Page 70 of A Bride for the Rakish Duke

With that, she slid the window up and banged on the inside of the carriage. The driver cast a look at William, who could not decide what to do—whether to let her leave, as she wished, or to insist on her remaining until this could be resolved.

But he had witnessed enough arguments to know that nothing could be ironed out when one party was in such a heated condition, much less both, and he knew he had spoken spitefully too. Perhaps distance would clear both of their minds, and at least he knew where she would be. Bruxton Hall was as safe a place as any.

With a sigh, he nodded to the driver.

The carriage pulled away, heading through the gates. William stood and watched it leave, watched his wife abandon him, and could not ignore the grim satisfaction that swept through his brain.

You see, she is no different. She has done you a favor.

So why did it feel so dreadful? Why were his feet itching to take off after the carriage, to bring it to a halt and drag her out until she could tell him plainly what the matter was? And why did his heart hurt so much?

He was the one who had insisted that there would be no love, he was the one who had been about to set new rules for the pair of them to prevent their marriage from becoming romantic. What right did he have to feel so… crushed?

“My feelings no longer matter.”

Her parting words lingered like a nettle sting in his mind. What were her feelings, and why did they no longer matter? Of course, they mattered. Indeed, he wished he knew what they were as he cursed himself for not demanding an explanation.

But the carriage was too far away now, and as she had said that the reason for her abrupt departure awaited him at the manor, he had no choice but to return. It was the only way he would be able to get to the bottom of this peculiar, injurious morning.

CHAPTER 29

Entering the manor, William stopped abruptly in the entrance hall, as unusual sounds drifted toward him. It was as if he was a younger man again, for those sounds were unmistakably the pitch and tone of someone yelling. Two people yelling. And one of them, somehow, was his mother.

“How dare you!” Mary bellowed. “What right do you have? I made myself perfectly clear, yet you come here and defy my wishes? I ought to have you thrown out into the dirt, where you belong!”

“And who areyouto tell me what I can and cannot do?” another feminine voice replied curtly, though it was not one that he recognized.

William hurried toward the drawing room and burst through the door to find his mother and an unfamiliar young woman standing in the center of the room.

They stood on either side of the low table that sat between the two settees, and it looked as if there was about to be a fight. Both were furious and red in the face, and the younger woman seemed to be holding a baby in her arms, which was probably the reason they hadnotbegun tussling yet.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded to know, his mind swirling as Lydia’s sentiments came rushing back to him.

“It is you who has tricked and deceived, and if you are looking for a reason for my ‘change of heart,’ it awaits you at the manor.”

Had she been talking about his mother or whoever this strange woman was? Or was he missing something, and it was neither of them?

Mary jabbed an accusatory finger at the stranger and her babe. “I came here to visit your sweet wife, having heard that you were both finally back where you belong, and I find that this harlot has intruded into my home!”

“I was invited in by someone from the household!” the woman shot back. “She has gone to fetch the Duke!”

William put his hands up. “Firstly, it ismyhome.” He glared at his mother, uncertain of what he was hearing. “And Iamthe Duke, but no one has fetched me. I was returning from… something.”

“Do not lie to me, Willie,” Mary hissed. “You have orchestrated this to punish me. You have welcomed this wretch and her bastard—your father’s bastard—into this house to amuse yourself! And she has come because she cannot understand a threat when she hears it!”

William froze, his eyes wide as he stared at his mother. She had tried many tricks since his father died to try and gain entry into Stonebridge and to try and rekindle some sort of relationship with her sons. He did not think it beyond her to smear his father’s name when he was not there to defend himself, but, nevertheless, it was beyond the pale.

“You dare to speak of my father that way when all you ever were to him was disloyal?” William seethed. “Do not try to pretend he was like you. This is… clearly a misunderstanding.”

He glanced at the stranger, who was trying to soothe the baby in her arms. The child could not have been very old at all, but nor could the woman—she was perhaps five-and-twenty or so and rather beautiful. It was impossible that what Mary was saying was true, for William’s father had been two-and-fifty when he passed.

“A misunderstanding?” Mary cried. “I shall tell you what is a misunderstanding—your perception that your father was a faultless pinnacle of respectability and honor. I have borne your hatred of me for too long, but I will not do so any longer. Open your eyes, Willie. While I was raising two sons and doting on them, he was out there fathering bastards. This is not the firstone, though I trust it shall be the last now that your father has done the decent thing and died.”

“Died?” The woman’s face fell.

“Where do you think all of our fortune has gone, my boy?” Mary continued, her eyes brimming with tears. “It has all been spent on your three—now four—half-sisters, as well as silencing lovers and paramours who saw an opportunity, and furious husbands who sought justice. So much money gone, just to maintain your father’s image in Society. It has all been spent on paying blackmailers and avoiding duels and scandals, and ensuring that none of those illegitimates wanted for anything while I had to beg for enough coin to be set aside for your education and necessities! Indeed, that drain on your finances has only gone now because your father is gone.

“If you look in your father’s ledgers, you will see ‘maintenance’ written down time and time again, often with extortionate sums beside it. I imagine you thought that ‘maintenance’ pertained to the house, but it was merely to keep the stains off his name.”

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