Chapter 2
“You are not my grandson.”
The words hung in the air like a challenge between Stephan Burke, the recently named Duke of Rothbury, and his grandmother, the ever imperious Dowager Duchess.
Stephan had expected this kind of greeting and had already steeled himself against it.
Once—when he was young and foolish—he might have been wounded by his grandmother’s proclamation.
Now, he only felt a strange satisfaction, like a man who had been proved right yet again about some trivial matter.
As he approached the front door to the townhouse, his grandmother tightly grasped the doorway.
She tipped her chin up and, despite being significantly shorter than he, managed to give the impression that she looked down her nose at him.
Clad in mourning black, Stephan suspected that she was trying to pose herself as a grieving mother, but he knew her too well to believe that image.
How had he once trusted this woman? Everything about her was false, an act meant to inspire sympathy for those foolish enough to care about her.
“Not your grandson,” he drawled. “I never thought that ten years away could cause such harm to your mind and memory. Fear not; I will find the right physician to help you.”
Anger flared in her eyes.
See? Stephan thought. I will not be bullied and forced away like some shy adolescent.
Stephan took a step forward, but his grandmother remained stubbornly clinging to the doorway.
He arched an eyebrow and cast a critical eye over the street.
Mayfair was at her most beautiful, springtime blooms and carefree aristocrats lingering in the streets.
Would his grandmother truly wish to make a scene and draw the neighbors’ attention to them?
Perhaps. She was an unusually petty woman.
It would not do his reputation any good for the Dowager Duchess to be forcibly removed from his doorstep, but Stephan was prepared to resort to that if necessary.
His grandmother was like mistletoe, wrapping herself around the title and choking it of life.
Stephan suspected she had done the same to his father, and he would not be her next victim.
“Maybe a change in scenery would improve your health,” Stephan continued. “The countryside, perhaps.”
She scowled at him. Stephan maintained his cool composure, but inwardly, he was nothing short of gleeful.
“I will not leave this house,” she scoffed. “I have held this place together since before you were born. Just because you decided to stop playacting as warlord and pretend at being a duke—”
“So you do remember me,” Stephan said.
Her scowl deepened, and Stephan drew a small, bitter satisfaction from having frustrated Her Grace even the smallest amount. He had returned to London a much better man than when he had left.
“You will have to be content with managing the dowager house,” Stephan continued, “or nothing at all. I intend on remaining here for every Season for the foreseeable future and maybe even longer should the fancy strike me.”
“You will not!”
“I will,” he said, forcing his tone even. “Whether you like it or not, I am the Duke of Rothbury, and everything that belonged to my father is now mine.”
At last, his grandmother pried herself away from the door. She stormed to him until they stood scarcely a foot apart. Stephan lifted a brow, waiting as color rose to his grandmother’s face. At last, she stormed past him.
Stephan continued to the house, climbing the familiar steps and trying in vain to force away the knot of trepidation that tightened in his chest. As a young man, he had never been able to best his grandmother, and while the fact that he had made joy bloom in his chest, Stephan still had a sense that it had all been too easy.
His nemesis could not be so readily defeated, could she?
“Enjoy it while you can!” Her Grace called after him. “You will not hold it for long!”
Stephan paused at the threshold. Those were the words of a desperate woman, and he ought to pay them no heed.
He dug his nails into his palms. There was still a small inkling of doubt that the words might be something more than an idle threat.
He turned around, overcome with a mixture of dread and self-loathing.
“And why is that?” Stephan asked.
His grandmother’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Your father believed that you were unsuitable as his heir.”
“Is that so?”
“Indeed. Did you expect anything else after being away for ten years?” his grandmother asked. “That is hardly the behavior of a respectable heir.”
Stephan clenched his jaw. “An assessment which you doubtlessly agreed with.”
“Can I be blamed for looking after the welfare of the dukedom?”
“The dukedom’s welfare or your own?” Stephan asked.
“You assume the two are inherently contradictory,” she said. “That tells me that you are unaware of how much I have given to the Duchy of Rothbury.”
“You are mistaken.”
The Dowager Duchess smiled thinly. “It is true that you are the Duke of Rothbury, but your father in his wisdom placed some unusual stipulations on the title and its accompanying fortune.”
Although Stephan had not moved from the threshold, something inside him seemed to grow very still at her words. He forced himself to appear outwardly unbothered, even as his thoughts tossed about like a tempest. “Such as?”
“Your father made me the trustee of the Rothbury fortune. If you fail to produce an heir within a year of inheriting, you will keep the title,” she said, a victorious gleam in her eyes, “but none of the assets that accompany it. You will be a duke in rags, so, fortunately, you have some experience as a naval officer. You will likely need to work.”
He bristled and leveled his sternest, coldest expression at the woman. “Do you think so?” Stephan asked. “I fear you are mistaken. I can manage quite well enough on my own. I am, however, concerned that you may have ruined the dukedom in my absence.”
“The dukedom is prospering,” she said tartly.
Stephan took a deep breath, knowing that she delighted in insulting his honor.
His grandmother was a cold and petty woman, and he had been a fool for not noticing that sooner.
Seeing her retreat, even a little, filled him with a sort of grim satisfaction.
“Regrettably, your service as a trustee will be unnecessary,” he said coolly. “I will have an heir.”
“Oh, will you?” she asked. “Do you believe that you can court a lady, arrange a marriage, and find a duchess who delivers a healthy boy all within the span of a year? I would find that highly unlikely for even the most responsible man.”
“You need not worry yourself over that. I survived the war, so I quite like my odds.”
