power. Wealth. Prestige. A son who catered to my every whim and worshipped me like the queen I was meant to be. All I ever deserved in this life is gone. Your father took some and you took the rest when Wilson was injured.” A dark look crossed her face. “And I want it back. All of it. You don’t deserve it. Wilson did. And because you took it from him? I will make you pay every day for the rest of my life. Starting with your little trollop. I can’t hurt you, though God knows I have tried more times than you will ever know, but I can hurt her. And she, my son, is your weakness. I told you knew how to hurt you. I really hope you didn’t doubt me. Now give me back what is mine.”
“I took nothing that did not already belong to me or become my responsibility! I did what I had to do when there was no one else who was capable! Wilson is a veritable vegetable, Mother!” Jeremy ground out through clenched teeth, refusing to rise to her bait. His mother was teetering on the edge. She would fall soon enough, driven by her own anger.
Somewhere behind Jeremy, a man cleared his throat. “Actually, Wilson Dunn is dead and has been for some time. Your grace.”
Jeremy saw his mother’s eyes go wide and he spun around so that he could see the newcomer to this fight.
There, in the middle of his mother’s putrid rose sitting room, was none other than Lord Nicholas Rosemont, the Duke of Candlewood. The Bloody Duke himself.
“Your grace.” Jeremy quickly made an awkward bow but looked up when the other man made a tisking sound.
“Ah, ah, ah. None of that. You, my friend, are a duke now as well. Best you become accustomed to the fawning and groveling, by the way. Oh, and not having to bow to anyone, save Prinny.” The Blood Duke grinned. “Though if you wish to keep bowing to me, I won’t object.”
“My son is not dead! You lie!”
The dowager was shrieking now and honestly? Jeremy had almost forgotten she was in the room. He had also forgotten about the Wilson being dead part, at least momentarily.
“You say my brother is dead?” Jeremy shook his head. “But how?”
Candlewood rolled his eyes. “Well, his skull did connect with a stone wall all those years ago. Even one with as thick of a head as he possessed could not survive that.”
“Yes. Yes, I know.” Jeremy waved away that part. “However, I receive weekly updates from Dr. Pickering…”
“Who isn’t really a physician at all, but rather one of your mother’s former lovers.” The other man cast a black look at the dowager. “Isn’t that right, Lady Wyncliffe? Or should I say, Mrs. Martin?”
Jeremy was so confused that his head was aching now. “Who in the bloody hell is Mrs. Martin?”
“No one!” his mother snapped at the same time Candlewood spat, “Your mother’s second identity.”
“Enough!” Jeremy roared and he could have sworn the Bloody Duke was all but ready to applaud him. “You say Wilson is dead and that Pickering was no physician. Oh, and that my mother is also someone else.”
“Indeed.” Candlewood slowly leaned back against the doorframe, as if he was savoring everything about this morning. Given what Jeremy knew of the man, he probably was. “Your parents never did have a happy marriage, as I’m certain you know.”
“I loved my husband! Worshipped him!” Jeremy could tell his mother was on the verge of another one of her notorious howling fits.
Candlewood glared at her again. “Enough, madam! Do not make me come over there and shut you up myself. It has been a trying night and I had to leave the comfort of my wife’s bed to deal with this. Needless to say, I am not pleased!” Then he turned back to Jeremy as casually as could be. “As I was saying?”
Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut, at least a tiny part of him hoping that this was a nightmare that he would wake up from at any moment. “Go on.”
The Bloody Duke cleared his throat. “As I was saying, your parents’ marriage was miserable and each of them sought refuge in the arms of others. Your father went after any bit of skirt he could, but your mother was a bit more careful. She only had eyes for one of the minor landowners near your beloved Springwood Abbey. A Mr. Darwood Martin. The man you know better as Dr. Pickering.” The duke sniffed. “In fact, there was a time, however brief, that she believed you, Jeremy, were Martin’s son. Not Wyncliffe’s. But alas you were not. However…”
He trailed off and suddenly, something clicked in Jeremy’s brain. All of the times that Wilson didn’t seem to be quite like either Jeremy himself or Alfred. All of the times Jeremy had looked at his brother and only seen traces of his mother and none of his father.
“However, Wilson was this Mr. Martin’s son.” Jeremy supplied, feeling a little sick inside.
“And, oh, how your mother loved him because of that. In fact, she loved him more than anyone else because he was a small piece of her lover that she could keep with her even when her beloved Darwood could not be by her side.” Candlewood was looking very smug just now.
Turning, Jeremy looked at his mother, certain his mouth was agape. “Mother? Is that true? Any of it?”
Instead of immediately denying it, his mother gave him an indignant sniff. “Wilson was a magical, golden child. So perfect. And that he would inherit a dukedom from that monster I married? Then so much the better!”
“Which is why you despised Alfred and me so very much. Because we were Father’s children. Not this Mr. Martin’s.” Jeremy clutched the back of a chair for support. This time, he really might be ill.
