Page 28 of Payback

“Father’s having a lucid day,” he said, voice dreamlike.

I wrapped my hand around his. “Go to him!”

“Come with me.”

“Of course.”

As we raced through the campus, Edward called for the limo. At a time like this, neither of us wanted to make the long trek through the estate to Edward’s house.

* * *

The Duke of Mercia sat in the garden under a gazebo, clad in a burgundy, silk dressing gown complete with tailored shoulders, lapels, and cuffs. He wore a white shirt under the garment, opened halfway down to the sternum, and a matching cravat.

We walked across the lawn and, as I got a closer look at the duke, my stomach dropped. I had expected him to be a man in his fifties, but he looked about thirty-five. “He’s so young.”

“Thirty-eight,” said Edward. “Thirty-three when diagnosed. The doctor said it was a particularly early case of young-onset dementia.”

I squeezed Edward’s hand, and we continued toward the gazebo. The duke was deep in conversation with a man the size of Henry, who wore a white polo shirt and slacks. This had to be the nurse paid for by the ransom money.

When the duke turned to us, my breathing hitched. His handsome, regal features were nearly identical to Edward’s except for slightly paler eyes and a dimple on his chin.

“Edward,” he said with wonder in his voice. “You look well.”

“Father.” Edward’s face broke into a smile. “It’s wonderful to have you back.”

The duke shook his head. “Apparently, it’s all thanks to my new nurse. He insisted we try an experimental medication Dr. Asgard didn’t think would work.”

Edward turned to the nurse and inclined his head in thanks.

I stood back, throat thickening, watching their interaction. Although warmth shone in their eyes, and it was clear that the duke hadn’t properly seen his son in years, neither reached out to touch the other. I suppose this was a manifestation of the aristocratic, British stiff upper lip.

The duke raised his head and fixed me with curious, aquamarine eyes. “I see you’ve brought a young lady.”

Butterflies writhed through my insides as I remembered how much everyone had hated me for being American. Would Edward’s father also reject me for the same reason? Swallowing hard, I shot Edward a helpless glance.

“Father, please meet Emilia Hobson, who joined us this year from Park Preparatory, New York. Emilia, this is my father, the Duke of Mercia.”

“Indeed?” The duke’s brows rose. “How d’you do?”

“How d’you do, Your Grace,” I repeated.

His face broke into a smile. “Call me Alfred! And do join us for lunch.”

As if summoned by an invisible force, the butler walked across the lawn with a brass hostess trolley laden with an entire baked salmon, a quiche, and a variety of mouth-watering salads.

While he served out generous portions, Edward updated his father on recent events, carefully steering away from the estate’s financial difficulties and from the recent scandals that had rocked the school. The duke listened and made suggestions for areas where the staff could improve, and I sucked in an excited breath. If the medication worked, would Edward’s father be able to take back some of the burden?

The duke turned to me. “To which family do you belong, Emilia?”

I scrambled for an answer. Mom and Dad came from humble beginnings, and I didn’t want to seem like an interloper. “The Jensens. My father’s family came to the States last century from Denmark, and my mom’s originally from Connecticut. She’s married to Rudolph Trommel now.”

“Indeed?” The duke’s brows rose. “Trommel is a fascinatingly ruthless businessman. My father had dealings with an associate of his, who worked in the publishing industry. A former Mrs. Trommel obtained a million-pound deal to write her memoirs of being married to the mogul, and Trommel quashed it before she even got pen to paper. I understand that he now makes everyone he encounters sign confidentiality agreements.”

My eyes widened. “Really?”

He tilted his head to the side. “You haven’t?”

“Emilia is still seventeen,” said Edward. “I doubt that such a contract would be enforceable on a minor.”