Chapter 10
The door to the study creaked open. As if he’d been waiting for the opportunity, Dust flew toward the gap and darted out into the corridor.
“Goodness,” Letitia gasped, shuffling inside. “That cat is going to be the death of us one day.”
“Almost certainly,” Stephen agreed, setting aside the sextant. “Come in, Grandmother. What is it? Have our guests finished their breakfast?”
Letitia nodded, pushing the door shut behind her. She hobbled over to the desk, sitting gingerly down on the chair Amelia had vacated not too long ago.
“Miss Marjory and Miss Nancy have gone to explore the house with their sister. I thought I’d take the moment to talk to you.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It is,” Letitia agreed. “I’ve seen a good many things in my life, my dear. All sorts of situations. But you continue to surprise me.”
Stephen was not foolish enough to imagine that this was a compliment. Still, this conversation might help take his mind off Amelia. He recalled every detail of that moment, along with the thrilling implication that it had not been unwanted. Quite the opposite, in fact.
He remembered the soft gasps she’d made against his lips, how her heart had hammered hard enough for him to feel it. He recalled the soft warmth of her skin beneath the thin fabric of her dress.
How easy it would have been to slide his hand higher, up onto the curve of her breast, and feel the softness there. How would she have reacted? Would she have pressed into his touch or pulled away, appalled?
It didn’t matter. That was in the past. He’d promised not to repeat that, and he had better keep his promise.
Three months, he recalled, his heart sinking. I will have to be near her for three months. What on earth have I gotten myself into? Will I regret it? Most likely.
Clearing his throat, he glanced around his study, his gaze flicking over his things.
Souvenirs, reminders of a world he’d escaped and would never return to.
Strands of knotted rope, each knot a sailor had to learn.
A chipped, half-rusted knife that had saved his life more than once.
Pots of spices worth a fortune, flavoring meat in a way that would shake English society to the core.
There were strange pictures, jewelry, and tapestries he’d bought at odd, colorful markets on the other side of the world.
Not all of the memories were bad. Just most of them.
Clearing his throat, Stephen tore his gaze from his trinkets and glanced back at his grandmother, who was regarding him with those shrewd, perceptive eyes.
“I hope you weren’t unkind to Amelia when she was in here,” she remarked.
“Unkind? Me? Never, Grandmother.”
“Never unkind? My dear boy.” Letitia laughed, shaking her head. “I can only assume you haven’t seen yourself boxing. It’s terrifying to watch.”
Stephen sucked in a breath, his eyes widening. “And when did you see me boxing, Grandmother?”
Letitia grinned. “Can’t an old woman keep some secrets?”
“Not that one,” he shot back grimly. “Let’s hear it, Grandmother. I’d like to know how this happened.”
Letitia huffed, adjusting her grip on her walking stick. “Very well. Several years ago, before I was entirely reliant on this cane, I visited an underground boxing event.”
“You what?” Stephen sputtered.
“Oh, calm down. You may be a duke, my boy, and the head of this family, but I have lived a great deal longer than you. It was…” she trailed off, waving her hand vaguely. “Not very many years after you returned.”
A cold sensation shot through Stephen at the reminder.
His return was something he did not like to think about too often.
He’d come back too late. Too late for everything.
Years of his life had been eaten up by war and slavery, and he’d constantly hoped the ship that had kidnapped him would return to England, though he knew in his heart the captain would never be so foolish.
It had happened countless times across the country. Most of the men who were swiped up by ship captains desperate to swell their ranks before the war began in earnest were nobodies, drunken fools nobody missed. Some men were missed, of course, but the captains claimed they’d signed up while drunk.
The country was at war and sailors were needed, so the authorities turned a blind eye. Most of the abducted men died at sea or disappeared. Some, broken and entirely ruined, stayed on as sailors. A few returned. It was unusual for men with no seafaring background to be press-ganged, however.
Which is why I know that my abduction was no accident, Stephen reminded himself grimly.
Clearing his throat, he put all thoughts of press-ganging and those dire years out of his head and returned his gaze to his grandmother.
“So, about this underground boxing match,” he said sternly. “They let you in?”
She shrugged. “There were women in attendance, but I thought it easier to dress myself up as an old man.”
