Page 7 of A Siren for the Duke

Lionel was thoroughly stunned to hear his father speak this way – by all accounts, Horace had been a wonderful son. Something in his father’s aging eyes told him that was not true after all.

“Father, why do you speak of Horace like this?” he asked, ready to jump to his late elder brother’s defense. It was a bond that ran deep, even if their relationship had its complexities.

The Duke heaved a sigh so large his breath moved some dust that had gathered on a stack of books at the edge of the desk.

“Horace was a wonderful son in many ways. He was devoted to this family, to his wife, and thoughtful to our tenants. But… I suppose the stress of the title was too much for him to bear.”

Lionel waited with bated breath to hear what his father would say next. His heart was beating as rapidly as a hummingbird’s wings.

“The truth is, Lionel, that we have almost no money. Horace, for all his virtues, was rather fond of gambling, and there is hardly anything left.”

Well, that was certainly news. And such poor timing. Lionel’s mind was reeling.

“ Father, how long have you known this?”

The Duke shook his head, white hairs trembling.

“I found out shortly after your brother’s death. I had given him full rein of the finances, as you know. It was not until my steward showed me the books that I realized what had fallen upon us.”

No matter how many times he swallowed, Lionel could not rid himself of the lump in his throat. In fact, it seemed to grow bigger as the weight of his responsibility grew and began to settle around his shoulders like a heavy cloak.

“I had no idea,” Lionel said quietly.

“How could you have? It is not easy to reach you when you are sailing.”

He ignored his father’s rather pointed comment. His whole family disapproved of his choice to go into the Navy, but Lionel much preferred it to squandering his time at White’s or the endless parade of balls and dinner parties each season.

“I suppose there is no way you would consider Edmund for the title,” he urged.

“No. I fear Edmund is even worse than Horace when it comes to money. He overspends his allowance nearly every month and on frivolous things. However, even if he were more responsible, the law states that the inheritance falls to you.”

Lionel’s mouth felt quite dry all of a sudden. Had he not been sitting, his knees might have buckled. It was all too much. He felt as if the walls of the study were closing in on him. He longed for the wide expanse of the sea and the clear air of the ocean at that moment.

“Son, are you alright? You look a bit pale.”

Lionel gripped the arms of the chair for stability.

“Father, I cannot shoulder this responsibility right now. I ship out in three days.”

The Duke nodded solemnly.

“I know. And a gentleman must keep his word. But you must promise me this will be your last sea voyage with the Navy. You’ve performed admirably and risen in the ranks, but…”

His father’s voice trailed off as Lionel’s heart thundered in his ears. Only one more voyage? Goodness, this was blow after blow: first Horace’s gambling debt, and now this.

When his father finally dismissed him, Lionel wearily hauled himself up from the chair and left the study. Once alone, with no servants or family members about, he slumped against the wall. He slid down, eyes staring blankly at the carpet. He was overcome with grief, anger, and even heartache at everything that had occurred today. He didn’t even notice the footsteps, and it wasn’t until a hand shook his shoulder that he realized he was staring into space.

“Lionel?” Edmund asked, looking down at him with red-rimmed eyes. The youngest brother had always been the most emotional of the three of them.

“Yes, brother?”

“I can’t stay here in this dreary death house. Shall we go for a drink?”

Drowning his sorrows in gin sounded much better than sitting in the hallway and staring at the wallpaper. He nodded. Edmund helped him off the floor, and the two of them headed to a nearby pub to nurse their emotional wounds.

CHAPTER THREE

The flickering candlelight danced upon the walls of her lavishly decorated bedroom, casting elongated shadows that seemed to mock her desperation. The scent of the room, a mixture of lavender and beeswax, mingled with the smell of fear that clung to her very being. Her trembling hands moved with a frantic energy, snatching her most treasured possessions and tossing them haphazardly into a sack. The delicate porcelain doll her mother had given her on her tenth birthday, the worn leather-bound journal filled with her secret hopes and dreams, and the faded ribbon from her childhood pony were all unceremoniously jumbled together. They represented a lifetime of memories, cherished fragments of a past she feared she would never return to.