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For a long moment, Reginald’s father didn’t seem to know what to say. He remained quietly seated against the velvet cushions, and his eyes took on a distant sort of look, as though he gazed at something Reginald couldn’t see. “I imagine they could do worse,” the Duke finally answered. “The solution to the Smythe family’s problem is not, however, to become a highwayman. And I can scarcely believe that I must say that to my own son.”
“I wasn’t only a highwayman,” Reginald countered. “I was a pickpocket before that.”
“Good God, son! I-I can’t even imagine how you’ve suffered. Being taken away from us and forced into this awful life…”
That hadn’t been exactly how it happened, but if Reginald admitted that, his father would want an explanation, one which Reginald wasn’t ready to give. No, it was easier to let his father weave whichever story made him comfortable.
“It wasn’t all bad,” Reginald said.
Not all the time, but some things were better left unsaid.
“I met some very worthy people living in London, people of all kinds.”
He propped his feet up on the seat of the carriage and received a horrified look from his father, who cleared his throat and let out what had to be the hundredth nervous laugh in the two hours they’d spent together.
“It’s good that you’re home,” his father said, once his laughter had subsided. “I have missed you so very much, and I daresay that the Marquisate misses its rightful Marquess.”
Reginald grimaced. “I’m quite sure that my cousin is doing a sufficient job. I’ve no interest in taking the title if that’s what this was truly about, Father. I’d dared to hope that—”
I’d dared to hope that you just wanted me, as I am.
But Reginald couldn’t say that. He wasn’t sure which would be worse, if his father admitted that hedidn’tjust want his safe return or if his father said that he did. If it was the former, Reginald would be angry. If it was the latter, he’d feel guilty. It would hurt either way, so the question was best left unanswered.
“You dared hope what?” His father’s voice was gentle, beseeching even.
“Nothing,” Reginald replied. “But it would be cruel of me to take the title from my cousin, after he so graciously took the position and has enjoyed it for so long.”
“It would not be cruel to return the title and lands to their proper owner, especially when you’ve already an engagement in place.”
Reginald had really thought the situation couldn’t possibly be any worse. Was there a fate any less desirable than being wed to a haughty noblewoman, whose idea of charity was probably gracing people with her presence?
“An engagement?” Reginald asked, hoping that he’d misheard that awful declaration. “Youcan’tmean Lady Marcella.”
“The very same,” his father agreed. “She’s become quite a lovely young woman in your absence, and I’ve no doubt you’ll be pleased with her.”
“Does Lady Marcella know that you’re insisting she fulfill her engagement to a criminal? A highwayman?”
“I had hoped that we’d omit the details for the good of the Marquisate.”
Reginald nodded. “Oh, a marriage built on a foundation of lies. It sounds truly wonderful, Father.”
“All men omit a few secrets from their past and exaggerate others,” the Duke said. “I suspect women do, also, but I’ve never been able to confirm the truth of the matter. And if she learned the truth, I don’t know if that would be so terrible. The writers do have such a way of making highwaymen romantic. I’m told that Lady Marcella is an eager reader, she may like being married to a highwayman.”
As ifanyproper lady would like that.
Reginald ran his hand through his hair, sending the brown strands into disarray. “Father, you must realize how absurd this whole plan is. What is the matter with leaving Simon to rule instead? He’s…”
“He’s nearly driven us into destitution. The Marquisate is nearly out of money.”
Reginald felt as if time had stopped, as if the whole world had stopped spinning, and the only thing which remained in motion was the carriage and the two of them.
“If you care about the plight of working people, like your Mr. Smythe, something which is very admirable of you,” his father continued, “the best way to help them is by taking your rightful place as Lord Hurrow. You can marry Lady Marcella, who has a substantial dowry. I’ve also had some money set aside for you, which I will give you provided that you’re married to a respectable lady.”
Reginald would be able to help his friends who were struggling. And help them better than before. His pulse jumped. Could this really be a blessing in disguise?
“What if my cousin doesn’t wish to relinquish the title?” Reginald asked. “Would the law even choose my side in such a matter? I’ve been away for so long that anyone would be forgiven for believing I was dead.”
“I’m quite certain the courts would be willing to accommodate us given that your case is a most unusual one.”