“Grandmother!”
“Oh, calm down. You worry about me entirely too much. I simply wanted to know where you were sneaking off to, and I found the answer. You were engaging in boxing matches. Hardly a gentleman’s sport, but then again, our family has never been fond of following norms. I won quite a few bets on your match,” she added, with a wink.
Stephen placed a hand over his face, mostly to smother a smile. “You are incorrigible, Grandmother.”
“One does one’s best.”
“I certainly hope that those bets were on me.”
“They certainly were. Didn’t I tell you that I won? In some cases, a person may need to bet against their family, but I have never had to do it. Certainly not with you, my dear.”
She smiled softly at him, and he felt his chest warm.
“I decided then that I ought to let you make your own decisions,” Letitia continued, catching his gaze and holding it. “You know that I have always believed you should reveal yourself. I wanted you to reveal yourself to the ton as soon as you returned. It was your choice to live in anonymity.”
Stephen clenched his jaw, glancing away. “Grandmother, please. I don’t wish to discuss this.”
“But it must be discussed. You were the victim of a crime, Stephen. I can’t say why you were kidnapped and sent to sea the way you were. Your father and I never stopped looking for you. If he had been alive when you returned—”
“Don’t,” Stephen choked out, leaping to his feet. His insides tightened and knotted, complex as a sailor’s knot.
He strode to the window, staring out unseeingly at the gray, rainy landscape beyond.
“He died convinced you still lived, and sure that you would return,” Letitia said unflinchingly.
“I lost my son, yes, but I knew that I had not lost my grandson. I knew in my heart that you were alive, and now here you are. But it has been years, Stephen, and the world does not know that the Duke of Redcliffe lives.”
“I claimed my place as Father’s heir.”
“Yes, but you hide your own existence. Why won’t you reenter Society? Enough hiding behind your Orion persona. You box anonymously, you run that club of yours, and you hide from the world. I don’t understand you, sometimes.”
“I don’t understand myself, either,” Stephen murmured, pushing a hand through his hair.
“You are safe, Stephen. Nobody can touch you.”
“I am not afraid of being abducted again.”
Letitia got unsteadily to her feet and made her way across the study. The tip of her cane clicked against the floor, heralding her approach.
“You should not jump up and down from your chair like that, Grandmother,” Stephen murmured, still staring out the window.
Raindrops chased each other down the glass pane. As a child, he used to watch the drops and make wagers with himself on which drop would reach the bottom first. It was a game that his father had created to keep them entertained during long, dull carriage rides.
There had been no glass windows on the ship. There was nowhere for the drops to chase each other. There were only cramped, stinking rooms of tarred wood, or the open deck, lashed by wind and rain day in, day out.
Letitia reached for his arm, her gnarled hand clutching his sleeve.
“Nobody knows that the Duke of Redcliffe has returned,” she whispered.
“Nobody but me, the lawyers, and a couple of your friends. Don’t you long for justice, Stephen?
Don’t you long to show yourself? Your father died telling the world that you would return.
Don’t let me die without seeing my son vindicated and his heir returned to his rightful place. ”
“One month,” Stephen whispered, his voice catching. “I came home too late to say goodbye to Father.”
The silence stung. Letitia said nothing because, of course, there was nothing to say.
When Stephen returned, the scramble had already begun to find the next Duke of Redcliffe. There had been some talk about who would inherit the estate, but time passed by, and new scandals occupied the papers, and people forgot.
It was always surprising what people were willing to forget.
“If you aren’t happy hiding here with me,” Stephen choked out. “You can always return to Society.”
“Without you? I think not,” Letitia snorted. “No, we shall stick together, Stephen. Don’t ask me to leave you, because I will not. I am not pressuring you into making any serious decisions now. Not yet. I understand that these things… these things take time. Think about it, that’s all I ask.”
“I’ll think about it,” Stephen answered.
He was not sure whether he meant it or not. Did it matter? No, probably not.
Letitia sighed, patting his arm, and then hobbled back toward the desk. She half-stumbled over a ridge in the carpet, and Stephen moved before he knew what he was doing, gently gripping her elbow and escorting her back to her seat.
“I wish you would be more careful,” he mumbled, helping her sit back down.