Page 88 of The Lost Duke of Wyndham

Jack turned to Wyndham and quirked a brow, allowing him to answer.

“He is the son of my father’s elder brother,” Wyndham told Lord Crowland.

“Charles?” Amelia asked.

“John.”

Lord Crowland nodded, still directing his questions to Wyndham. “Are you certain of this?”

Thomas only shrugged. “You may look at the portrait yourself.”

“But his name—”

“Was Cavendish at birth,” Jack cut in. If he was going to be the subject of the discussion, he would bloody well be given a place in it. “I went by Cavendish-Audley at school. You may check the records, should you wish.”

“Here?” Crowland asked.

“In Enniskillen. I only came to England after serving in the army.”

“I am satisfied that he is a blood relation,” Wyndham said quietly. “All that remains is to determine whether he is also one by law.”

Jack looked to him in surprise. It was the first time he had publicly acknowledged him aloud as a relative.

The earl did not comment. Not directly, at least. He just muttered, “This is a disaster,” and walked over to the window.

And said nothing.

Nor did anyone else.

And then, in a voice low and furious, came the earl’s comment. “I signed the contract in good faith,” he said, still staring out over the lawn. “Twenty years ago, I signed the contract.”

Still no one spoke.

Abruptly, he turned around. “Do you understand?” he demanded, glaring at Wyndham. “Your father came to me with his plans, and I agreed to them, believing you to be the rightful heir to the dukedom. She was to be a duchess. A duchess! Do you think I would have signed away my daughter had I known you were nothing but…but…”

But one such as me, Jack wanted to say. But for once it did not seem the time or the place for a light, sly quip.

And then Wyndham—Thomas, Jack suddenly decided he wished to call him—stared the earl down and said, “You may call me Mr. Cavendish, if you so desire. If you think it might help you to accustom yourself to the idea.”

It was exactly what Jack would have wanted to say. If he’d been in Thomas’s shoes. If he’d thought of it.

But the earl was not cowed by the sarcastic rebuke. He glared at Thomas, practically shaking as he hissed, “I will not allow my daughter to be cheated. If you do not prove to be the right and lawful Duke of Wyndham, you may consider the betrothal null and void.”

“As you wish,” Thomas said curtly. He made no argument, no indication that he might wish to fight for his betrothed.

Jack looked over at Lady Amelia, then looked away. There were some things, some emotions, a gentleman could not watch.

But when he turned back, he found himself face-to-face with the earl. Her father. And the man’s finger was pointed at his chest.

“If that is the case,” he said, “if you are the Duke of Wyndham, then you will marry her.”

It took a great deal to render Jack Audley speechless. This, however, had done it.

When he regained his voice, after a rather unattractive choking sound he assumed had come from his throat, he managed the following:

“Oh. No.”

“Oh, you will,” Crowland warned him. “You will marry her if I have to march you to the altar with my blunderbuss at your back.”

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