Page 22 of Devoted to the Duke (The St. Clairs 1)

Silence filled the room. Jeremy released his grip on Cor and brought another chair over. Placing it next to her, they kept a vigil as Stephen St. Clair’s breathing grew more labored. With each raspy breath, Jeremy wished he could do so much of his life over with this man. He’d wanted a father who readily spent time with him. Took him shooting and riding. Ate meals with his family and shared stories with them.

It was too late now. His father shuddered several times, letting out a wheeze that sounded painful. Then he stilled.

“Fetch Walmsley,” Cor ordered.

Jeremy rose and wrapped his arms about her. He kissed the paper-thin cheek. “I’m sorry, Cor.”

“I am, too. Stephen wasted all his potential. His life had no meaning. He did no good for others. It saddens me.”

He kissed her again and then went to awaken the physician. Walmsley returned with him and gave a cursory exam.

“His Grace is gone.”

“Thank you for coming, Doctor Walmsley,” Jeremy said. “I know you did all you could.”

He escorted the doctor downstairs.

“Send for me if you or Her Grace need anything. A sleeping powder. Whatever.”

“We will.”

After letting the doctor out, Jeremy trudged back up the stairs. By now, Barton and Simmons stood in the hallway, ready for instructions.

Cor opened the door. “He’s passed. You know what to do.”

Barton stepped forward. “We will handle everything, Your Grace. You need to get some rest.”

“Thank you, Barton.” Cor walked slowly down the hall and Jeremy knew how grief blanketed her.

As for himself, he felt nothing. No emotion. Only an emptiness inside.

“Your Grace, Manfry is waiting for you in your chamber,” Barton informed him.

“Thank you,” he said and wearily started down the hall.

Only as he reached to turn the doorknob did it occur to him that Barton had addressed him as the new Duke of Everton.

*

Worry consumed Jeremyas he dozed and woke over the next few hours. He knew how woefully unprepared he was to be the next Duke of Everton. He’d never looked at any estate records and had no idea how much income the St. Clair estates generated. Hundreds of servants and tenants resided on St. Clair lands but he hadn’t a clue as to how many. He didn’t know what crops they grew or what livestock was bred. He’d met his father’s barrister in passing but doubted he could pick the man out in a crowd.

It was why he’d stopped at various businesses during his travels and met with their managers. He’d become acquainted with different members of the nobility in cities along the way and had asked questions of them—and their stewards. He had a burning desire for knowledge, coupled with wanting to restore splendor to the tarnished St. Clair name when his time came to become elevated in position.

If only he’d had more time to prepare.

It was why he’d cornered his father yesterday when he’d arrived. As usual, Stephen St. Clair put his son off, encouraging him to indulge in pleasure. Cor had promised to talk with him in more detail. Despite being a woman, he knew she had her fingers on the pulse of everything that happened within the family.

When he next opened his eyes, he saw a silhouette in the window seat. Rachel, dressed in her riding clothes, sat with her feet in front of her, her chin resting atop her knees. She stared out the window listlessly.

Jeremy slipped from the bed and hastily put on his dressing gown before joining her.

Sitting next to her, he put an arm around her.

“Papa’s dead, isn’t he?” she asked.

“He is,” Jeremy confirmed.

They sat in silence until she said, “I went to the stables to meet you. When you didn’t come, I came back to the house. None of the servants would look at me.” She paused. “Then I noticed the black armbands they wore.”

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