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But even so, pride made him stay in place and Rathe fought hard to keep his face expressionless as he waited for the old man to speak.
“You have some backbone,” the duke wheezed. “I’ll give you that.” Contempt flashed in his eyes. “But it’s not enough. Nothing you do will be enough, and perhaps after this meeting, you will be more mindful of your position and treat my real grandson the way he deserves.”
So that was how it was, Rathe thought numbly. It was only Charles Wellesley, Rathe’s cousin, the man considered his grandchild.
The duke sneered, “It’s time someone put you in place.”
When the silence lengthened, Rathe asked quietly, “And what place may that be, Your Grace?”
A malicious smile formed on the duke’s lips.“On your knees. Like how your mother serviced your father.”
Rathe stiffened. It was his first time to hear someone speak of his parents in such a way. Only the fact that this was his grandfather prevented him from throwing a punch.
The duke laughed. “It’s clear in your face your parents didn’t tell you anything about their story. No wonder you strut about like you own the whole of England.” The duke pointed a finger at him. “You listen closely, boy, because I’m going to tell you the unvarnished truth of it – and why it’s laughable, how you act all high and mighty.”
“I never—-”
“Silence! You are just like your father, never knowing how to obey and do what he’s told. I suppose your father never told you I forbade him to marry your slut of a mother?”
Slowly, Rathe shook his head.
“Well, I did, but instead of obeying me, my foolish son had chosen to cut himself off from his own family. And for what?” the duke spat. “Just to marry his Greek whore?”
The duke’s fingers tightened around the armrests of his chair in an expression of thwarted rage. “If I had the power to do so, I would have chased your father out of England as punishment. But alas, nowadays money has more power than nobility.”
A faraway look entered the duke’s gaze. “If not for that stupid distant cousin leaving your father with a ducal title...” He shook his head. “It’s a bloody disgrace, for a woman like her to be a duchess—-”
When the duke stopped speaking, Rathe asked quietly, “Why do you hate my mother so much?”
“Because she’s a gold-digging bitch who made my son look like a pedophile.”
The duke leaned back in his chair, chilling triumph on his face as he observed the impact of his words on the younger boy, the way he lost all color at the last word.
His father...was a...pedophile? Rathe suddenly felt faint, and his entire body shook at the effort to merely stay upright. Now, it became very much clear, all the whispers that haunted him throughout his childhood.
Wanting to hurt his son’s wife through the boy standing powerlessly in front of him, the duke continued cruelly, “Of course, I understand the attraction. Your mother is 22 years younger than him – a nubile nineteen-year-old fresh out of the schoolroom.”
Rathe wanted to deny the truth in every despicable word the duke uttered, but he couldn’t find the words to do so. He felt stricken and traumatized at the picture his grandfather painted, his once noble father transforming into an abusive adult, seducing his teenage mother.
“At that age, she would have been completely biddable. Trainable.”
Rathe shook his head. “Shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP!” His mother was the gentlest, the most beautiful woman he knew, and now his image of her was tainted, made impure by—-
No, Rathe realized. It was not his grandfather at fault here. It was his father. It was his father who had been selfish and dishonorable, his father who had made his mother appear cheap to everyone around them.
In front of him, the duke was not done taunting Rathe, every word he spoke more abhorrent than the last. “I won’t even be surprised if your father uses her as a gift to his business partners...”
Sick to his stomach at being made to hear such vitriol, Rathe closed his eyes and willed himself not to be hurt. He pretended he was nothing but a block of ice, one whose coldness could not be permeated by anything...or anyone.
When he opened his eyes, the world around him had changed. Just as he, Rathe Wellesley, had irreparably changed as well.
He said coldly, “I understand now, Your Grace.” Before the duke could reprimand him for the interruption, Rathe bowed low.
When the boy straightened and gazed at him, the duke almost recoiled at the rage staring back at him.
“Out of respect of your age, and the fact that you are my father’s father, I shall not say or do anything now. But if you ever insult either of my parents in my presence again, Your Grace, I will not hold back. I will fight back and I will not stop until you are the one in your knees, begging for our forgiveness.”
