“She’s dead.”
Alexander stilled for a moment.
“How did …?”
“A solicitor from France wrote to me; she left me a small inheritance,” John explained, softly, carefully. As if Alexander might fly into a fit of rage. “I believe it was written up before you were born.”
“I wouldn’t take a penny from her,” Alexander spat. “I’m hardly hurt.”
“I didn’t come to boast about my wealth, you paper-skull. I came to warn you; Father can remarry now, which is a weapon he willwield. Indeed, I believe his target is one of your new wife’s sisters. A widow with land he wants. That you wanted too.”
“How on earth do you know such things?”
“People have a peculiar habit of underestimating invalids,” John said, testily. “I don’t just laze around waiting to die like you and Father prefer to imagine.”
“I don’t prefer that at all!” Alexander shot back, trying to keep his voice below a shout. “I want you hale and hearty and happy! I want you well!”
“Too bad. I’m not going to be. Ever. You need to accept that.”
“I do.” Alexander knew John was not going to magically become well again. He may not be as smart as John, but he understood basic truths.
“Then why do you behave as if you aren’t the heir?”
“Because I’m not. You are. You could very well be the next duke. Since you’ve been in Chelmsford, you’ve improved greatly. Who can say when Father will die? I myself have thought of hushing him many times, if you catch my meaning. I can’t be alone in that.”
John tilted his head and narrowed his gaze, as if assessing Alexander. It was damned uncomfortable to be scrutinized by a man who saw so much. Alexander wanted to fidget, to shift in his seat.
“You do know, don’t you, that even if I were healthy, even if I became the duke tomorrow, I don’t”—John was almost never at a loss for words—“I won’t marry, Alexander. I won’t have children. I never wanted to, even before I was sick. I’m not that sort.”
“No manwantsto marry,” Alexander jested, trying to move away from the direction of this conversation. “That’s the very thing that makes it so appealing for women.”
“Alexander, I’m only going to say this once. Mostly because repeating myself to you has never worked. I know you think rather highly of yourself, but I am not envious of you. I’d like more time of course. I regret not going to Paris before I was sick, and there are so many books left to read. But I’m not sitting around my house wishing I were in a lady’s bed, I can promise you that. I am more thrilled to be free of the duty of siring heirs than I can say.” John laughed softly, although Alexander didn’t know why. “You cannot steal my fate, even if you wanted to—you don’t dress half as well as I do. Besides, have you read none of the Greek myths? I want you to marry. And to have children I can dote on for seven minutes at a time on quarter days and birthdays. I’mgladit’s your fate, not mine. You will make a much better duke than anyone actually related to that man ever could.” With that, John patted his hand and stood. “Keep an eye on our father. And give your wife my fondest regards. I can hardly wait to meet the woman who’s done this to you.”
He left before Alexander could ask whatthiswas.
Chapter Twenty-Four
HARRIET HAD NEVER SLEPT BETTER.BEING TAKEN CARE OF BYAlexander was doing wonders for her sleep. She sat up in bed, with no plans for the day until her afternoon appointment with Mr. Dawkins. As Harriet wound the day before through her mind, her maid, Anne, entered with a tray holding drinking chocolate and, bizarrely, a letter.
Not the sort to leave important matters for later, Harriet ripped into the letter immediately. It was short and to the point.
I do not mean to bother your newlywed life, but you told
me to write. He’s back.
C
Harriet rang for Anne to return, asked for a brougham to be readied, and dressed in haste. The entire ride to her father’s house tied her stomach in knots. Caroline would not have written if things were not so bad.
Blast. Blast. Blast.
The feelings didn’t wear off in the morning. Or at least, the brandy didn’t. It roiled in his stomach, robbing his mouth of moisture and pounding through his head. He dressed anyway, albeit later than usual, and headed downstairs, skipping breakfast even though it might have helped his condition. The mere idea of food was sickening. He needed to see Lady Ellerton and warn her about his father.
Upon arrival at Philippa’s house, Alexander was shown to a lavishly appointed sitting room. The woman’s tastes—assuming it was her doing—were sumptuous indeed. Had she run through all her late husband’s money buying trinkets for this room?
Philippa came in shortly after his arrival, as his eyes were still darting from the thick drapes to the lush potted plants. He stood to greet her and she began talking immediately. A Bancroft sister trait, perhaps.
“I find I’m a bit immoderate when it comes to furnishings.”