“Precisely.” That came from Candlewood, who seemed far too cheerful over this entire mess. “Then her beloved Wilson did inherit and she had everything she ever wanted, including her lover’s child as the new duke. Until he did what young men always do and engaged in stupid and reckless behavior. And killed himself. Or very nearly.”
Jeremy began to fill in the rest of the blanks. “Dr. Hastings attended to Wilson first. I remember now. This Pickering didn’t take over until after Hastings was called back to London for an emergency.”
“I left my son with his father!” The dowager’s anger was growing again. “He was cared for and in good hands!”
By the door, Candlewood yawned. “Until he died eight months a
go, you mean.”
Jeremy spun around and advanced on his mother. “Eight months? Eight months! My brother has been dead for eight months and you didn’t tell me? Why in the bloody hell didn’t you tell me, Mother? How could you have kept that from me?”
“Because you were never supposed to know!” His mother was in a fine fury now, her hands clenching at her sides – just as Jeremy’s did when he was furious. “I knew Wilson would never recover, but I had hoped he would last a bit longer. Then he caught an infection and died. He’s buried in the family plot. But you didn’t have to know, especially when you believed the esteemed Dr. Pickering was caring for him. So Darwood and I decided to continue the charade until everything was ready.”
“Ready how?” Jeremy blew out a breath as he tried to make sense of everything without losing his temper. “What did you hope to gain by waiting, Mother? Wilson was dead! What more could have been done!”
In her growing anger, his mother threw her tea cup at him, drenching the front of his shirt and waistcoat. “I had hoped to ruin you and that whore you were bedding, you great, bloody fool! Discredit you and that…that…that club you own, as well! Get you removed from the line of succession and have your cousin Arthur named as the new duke. He’s a good boy.”
Arthur. The cousin who had looked almost identical to Wilson.
“Let me guess. He is this Mr. Martin’s son, too.” Jeremy nearly spat the words, his stomach churning.
“I never said Darwood and I were exclusive,” his mother sniffed, as if that was the most perfectly reasonable thing she had said so far. “And my cousin Rose did find him exceedingly attractive. All the Taggart girls did.”
The Bloody Duke snorted. “And none of them could keep their legs closed, it would appear.”
“How dare you?” Before Jeremy could react, his mother had picked up an antique vase and threw it in the direction of Candlewood’s head.
She must have been truly furious because he could only remember his mother throwing things at his father before and never anyone else. Though her aim was off and she hit a nearby wall, never even coming close to striking the duke. Though it did seem to make the man laugh again. The Bloody Duke really was peculiar.
In two strides, Candlewood was across the room and hoisting Jeremy’s mother into his iron grasp. “I dare because I believe in justice and fairness, madam. I also don’t like to see my friends and their reputations dragged through the mud and ruined, all because some trollop couldn’t keep her legs closed or remember her duty!”
“Unhand me!” the dowager shrieked in Candlewood’s ear, but Jeremy knew her pleas would be useless. Nicholas Rosemont did as he pleased and right now? It apparently pleased him to remove Jeremy’s mother from Wyncliffe House.
The Bloody Duke gave a dry chuckle. “I think not, madam. Rather, I think you need to come with me until you calm down. Then we can arrange for transportation to the dower house at Woodcrest Hill.”
“But that estate is nearly in Scotland!” she cried. “You cannot send me there! You have no authority!”
“But I do,” Jeremy replied, doing his best to wipe off the tea that was still staining his clothes. “With Wilson’s passing. I’m the duke now.”
“You always were, or at the very least should have been since you were a Dunn by blood,” Candlewood replied as he shifted the dowager in his arms to get a better grip on her, as she was still struggling mightily to get free. “Be still, madam, or I will be forced to tie you up and lock you in my carriage! I don’t think you would care for that, believe me!”
At that, Jeremy’s mother stopped struggling. Amazing what this man could accomplish with just a few words and the tone of his voice.
“As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted,” the duke continued, “you always were the duke. The real one, anyway. Had Wilson’s paternity ever been revealed? He would have been stripped of the title for he was not your father’s son.”
Once more, Jeremy shook his head, in awe of this man. “How did you even know?”
This time when Lord Candlewood smiled, he looked very much like the devil Jeremy was often accused of being. “I have my ways. And records. Meticulous records.” Then his smile shifted slightly and there was a hint of kindness in it. “You, Lord Wyncliffe, also have friends. Very good ones. Whether you know it or not.”
“Lord Richard Haywood?” Jeremy guessed as he struggled to comprehend everything he had just been told. “He got word to you about Hewson sooner than expected, didn’t he?”
The Bloody Duke nodded. “Last evening. I sent one of my best men out at once. A friend of yours as well. I believe you know him better as the Falcon.”
“Lord Colin Thorne, the new Earl of Parrington. He has been a friend over the years. We attended Eton together.” Jeremy shook his head. “But that was a long time ago.”