She opened her mouth as if to speak, but Stephan silenced her with a wave of his hand.
“That is quite enough from you,” he said. “You have made your opinions abundantly clear, and we have nothing further to say to one another.”
The Dowager Duchess scowled before turning away in a sharp, vicious movement. Stephan watched as she climbed into the waiting coach. He scarcely let himself breathe until the coach was in motion and moving benignly away from the townhouse.
Well, Stephan supposed banishing his meddling grandmother was a good first act to take as the Duke of Rothbury.
The gall of that woman! Stephan was certain that it was she who had thought of such preposterous stipulations.
The title had never been separated from its fortune before.
He clenched his jaw, some of his fury making place for concern.
His grandmother was right on one account.
A year was not much time to find a proper lady, court her, arrange a marriage, and have a child.
Not just any child either, but a male child.
Even the most accomplished man among the ton would find difficulties in accomplishing that all in a year.
Stephan raked a hand through his hair. Where did he even begin?
A small, rational part of him even considered the possibility of abandoning the dukedom entirely.
He had achieved some renown as a naval officer, and he would have been content to continue as he had been.
What was to prevent him from abandoning the duchy and returning to his ship?
At least, his men respected him. That was more than could be said for his grandmother.
A throat cleared, and Stephan’s head snapped to the doorway. There stood a man with dark hair and brown eyes; Stephan guessed that he was somewhere around thirty years of age. “Yes?” Stephan asked.
The man stared at him for a long moment. Then, he made a strange, panicked sound and bowed hastily. “Your Grace! Welcome,” he said. “Welcome home.”
The man exuded a nervous energy, as if he had never before encountered anyone from the ton. That could not be the case, however, given that he stood in the former residence of the Dowager Duchess of Rothbury.
“And who are you?” Stephan asked, managing a tone of polite indifference.
In truth, he was vexed. He suspected that this anxious man was one of the staff, and a duke’s household ought to be better managed.
“Nathanial Alms,” he said. “I am the butler.”
Stephan inhaled sharply, fighting to keep his temper in check. It was not Nathanial’s fault that he had already proven himself unsuitable in several ways for this position; doubtlessly, that had been his grandmother’s doing. But this was the butler?
“How long have you been the butler?” Stephan asked.
“Just a week, Your Grace. All the staff was recently hired.”
“And why was that?”
Nathanial blinked, as if taken aback by the question. “The previous staff did not suit, Your Grace, so Her Grace worked to replace them all.”
Doubtlessly, that staff had suited his grandmother fine.
Stephan clenched his jaw, his mind working quickly.
Had his grandmother truly released all of her adequately trained staff and left him with a new, likely untrained household?
As if she had not done enough already to make his becoming duke nearly impossible!
“The Dowager Duchess will be residing in the Dowager House,” Stephan said, speaking very carefully.
Nathanial nodded as though this made perfect sense, which it did. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
“I want everything of hers packed and sent to her,” Stephan said as he entered the house.
He paused, his eyes sweeping over the familiar polished wood furniture, the intricate Persian rugs laid over the floor, and the gilded portraits of his ancestors. It seemed impossible that everything was precisely as he remembered it being ten years prior, but it was.
“At once, Your Grace,” Nathanial said. “Does that include…well, everything?”
The urge to abandon the dukedom and flee on the nearest ship intensified.
After having become accustomed to the strict discipline of the navy, returning to a household in such disarray was like finding himself unexpectedly in a new country.
Or perhaps in one of the circles of Hell that Dante had written about.
Of course, this man would not know which possessions belonged to the Dowager Duchess. He had only recently joined the household. “Everything from her rooms,” Stephan said.
Nathanial nodded. “Of course.”
“And anything that looks as though it…” Stephan trailed off, trying to decide if looks as though it belongs to a woman would result in several priceless antiques being taken from the house.
Did he truly wish to guide Nathanial through the entire house, meticulously telling the man what belonged to his grandmother? Not in the least. In truth, Stephan wanted none of this. Even if he was prepared to accept his role as the Duke of Rothbury—
Was he prepared to accept it? Before he had known of all his father’s stipulations, Stephan was certain that he had been, but now, it seemed as if he was embarking on a great quest of futility.
“Everything in her rooms,” Stephan said finally. “I will handle the rest of her possessions at a later date.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
Nathanial did not seem to realize that there was an implied dismissal in Stephan’s tone.
This man was entirely unsuitable to be the butler for his household, but Stephan felt a twinge of guilt when he thought about promptly dismissing the man.
He looked so eager to do Stephan’s every whim.
It was, as usual, Her Grace who was to blame.
Stephan imagined her gleefully firing and hiring new staff before his father’s body was even cold and for no other reason than to spite him.
He clenched his jaw and tried to decide if this problem was one which he cared to deal with during his first night in London.
And who knew what else the woman might have done?
No, Stephan would handle this all later. He would have one final night to himself, one last night to be someone other than the Duke of Rothbury. Tomorrow, he would accept his responsibilities, including this disastrous household. Tomorrow, he would announce his return and properly join the ton.
Tonight, his life would be his own. What did he wish to do with it?
His mind raced, trying to find some place he could go that would not make him feel like the Duke of Rothbury but just like any other man.
Maybe it was selfish, but he had just relinquished his entire life as an admiral to take the title, only to be thwarted and threatened by his own grandmother.
Didn’t he deserve one good night in London before he was forced to accept this new reality?
The tavern, he decided. There, he could be just Stephan and not Stephan, the Duke of Rothbury. Tomorrow, he would manage the rest and begin undoing all the damage his grandmother had caused.