The Unclaimed Duchess (2 page)

Simon nodded. “It appears that my coming to the solicitor's and obtaining my father's papers set off a chain of events. The note said that a man would contact me in a month's time and he would expect a rather large payment to keep silent about the information I now have.”

Rhys swallowed hard past the bile that had filled his throat at the idea of blackmail. “I wonder why
he gives you a month before he makes himself known.”

Simon shrugged, though the anxiety in the lines on his face belied the nonchalant action. “Perhaps he wants me to stew on the idea that he has such damning information about me and my family. After a month of contemplation, he might think I am more apt to surrender to his demands.”

Turning away, Simon continued, “And then there is the fact that the solicitor who was steward to the papers was an American who inherited them from some distant relative. Perhaps the blackmailer might be located away from England. Travel would take some time, especially if the charlatan of a solicitor had to send him word of my recovery of the documents.”

“Wait, you think the
solicitor
is involved?”

Simon nodded, his expression grim. “I returned to the man immediately to demand who else had access to the papers he had provided me, but found his offices abandoned. I have used the entire scope of my influence in an investigation, but he has all but disappeared from the face of the earth. I can only assume he played some role in this.”

Rhys drew in a deep breath. “I am sorry, my friend. How terrible for you. But…”

“But?” Simon asked.

“This does not have to equal ruination. After all, what can the man say but that your father had a bastard son? Most of the men we know have a few children from the wrong side of the blanket. It damages your father's pious reputation, but it will not necessarily reflect upon you if you release the information in the proper fashion yourself.”

Simon flinched and turned away. Rhys watched him, uncertain as to why his friend would be unable to meet his eyes. Why Simon would be so pale and sick.

“You are correct. If the situation only involved myself, I would likely reveal the truth. God knows my father doesn't deserve protection. But there are other things to consider. You see, the man who is actually my brother is important. He is…he is titled.”

Rhys stared for a long moment as the force of what his friend was saying hit him. Bloodlines were the driving force of the Society he and Simon kept. Although a gentleman who was born into a legitimate marriage would not be stripped of his title, if the truth was revealed about his unfortunate birth, the scandal would be more than devastating. All who saw this person from that moment on would know he did not deserve his rank and the privileges he had been granted. He and his family could very well be shunned, their name tied to fraud and ruination for as long as they lived and even beyond.

“A man of rank…” Rhys breathed, almost unable to say it. “It is highly regrettable, but—”

He broke off, knowing how differently Simon felt about the importance of birth. Still, his friend
had
to know the consequences.

“The man is a bastard by birth and should not be given the consideration of his title, no matter what the law says,” Rhys finally finished slowly. “Those around him have a right to know that he is only masquerading as something he is not. Revealing the truth won't only protect you against this blackmail, but it's only fair. This person must face the consequences—”

“He is a friend,” Simon interrupted.

Rhys staggered back. “Someone we know? My God!”

“No, Rhys, not someone we know…Rhys…” Simon seemed to struggle. His hands shook and his face was a sickly shade of green, as though he was only just controlling the urge to cast up his accounts. “Rhys,
you
are my brother.”

It took a moment for the words to fully pierce Rhys's mind because the statement was so entirely unfathomable that it almost seemed like a foreign language to him.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Simon whispered. “You're my brother.”

All the denials and reasonings in Rhys's mind faded away as his friend's words sank in. He stared at Simon, his eyes widening and his blood pounding in his ears.

“That isn't funny, Billingham,” he finally said, his voice low and dangerous. “I don't appreciate you coming here and wasting my time with this nonsense. This little joke of yours has gone too far.”

He pushed to his feet and turned on his heel toward the door, but he hadn't gotten two steps when Simon spoke again.

“Damn it, Waverly, you've known me for almost twenty years. Do you think I would do such a thing as lie to you about
this
? Or make light about what is the greatest pain of my life, and what I know full well will be the greatest pain of yours?”

Rhys froze. If Simon didn't truly believe what he was saying was true, he wouldn't come here and repeat it. Slowly he pivoted to face his friend, who was now standing, arms open in a pleading gesture.

“Then you have been misled, my friend,” Rhys said softly. “Because there is no way that I could be your brother in anything more than spirit. If someone has told you otherwise, then they have played a cruel hoax on you. Perhaps the blackmailer arranged this, perhaps—”

Simon reached into his coat pocket and withdrew
a packet of papers. Rhys noticed his friend's hand trembled as he offered him the bundle.

“Rhys, I have irrefutable proof that you are my brother. You
are
one of my father's by-blows.”

Rhys snapped his gaze to his friend's face, then down to the papers he still held out, waiting patiently for Rhys to take them. But Rhys didn't. He dodged the offering as if it were a hot poker that would burn.

“This is unacceptable, Billingham,” he said as he paced away. “To imply such a thing about my mother and your father…If you weren't my dearest friend I would call you out this instant.”

Simon lowered his hand with a sigh. “I realize it is difficult to accept. When I first discovered the truth I hesitated to tell you because I knew it would destroy your world. But with the blackmailer threatening, this might come out on its own. I thought you deserved to know the truth and help me determine how to handle it. And I thought you would want to know who you are from a friend, not some blackguard demanding payment for silence.”

Rhys crossed the room in a few long strides and grasped Simon's collars. Although Simon was the larger of the two men, he didn't resist, even when Rhys shook him.

“Shut up, do you hear me? Keep your lying mouth
shut! I
know
who I am. I am Rhys Carlisle, Duke of Waverly. I am the son of one of the most feared men in the Empire. I
know
who I am.”

Slowly Simon lifted his hands and pushed Rhys away. Smoothing his coat, he took a long step back.