“And yet, you did him a favor there that he feels he can never repay.” Candlewood let out a deep breath, as if he was growing tired. If he was feeling anything like Jeremy was just then, the man was probably exhausted. “You are what your brothers could never be, Jeremy Dunn. You are a good man. Better than most recognize. Now? You are the Duke of Wyncliffe. Properly the duke, as it should have always been.”
“Does it matter?” Jeremy had no idea because he was fairly certain that while he might have gained a title, in the end, he had lost Dory. Duke or no duke, her family would never allow him near her now. And she was all that really mattered to him.
“It does,” Candlewood assured him as he turned to leave, the now sullen and silent dowager duchess still in his grasp. “It might take some time, but I can assure you, being a duke does matter. As does being a good man. Often times, that helps you obtain things that you believe are beyond your grasp.”
“Thank you.” Jeremy nodded, not really understanding what the other man meant. “And thank you for taking care of Maggie. I’m not certain I ever told you how much it meant to me that you took her in when I needed to keep her safe.”
Now the Bloody Duke’s face positively lit up. “She is a joy, my friend. A true joy! Stop by later and we can discuss having her returned to you. Along with other matters. You are a duke now, after all. You will find, I think, that many doors that were once closed to you are now opened again.”
Jeremy nodded and with a final wave, the Bloody Duke was gone, leaving Jeremy standing in the middle of his mother’s disaster of a sitting room. No, this was Jeremy’s sitting room now. No longer his mother’s.
In fact, all of Wyncliffe House, as well as Springwood Abbey, Woodcrest Hill, and all of the other various estates were now his. Knowing that somehow brought him a sense of peace he hadn’t known he was missing. He had been caring for those same estates, as well as the tenants who lived there since Wilson’s accident. But they had never really been his. Now? They were.
Once more, Jeremy looked at the tea-stained carpet, and the ugly rose-colored walls that were now scuffed from the impact of the vase in places and dripping with tea in others. This room was awful. But he could change it. He could change all of it.
He could get rid of the mismatched furniture, especially the Egyptian things that were the stuff of nightmares. He could repaint and redecorate.
Or… his new wife and his ward could.
He could bring Maggie home at any point he wished.
Dory, on the other hand? Well, she would not be so easy to win back.
Assuming, he could get past her family, of course. That might not be so easy.
But he loved her and he had to believe that she loved him as well. That their time together was more than just her being his temporary mistress. That it had been the start of something far more permanent.
Something that would last until the end of time.
Chapter Nineteen
Town Tattler
(Late Morning Supplemental Edition)
I hate to say I told you so, dear readers, but I did tell you so. Didn’t I? Yes, I believe that I did.
We have a new d
uke in London. Or rather an old duke who didn’t know he was the duke. Or whatever. You take my meaning, just as Lord Jeremy Dunn has taken his place as the rightful Duke of Wyncliffe.
He has moved his ward, Lady Maggie, back into his home as well, along with her chaperone and nanny, Mrs. Wellsbottom. A more formidable woman, I never did meet. But she raised the Bloody Duke, so I have no doubt she will be up to the challenge of shepherding a future debutant of the ton. I hope.
Now all the duke needs is a wife, though I understand that there are plenty of ladies now lining up to fill the currently open position, including at least five of this Season’s Diamonds of the First Water. Yet, he hasn’t taken up with a single one of them.
Is he still pining for his Lady Peacock? Or is he thinking of Lady Dory Tillsbury, his “Toy Shop Flirtation” as she is now being called? I cannot say for certain, dear readers, for I am not sure even Lord Wyncliffe – oh! I do like saying that – knows himself. What I can say is that Lady Peacock and Lady Dory are NOT the same woman. I don’t care what you hear elsewhere. It’s simply not true.
-Lady A
“A Toy Shop Flirtation. Ha! Though I suppose it is better than being known as his trollop. Even if he is a duke now.”
Sarah’s words cut through the silence of Chilton House’s green drawing room where Dory was curled up in a chair, trying and failing to read a book while Sarah looked on with narrowed eyes and suspicious glances. In fact, other than when Dory was in her chambers, she was rarely out of Sarah’s sight these days. Sarah probably would have even followed Dory into her bedroom had Rayne not put his foot down, saying that was going a bit too far.
“Really, Dory. How you could be so caught up in a despicable man like that. I don’t understand you. You were raised better than that! And you left Harry for him!”
Dory refused to acknowledge Sarah’s baiting comments. Her sister had been saying such things for nearly a week now, mostly in an attempt to get a rise out of her sister. At this point, Dory no longer cared what Sarah said. Or did. Or threatened. It didn’t matter anyway. Soon enough, she would be leaving for Hallowby Grange and not returning to London until she was old and gray. Well beyond marriageable age. Long past the time when Jeremy would have chosen a wife. Someone young and beautiful and polished to be his duchess.
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