Page 64 of A Dangerous Lord (Regency Spies & Secrets 3)

“I know.” She stopped in front of a door. “Would you like me to go in with you?”

“I would prefer to speak to him alone, assuming you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” his mother said, taking a step back. “I wish you luck.”

Corbyn knocked on the door.

“Enter,” he heard his father say.

He gave his mother an encouraging smile before he opened the door. The room was dimly lit, as the drapes were closed, and a musty odor hung in the air. A small fire crackled in the hearth.

When his father saw him, he attempted to sit up in his bed.

“Do not tax yourself on my account, Father,” Corbyn said, stepping closer to the bed.

“Nonsense,” his father replied as he rested his back against the wall, his breathing labored. “It is the least I can do, since you traveled all the way to visit with me.”

Corbyn sat down on a chair next to the bed. “How are you faring?”

“Not well,” he stated. “I am dying, Son.”

Unsure of what to say, he remained silent as his eyes roamed over his father’s thin face, noting how sunken in his cheeks were, and saw the dark circles under his tired eyes.

“I’m afraid that I don’t have much time left, and we don’t have any further time for your games,” his father remarked curtly.

“Games?”

His father nodded. “It is time for you to return home and claim your inheritance.”

“Father…”

His father held up his hand, stilling his words. “You did your duty once when you joined the army, but you squandered that opportunity.”

“I did not squander that opportunity,” Corbyn argued.

“You were only in the army for a few years before you were discharged.”

“I was honorably discharged so I could work for the Home Office.”

His father huffed. “Which is a waste, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you, Father,” he said, his voice rising.

“You are the son of a duke,” his father declared. “You have the responsibility of carrying on our family’s legacy.”

“That is why you have Simon. He is your heir, not me.” Corbyn worked hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

His father harrumphed. “Simon chose poorly, and his wife can’t bear him any children. She has failed him in that regard.”

“There is still time.”

“It has been five years!” His father started coughing and wheezing. He reached for a glass of water on the table next to the bed. After taking a sip, he returned the glass to the table and continued. “Most likely, you will someday become the Duke of Weatherby.”

“That is not a title that I aspire to.”

“And yet, you will inherit it.” His father eyed him closely. “Come home and help Simon with the duchy.”

“He has a man of business for that.”

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