“It will take a while to accept. And while you digest it, please know that I am working to uncover who the blackmailer is and how to handle him, so you don't have to worry about that until you are ready.”

When Rhys didn't answer, Simon sighed. “I'll leave these things here for you. You can look at them when you feel inclined, see that I am not wrong and then come and speak to me. Day or night.”

Rhys stared as Simon gently set the packet of papers on a nearby table.

“I'll take my leave,” Simon said softly. “But Rhys?”

Rhys looked at his friend wordlessly.

“I know that this is not what you would ask for, and I would never ask for it, either. But I am happy you are my brother,” Simon whispered. “No matter what happens, you always will be.”

Rhys stared at him, the one person he had truly called a friend and meant it. And in that one moment, he recognized Simon was telling the truth, even without looking at the so-called evidence he had produced.
He thought about all the times Simon's late father had dodged him, avoided speaking to him, all the times he'd caught the former Duke of Billingham watching him…

“Get out,” he said softly.

Simon inclined his head gently and left Rhys alone. Alone with the bound papers on the table that looked so innocent. They called to him, and even though Rhys knew they were a siren's song, meant to dash everything he had ever been, every way he had ever defined himself and his place in life, still he couldn't ignore them. He had to look, had to see.

Slowly he crossed the room and untied the string that bound the information together. Inside he found letters between the Duke of Billingham and his mother, a solicitor's ledger, and an unexpected and certainly unneeded payout from Billingham to his mother just a short time after his birth.

The more he read, the sicker he felt. And the more he lost himself with every word. He wasn't Rhys Carlisle. And though the law would continue to see him as Duke of Waverly, in his heart he would never see himself as that again.

Who was he, then?
What
was he? The questions plagued him, echoing in his mind until he wanted to scream. So he did the only thing he could: he called for his horse and he ran.

 

Anne Carlisle frowned as the maid pushed the door open.

“And this is your chamber, Lady Anne,” her long-time maid, Malvina, said. Then she shook her head. “I mean, Your Grace.”

Anne ignored the woman's correction as she stepped into a very lovely room, done in her favorite shades of blues and golds. Normally she would have been enchanted by the big bed that was the centerpiece of the room, draped in a gauzy fabric that spoke of princess dreams and wishes.

On any other day, she might have oohed and aahed over the big dressing table with its large mirror and carefully arranged perfumes and brushes.

But not today. Because she had spent only one night in her new home before she and Rhys departed for their wedding trip, and that was her wedding night. But it hadn't been here; no, she had been in Rhys's chamber. She had thought
that
room would be the one she inhabited once she took her permanent place here.

But Malvina had brought her to a room a few doors down from her husband's.

She moved forward to the window and looked outside. Although it wasn't what she expected, the chamber had a delightful view of the garden behind
the home and the beautifully tended yard beyond that. But she didn't want a view. She didn't want a chamber of her own.

She wanted Rhys. She wanted to be a real wife, a love match, although she knew what a silly and romantic notion that was in today's modern world. So the beauty before her was tainted, no matter how much it sparkled.

“Are you certain this is correct?” she asked softly, avoiding her servant's gaze as she moved forward. “
This
is to be my chamber?”

Malvina nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. We have been preparing and unpacking your things since the wedding, and His Grace's instructions were quite clear. Do you not like it?”

Anne sighed as she turned to face Malvina. She forced her usual bright smile. “Of course I do. It is lovely, everything a chamber should be. You've done marvelous work, as always, my dear Malvina.”

Her maid blushed before she moved to the trunk a servant had delivered and began to unpack Anne's honeymoon things with swift efficiency. As she worked, she talked, a constant stream of cheery observations about the house. Anne nodded, occasionally murmuring an encouraging platitude. Normally she would have listened, for Malvina always had the best tidbits of information, but today she sank down at
her dressing table and stared at her reflection with unseeing eyes.

“Are you worried, Your Grace?” Malvina finally asked.

Anne started before she gave her maid a side glance. The servant had worked as Anne's attendant for almost a decade, since both of them were little more than girls. After her mother's death, Anne had come to view her servant as a friend, something Rhys had always disapproved of. He believed ranks were made for a reason.

“Am I so obvious, Mally?” She laughed, reverting to the friendly nickname she had given the girl years ago.

“Only to one who knows you well,” Malvina said. “You're worrying over the chambers, I think.”

Anne stiffened. Only her servant knew her secret and they rarely spoke of it.

Slowly she nodded. “Yes. I hadn't realized it would be like this. I had hoped…”

“That the man would change his pompous colors after your wedding trip and tell you he was in love with you, after all?” Malvina asked.

Anne lowered her chin. In most households that kind of impertinence would result in punishment, but Malvina only spoke Anne's own heart. If anyone should be punished for such foolishness, it was she.
And she was, every day, by disappointed wishes and aching dreams.

“He was very good to me while we were traveling alone together,” Anne admitted. “And very gentle and giving to me when we—”

She broke off. After her mother's death, her father had been careful to ensure Anne understood all the things she would need to know to be a good duchess. A string of women had instructed her in those elements over the years.

But the things that happened between a man and woman were not things she'd been all that prepared for. Without a mother to explain, she had been a bit in the dark, though she had very much enjoyed the intimate touch of her husband. Still, she wasn't ready to have a conversation about it.

“Well, I mean he was gentle, and he certainly didn't have to be. I'm his; he could have been coarse or callous if he cared nothing for my feelings,” she said with a blush. “I suppose I foolishly hoped that might mean something more was developing between us.”

Malvina shrugged one shoulder. “Lady Anne…
Your Grace
…”

“You needn't keep correcting yourself,” Anne said. “In private I see no harm in the old forms of address.”