Chapter 26
Tom and Jack sat up with a single candle between them.
Jack was reading The History of Little Goody Two-Shoes again.
In no time, he would be reading fast enough for the words to sound natural, but as of now he still had moments of pause.
If Tom left his life as a servant now, his friendship with Jack was one of the things he would miss the most.
“Have you ever thought of pursuing a new position?” he asked the young man.
Jack closed the book. “Are you leaving?”
Thomas sat back and leaned against the wall. “I don’t want to, but I might need to.”
“You need a position that makes more money, don’t you? The duke usually has connections. I’m too young to start a family. But you,” Jack shoved Thomas’s arm. “You’re getting old as a hedgehog with a walking stick. Who’s the lady?”
“A hedgehog with a walking stick? Where do you come up with these sayings?”
“Don’t question the mind of a genius. Now, who is she?” Jack asked again grinning ear to ear.
“I didn’t say anything about a lady.”
“Not with your mouth. But I have eyes . . . and a genius brain.” Jack waggled his eyebrows. “I know you’re new to being a servant, but a genteel lady is a little out of our reach. Are you wanting to leave because you already know that and you’re trying to get away from Lady Lavender?”
“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” Thomas sighed. He wasn’t surprised that Jack had guessed his feelings, Thomas hadn’t necessarily been trying to hide them. “How long have you known?”
Jack shrugged. “Probably when you suggested making the swing. I don’t blame you either. Lady Lavender is as rare as a blue hare.”
“I know it seems like I don’t stand a chance. But what if I told you that I did?”
Jack rubbed his palms together. “I’d say I’m in for a story.”
Thomas had been considering confiding his situation to Jack for some time.
He hated not being completely honest with him.
Friends simply didn’t do that. “First, I need you to answer me two questions.” He held Jack’s gaze, and he could tell that the boy understood the seriousness of his tone. “Are we friends?”
Jack tilted his head to the side, concern lighting his usually carefree features. “Of course we are, through thick and thin and burned hands.” His voice caught.
Thomas put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I’m glad to hear it. Now: can I trust you?”
Jack nodded his head, his eyes a little misty.
Thomas didn’t need to hear the words from his mouth to believe him. “I believe you. Are you ready for a story?”
Jack wiped at his eyes and forced a laugh. “I’ve been reading to you all these weeks, so it’s about time you take a turn.”
“Well, the first thing you ought to know is my real name.” He held out his hand to shake Jack’s. “I’m Thomas Monteclare, Duke of Fenleigh.”
Jack looked at his hand and then up at his face. “You’re the lost duke.” He reached forward and took Thomas’s hand.
“I am.”
“That was the shortest story ever.”
Thomas and Jack both burst out laughing.
“I suppose that does explain most of it,” Thomas said.
“It explains why you didn’t know how to pull a weed. So, here I’ve found the lost duke.” Jack sobered. “Are you guilty?”
“Of course I’m not. But I was so tired of Lord Chilcott and his personal vendetta against me, I thought it might be a good idea to rid myself of it for a time. Only, I didn’t anticipate it would be this difficult to leave.”
“Does His Grace know?” Jack asked. He tipped his head to the side. “Am I to call you Your Grace now?”
“Yes, Samuel knows. We have been close friends over the years. And the duchess knows as well.” Thomas closed his eyes and took a breath of air as if he’d been held underwater.
“But no, please don’t call me Your Grace.
I think it would be best that you continue on as if you don’t know anything.
I realize I’ve put you in a difficult position.
Lord Chilcott’s reward for the knowledge of my location is not insignificant.
I only ask you to believe me that I can pay more than he can when it comes to keeping the secret. ”
Jack held up an arm as if he were swearing a solemn oath. “I will not tell a soul. Are you leaving then?”
“As soon as I can prove I’m innocent.”
“How do we do that?”
Thomas grimaced. “I shouldn’t ask it of you, but I was hoping you would be willing to help me.”
Jack shifted on the uncomfortable bed, causing a loud creak. “I’m happy to help. I owe you at least that much for all you’ve done while my hands were healing. But I don’t know the first thing about Lord Chilcott or treason. Why does he hate you?”
Thomas opened his eyes and stared at the single flame of light they had between them.
“Oh, he has a right to hate me. I’ve been pretty terrible to him ever since I learned that his father and my steward were not the men I believed them to be.
I thought they cared for me, that they were leading me straight after my father died.
But the two of them were manipulating me.
After I severed ties with both of them, my cousin and I were only encouraged to battle for dominance in any way we could.
Him by his vengeful father, and me by my own pride. ”
Jack put his hand up. “Lord Chilcott is your cousin?”
Thomas nodded. “It’s awful luck. The problem I face now is that I can’t leave, or I might be recognized.
