Letting himself into his room, he lit the closest lamp and cursed as he burned his fingertips. He waited impatiently as the flame sputtered and flickered before catching hold.
The light illuminated a small suite of shabby rooms. It wasn’t Grosvenor Square, but it was neat and clean, a veritable palace after the tiny crowded spaces he’d occupied during his years in the Army. At least the flat was warm and dry, two things he’d have sold his sour for in the Crimea.
It was also lonely.
Sometimes, the loneliness ate at his very soul, and he wished he'd never sold his commission. He didn't miss much about his former life. Not the boredom that gave way to bloody frenzy, nor the endless rules and regulations. But he did miss the companionship, the swapping of stories, and the friends who had become like family to him.
Blinking back the memories, he crossed the room and poured himself a shot of gin. He drank deeply, letting the familiar burn of alcohol drown his sudden sense of unease. Pouring himself a second drink, he settled on the sofa to read theTimes, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door.
He frowned at the sound. Who on earth could it be? Too loud to be Mrs. Tweed, too impatient to be Michael, and Basingstoke made it a matter of principle never to be seen in Dylan’s neighborhood. Muttering under his breath, Dylan tossed the paper aside and went to answer the summons.
When he saw who’d come to call, his heart sank, and his gut knotted.My father.
Though impeccably dressed, the earl’s usually impassive face was flushed with anger. Dylan had never seen the man in such a state.
Alarmed, Dylan took an unconscious step back. A decade had passed since the earl had last beaten him, but he supposed a shadow of the terrified child he’d once been lurked somewhere deep inside him.
“Father,” he muttered, steeling himself against any further signs of weakness. “This is an unexpected surprise.”
Unexpected andunwelcome. Shutting the door on a few curious neighbors who stood in the hall, the earl moved to stand in the middle of the small parlor. He cast a disparaging glance around the humble surroundings and then allowed his wintry gaze to settle upon Dylan once more. “You needn’t act as though you’re pleased to see me. This isn’t a social call, I assure you.”
“I didn’t think it was. You’ve certainly never bothered to visit before.” Dylan sank into the nearest chair and stared at his father in brooding silence.
What the hell is he doing here?
As if in answer, the earl tossed him some official-looking documents. Dylan’s foreboding intensified as he unfolded the crisp sheets of paper.
When he’d read enough to realize what they were, his blood ran cold.
“You’ve written me off.” He schooled his face into a controlled mask, determined not to let his true emotions show. All he had left was his pride, and he wasn’t about to let the old bastard know how much this final repudiation hurt.
The earl stepped forward, seized Dylan’s chin, and forced him to meet his furious gaze. “You embarrassed me, you ungrateful little bastard. All your life, I’ve given you more than you deserved, and this is how you repay me?”
Dylan jerked away. “You’ve given me nothing! No love, no respect, certainly no mercy. My mother was barely cold in her grave before you shipped me off to boarding school.”
“Don’t speak to me of her!” The veins in the earl’s forehead pulsed with anger. They stared into each other’s eyes for one long, endless moment. Then the earl spun away and paced the length of the small room like a caged tiger. “You never should have left the Army. That’s where you belong. There’s no place for you here.”
Each word hit him like a slap. Dylan knew his father bore him no great love, but this was the first time the earl had allowed him to see this seething hatred.
“You shan’t get another farthing from me,” the earl continued. “Not ever.”
“I believe you’ve explained all that quite clearly.” Dylan flung himself out of the chair and stalked to the window. “So, if you haven’t anything further to add, why don’t you get the hell out of here?”
Lengthy silence greeted Dylan’s words. He turned and found his father less than a yard away, face contorted with rage.
“I have rued your existence since the day you were born. You are no son of mine.”
Dylan gave a cynical laugh. “God. As though I hadn’t ever heard that before.”
The earl spun on his heels and slammed the door behind him. The sound reverberated in Dylan’s skull, freezing him into immobility for a long, long moment. The last little part of his heart that had believed in his father’s love withered and died.
Written off.
Despite everything, he’d never thought his father would go this far. Trembling in delayed reaction, he sank gracelessly down the wall. His limbs failed him as he contemplated his dwindling options.
Though he and his father had never gotten along, he’d never dreamed there would come a day when the old man would cut him off completely. A terrible predicament, to be sure. Made even worse by the fact that he had nothing to fall back on.
He’d already failed to find employment as an estate manager. The only jobs to be had in the city were menial in nature and wouldn’t even pay his rent at Mrs. Tweed’s. English Society wasn’t set up to provide for gentlemen who were down on their luck.
