Page 29 of My Dark Duke

“Have you heard the news about Graystone?” Falconbridge continued, rocking back and forth on his heels as he spoke, “He’s due an appointment with St Peter any day now.”

“Good God, what happened?” Sebastian pressed, shocked by the news. Graystone was only a few years older than he, far too young to be meeting his maker.

“Crashed his phaeton into a tree.” Falconbridge grimaced. “Not what you’d expect from such an accomplished whip but, by all accounts, it was a malfunction of the vehicle which caused the accident. He’s not expected to last much longer.”

“Will Lewisham be sent for?”

Lord Lewisham, another of their peers, was Graystone’s younger brother and was currently fighting on the continent with Wellington’s army. It was he who had written to Sebastian about Michael and Polly, as Michael had served under him. As the Duke of Graystone had no male issue, Lewisham was heir apparent to the title.

“I expect so.” Falconbridge shrugged again. “He won’t like that. Hark, who’s that I sight? Lord Mosley! Excuse me gentlemen, I have to see a man about a bride.”

With that, Falconbridge left them, striding across the room to accost poor Lord Mosley.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to hear so much gossip in such a short space of time,” Bertie commented, as he watched Falconbridge’s departing form. “Can’t say I envy Miss Farthington, having her hand gambled away by her own father.”

“She could have found herself betrothed to worse than he.” Sebastian shrugged. “His reputation does him a disservice.”

“Like someone else we know,” Bertie commented.

Sebastian made no reply; his dalliance with Miss Smith had led him to the conclusion that his reputation as a rake was well warranted. He might once have hidden behind notions that he was a Corinthian of sorts, that he never took advantage of innocents, that he was nothing like his father…but he had been wrong.

Worse, he knew he could not resist the lure of her. In his life, he had never felt so physically drawn to a woman as he did toward Mary. He longed to possess her and was tormented by images of the one night they had shared together.

“I believe I have socialised enough for the evening,” Sebastian decided.

“Yes, you wouldn’t want to get a reputation for being sociable, then where would you be?” Bertie queried, dryly.

“There’s nothing wrong with being aloof, it spares one having to endure tedious conversations,” Sebastian answered, tartly. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“I’m honoured.”

“You’ll understand how I suffer when you inherit the title,” Sebastian assured him. “Now, I’ll leave you to run up an outrageous bill on my behalf. Take care, Bertie.”

Sebastian swept from the room, careful to avoid catching anyone’s eye, lest they believed him to be in a convivial mood.

Outside in the hallway, a footman called for his carriage, which promptly arrived to convey him home. As he slipped inside, to its plush, dark compartment, an image flashed before Sebastian’s eyes.

His father, whom he had not thought on properly in years.

The duke had spent many a night travelling around London in a carriage with a large “T” emblazoned on its side, instead of the customary coat of arms. It was the carriage which had earned him the moniker The Duke of T, while his predilection for whores and doxy-houses had made that same moniker synonymous with debauchery. Even now, Sebastian’s own reputation was somewhat exaggerated on account of what his father had been.

The public and newspapers had reveled in tales of the duke’s insatiable libido and depraved appetites, little caring what effect his actions might have on his family.

At home, as his father caroused his way from Land’s End to John O’Groats, it was Sebastian who had to deal with the consequences of his father’s exploits. Georgina, his mother, had been but sixteen when she had married the duke, a mere child.

Over the years, Sebastian had tried to piece together the tale of his parents’ marriage. From what he had learned, from relatives and servants, his father had doted on his mother, until she had produced the requisite heir. After Sebastian’s birth, the duke had grown bored of his wife, seeking his pleasure elsewhere.

The withdrawal of her husband’s affection, as well as the humiliation of having his infidelities widely discussed, had driven Georgina to a mild form of madness. She had retreated from the world, sedated by the laudanum the family physician had prescribed for her “malaise”.

She had held no affection for Sebastian, whom she blamed for the sad state of her marriage. For the entirety of his childhood, until he had been sent down to Eton, Sebastian had walked on eggshells, afraid of provoking her into a foul-mouthed tirade by reminding her of his existence.

Between his mother’s hostility toward him and his father’s indifference, Sebastian’s childhood had been mostly miserable. If it hadn’t been for his Uncle Benjamin, whom he visited most summers, Sebastian might not have believed in happiness at all.

But, at Ludlow Hall, his uncle’s modest estate, he found a home filled with love, laughter, and peace. It was there Sebastian had come to understand that love was possible, though perhaps not for one as broken as he.

His uncle’s kindness led Sebastian to believe the wrong Beaufot brother had inherited the title - a fact which he vowed to remedy. He would not marry to fetch an heir, as his father had done. He would leave everything to Barty, so the cruelty of his father and the madness of his mother would not be allowed to continue to taint future generations of the Thorncastle line.

His vow had been easy enough to keep, until now. The women he had bedded had regarded him as little more than a trophy; a wealthy lover who might offer them a chance of fame and fortune. Sebastian had been happy enough to indulge them materially, and even happier that none had made demands for a love he could not provide.

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