But maybe if you could take a trip to the pub and listen to what people are saying about it all, it might give me a place to start.
” He recalled how easy it was to continue drinking until he started spouting nonsense.
“But it might be best if you stick to food rather than something that would muddle your mind.”
“I’ll go tomorrow night.” Jack nodded his head once. “Don’t worry, Your Grace. We’ll find a way for you to court Lady Lavender proper-like.”
“Thank you, Jack . . . for everything.” Thomas blew out the candle.
“And call me, Tom.” He lay in his bed until he could hear Jack’s deep, even breathing.
Thomas trusted Jack, but he had no idea what information the young man might hear that could help the situation.
It had to be more than what Thomas himself would hear in the back garden.
As he listened to Jack sleep, the memory of his uncle’s deception crashed over him in great detail.
He’d been home on holiday from school and excited to catch up with his steward.
Thomas’s father had passed away five years earlier, and in less than three years he would be twenty-one, which meant his uncle would officially step aside from helping Thomas run the estate.
He was excited at the prospect of taking over his father’s legacy.
On his way to the study, he’d cast a passing glance at the paintings on the ceiling of the vast entrance hall—just another aspect of his life as a duke that he missed while he was away at school.
The opulence of his estate was made more prominent in his mind after spending time in his rooms at Cambridge.
Hushed voices came from the library, and Thomas stopped to listen. His steward spoke first. "No one liked the old duke. He was demanding and critical and he was determined to hold on to the archaic ways of the government. We needed change. If only it didn't come in the form of his son."
His uncle spoke next. "You don't need to tell me about how ridiculous Thomas is.
Doted upon by every breathing person he comes in contact with.
Ronald follows him around at school, but he tells me all about the way Fenleigh parades through the campus.
" Thomas felt a pang of anger stir his chest. Ron was one of his closest friends—or so he thought.
It was more than apparent that he'd been incorrect with how he thought was viewed.
Thomas put his hands on the library door to open it when he heard his uncle once more.
"He's thick enough that he doesn't know how people really feel about him.
Hopefully, he stays that way. It's the easiest to manipulate people when they think they are doing you a favor. I can open an account to funnel these funds into that Fenleigh will never miss. The money will likely keep coming even after the boy is of age.”
This time Thomas did push himself into the room.
"You may both show yourselves out," he said with measured calm.
Their guilty faces only gave Thomas more confidence in sending the men away.
He turned to his steward. "You will not have any references from this time forward.
" He faced his uncle. "And you will have no support in any way from me or my estate. "
He called for the butler, and both men stepped forward with their hands outstretched as if Thomas was going to give them a handout. He wasn't.
"Allow me to explain, Your Grace," his uncle slipped a look to the steward. But Thomas put up a hand to stop his lying words from spilling out. "You have explained quite enough."
His butler stepped up to the scene and bowed to Thomas. "How may I be of assistance, Your Grace?"
"These two are to leave this estate and they are not welcome back. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
"Certainly," he answered with a look of alarm. "If you would follow me, gentlemen?"
The steward dropped his head and fell in line behind the butler, but Thomas's uncle's face had gone red as a cherry. "Fine, throw us out. But you'll be sorry you did. You'll make a muck of it all soon enough and ask for my help. I'll be outside after I collect my things."
Thomas had the sneaking suspicion that if his uncle was allowed upstairs into his room that a great many things from the estate would disappear along with him. "I'll send you your things with your valet. I require you to leave now."
His uncle started forward, but the butler, Mr. Alby, stepped in front of Thomas, shielding him from whatever attack, verbal or physical, was coming his way. Footmen began flanking the butler as if on cue, and the two men were led outside into the snow.
Thomas thanked the members of his staff who had stepped in to support him, and then closed himself into his study.
The words that his steward and uncle had leveled about him seemed to burn his ears.
What they had said about his father was true, Thomas had thought it himself in the past. But he didn't speak of it.
There was no need. His father was no longer living.
How was Thomas to believe that anyone around him actually cared for his wellbeing now?
He could not. And if that were the case, he was determined to move forward with precision and purpose.
If no one cared about him, he would ensure that he cared enough to protect himself and the legacy he bore as the Duke of Fenleigh.
Never again would he trust anyone until they’d proven themselves to him—just as Mr. Alby had done a few moments ago.
Thomas let go of more than half his staff in the next few weeks, searching out only those who he’d met with and checked their entire background himself.
It had taken years for him to be comfortable leaving the estate again.
But he’d done it. Not everyone was able to choose their own family, but Thomas had.
With no living relatives he wished to associate with anymore, he’d surrounded himself with servants who were loyal, and now they were the only family he had left.