The Scandalous Love of a Duke. Jane Lark

his mother had stepped out from the drawing room. She was also still strikingly beautiful, their colouring was hers. But there were now two wings of grey in her hair at her temples. His smile softened. “Mama.”

      “John.” She swept towards him as Mary moved aside, and she was in his arms in a moment and pressed a kiss on his cheek. “You have been away too long. I’ve missed you.” There were tears in her eyes.

      “And I have missed you too, Mama.”

      “Liar,” she whispered before she drew away, low enough so Mary could not hear. It was not a malicious word, just the truth, and they both knew she was right.

      Tapping her beneath the chin, he made a face. “I am home now, anyway.”

      “And I am glad. Come and meet everyone else.” She slipped her arm through his as she turned back towards the drawing room. Mary occupied his other arm, and both women questioned him eagerly as they walked.

      He felt very strange and disorientated to be so besieged.

      When they reached the drawing room, though, all hell broke loose. He was mobbed by his various aunts and elder female cousins.

      Once they finally pulled away, hankies in their hands, John was then greeted by the men, his uncle’s by marriage first, and then his male cousins. His stepfather, Edward, held back.

      When the pandemonium ceased, John looked at his stepfather. He stood across the room with a youth beside him. Robbie, John’s eldest brother, he looked so like his father it was unmistakable. Robbie was fifteen; the age when awkwardness set in. He seemed to deliberately not look at John. That must be why Edward stayed back, torn between welcoming his stepson and supporting his own son.

      John smiled and approached them. He greeted his brother first. Robbie was already over shoulder height when compared with his father. “Robbie.”

      The boy coloured up with palpable self-consciousness. John’s smile broadened. Robbie had idolised John as a child, but he’d only been eight when John had left. The gap between them was too wide for any real relationship.

      “John.” Robbie took the hand John had offered and shook it limply. But John used the grip to draw his brother into a brief embrace and patted his shoulder.

      “You’ve grown,” John stated the obvious as he let Robbie go. “Would you like me to take you to Tats with me when I look for a carriage and horses?”

      “Yes.” The enthusiasm thrust into that one word was completely at odds to the demeanour of his welcome and the boy’s face lit up as Mary’s had done earlier. “God, John. Will you really take me?”

      “If you’re good.” He lifted a closed fist to press to his brother’s jaw, in a masculine gesture of affection, but the lad ducked away laughing.

      “I’m always good. You’ve just not been here to know it,” the cocky brat responded, and John laughed. Then his stepfather interrupted.

      “Perhaps you ought to ask me if he’s been good. I think his masters at Eton may have some tales to tell if they were asked.”

      John turned.

      “John.” His name was spoken with warmth and layered with hidden emotion.

      John smiled again. Edward’s hair was still a dark brown, untainted by age. He was younger than John’s mother and yet there were definitely more lines about his eyes, marking John’s absent years. “Father.”

      A twinkle in his eye, Edward said, “Son,” and gripped John’s shoulders firmly. The man had always treated John as a real son, no different to Mary or Robbie or the rest. “I’m glad you are back.” Edward’s grip fell away.

      Robbie then began urging his father for agreement on their outing to Tats.

      ~

      John was woken by a sharp rap on his bedchamber door. He sat up and threw the sheet aside from where it had lain across his hips.

      “My Lord,” a low voice called.

      “Yes, what is it?” John was already swinging his legs from the bed and rising.

      “His Grace, my Lord. The physician believes there is not much time. He sent me to fetch you.”

      “I’ll be there in a moment,” John called back, instantly shifting to search for his clothes in the dark room.

      It felt bizarre to be here. It had felt odd to see his grandfather ill, and now… It was like a dream, not a nightmare though. He only felt emptiness inside, not fear.

      Finding his trousers, he slid them on now his eyes had adjusted to the dark.

      The family had taken supper together before they’d left, sitting at the long dining table en masse in an impromptu, informal meal. It had felt like a celebration. The only quiet person was his grandmother, who’d sat at the far end of the table as John was encouraged to take his grandfather’s place.

      Perhaps it was wrong to have held such a gathering while his grandfather lay on his deathbed, but John had appreciated the gesture and the jovial conversation, even though at times he kept feeling the axis within him shift as though he was poorly balanced.

      He pulled his shirt over his head.

      He’d said goodnight to his grandfather, as had the others before they’d left, one by one, and he’d wondered then, how long.

      Hours.

      He sat and pulled on his stockings.

      God, this world felt strange to him – strange and a little surreal.

      When John left his room, the hall was morbidly silent and the statues seemed like sombre mourners.

      John gently knocked on the door of his grandfather’s chambers. “It is the Marquess of Sayle.”

      The door opened and a footman bowed. “My Lord.”

      His grandmother sat in the chair John had occupied earlier, her hand resting over his grandfather’s. She looked across her shoulder at John. “John.” Her voice was heavy with emotion, though he knew their marriage had never been a love match. For her it had been more like endurance.

      John stood behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders.

      There were three footmen in the room, his grandfather’s valet and the physician.

      “His Grace’s heartbeat is very weak,” the physician said quietly. “He is unconscious.”

      John nodded acceptance and then his eyes fell to the bed – to the man who’d always been a significant figure in John’s life. Even during the years he’d hidden from that influence abroad, he’d still been the Duke’s heir. He’d never been able to escape that.

      The old man was barely breathing, weak and wraith-like.

      John took a deep breath, stepped about his grandmother, leant forwards and rested a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder, then pressed a kiss on his cold brow.

      “Goodbye. I never thought I would miss you, but I shall,” John whispered, before rising.

      The Duke had probably not been able to hear it, there was no sign that he did, yet John felt better for saying those words. They were true.

      The old man passed away in moments, as John stood with his grandmother, watching.

      The room fell completely silent when the Duke of Pembroke took his last breath.

      John’s grandmother rose and leant to kiss the Duke’s cheek, tears slipping from her eyes.

      John felt only emptiness, oddness, a lacking…

      When she drew back, the physician walked past them both and lifted John’s grandfather’s wrist, checking for a pulse. Then he bent and listened for breath, before finally rising and drawing the sheet up and over the old man’s face.

      John’s