Chapter 18
As Rupert dressed the next morning for the House of Lords, his mind was in disarray. There were so many things distracting him that he barely even noticed as his valet tied his cravat, as he brushed down his jacket, or even as he slipped his shoes on him and began to lace them up.
First of all, there was Beatrice. She was by no means the least of his concerns.
The intimacy between them the night before had made it difficult for him to sleep all night.
He could not stop thinking about how she had looked in the moonlight, her blue eyes gazing up at him with deep concern, which had then turned to utter trust.
No one had ever shown him that kind of trust before. Not like that. She had said she felt safe with him. Safe to be herself…
He did not take that lightly. That was earned, and although he felt he had not done enough to earn it, he now felt the responsibility of it keenly.
It was not a bad thing. He wanted the responsibility.
But it was new, and alarming in its newness.
Women had rarely felt safe around him before, not with his reputation as a rake cemented by a mere few youthful indiscretions.
But Beatrice felt safe.
Which was why the footsteps they had heard outside the conservatory disturbed him so much. The last thing he wanted was to betray her trust by putting her in a compromising position that risked her reputation.
She was the one who asked you to meet her in the conservatory, he tried to remind himself as he stepped out of his townhouse several minutes later and into the waiting carriage that would take him to the House of Lords.
But you did not have to meet her there, he retorted. You could have waited to call on her this morning, when it was proper. You put her at risk by going there.
You were worried about her!
If you were really worried, you would not put her in more danger.
So yes, Beatrice was on his mind.
And he was also greatly disturbed by what she had told him about Nathaniel’s warning.
Although he had known this himself already, it did not sit well with him that these rumors were spreading around London, to the point where even Beatrice, a debutante, had heard them.
However, far from being embarrassed that she should know this about him, he merely felt afraid.
Something was not right. And he had to get to the bottom of it today. No more waiting around for his solicitor to discover something. If he was going to protect his title and estate, he had to become a detective.
The first person he would speak to would be Viscount Hastings. Hastings was the leader of the House of Lords, and the Lord Chancellor, which meant that he oversaw claims to peerages. If anyone knew what was going on, it would be him.
Rupert had left early enough that by the time he arrived at Westminster, most of the other Lords were not there yet. It was a cool, blustery day, and the golden spires of Westminster stood out even more richly against the gray, darkened sky. But Rupert barely noticed.
He was too preoccupied with his thoughts and worries as he hurried inside, past the solicitors in their dark robes and white wigs, and up toward the upper chambers, where he knew Viscount Hastings had his offices.
The door to Hastings’ office was slightly ajar as Rupert approached. He knocked briefly, then went inside.
The room was large and spacious, covered in dark mahogany furnishings and lined with shelves of books bound in leather. Hastings himself was sitting at his desk, a quill in hand, writing on a piece of parchment when Rupert entered, and then he looked up.
The moment he saw Rupert, his expression clouded, and he set his quill down very slowly. Hastings was older than Rupert by at least a decade, with gray hair that was beginning to thin, an angular and lined face, with thin lips and cool gray eyes.
There was a severeness to him, but it was not his severity so much as his look of dread that did nothing to ease Rupert’s sense of foreboding. He approached slowly.
“Good morning,” he said, nodding. Although he outranked the Lord Chancellor, he thought he ought to show a little deference, since he was in a position of asking for help.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Hastings said. He stood up and, after the briefest of hesitations, bowed. “I am glad to see you so early.”
“You are?” Rupert raised an eyebrow. It did not seem that way to him.
“Yes.” Hastings crossed to the sideboard under the large window that looked out over the gray rooftops of London and poured what Rupert would consider a hefty amount of liquor for so early in the morning. He handed it to Rupert. “I wanted to speak to you this morning.”
“I wanted to speak to you as well,” Rupert began.
“I have been hearing troubling reports of late about my title. There have been questions of my authority and now rumors that I am in danger of losing my title. I should have come to speak to you about it a week ago, when it first became a nuisance, but I was injured, and…”
He trailed off, distracted and discouraged by the unhappy look on the Lord Chancellor’s face.
Rupert cleared his throat and took a sip of the whiskey. It burned, but it was clarifying, as well. He drew himself up. “I thought you ought to tell me what is going on, Hastings.”
Hastings’ jaw tightened, but then he nodded. “It is an unpleasant matter, Your Grace,” he began. “And not one that I like to enforce. I wanted to speak to you today because I have to ask you not to sit in the House of Lords today.”
Rupert thought, for a moment, that he had misheard the Lord Chancellor.
“I beg your pardon?” He said, after the words had fully sunk in.
“I know it seems unprecedented,” Hastings continued, “but it is a necessity while we investigate certain claims against you.”
“Certain claims?” Rupert felt winded, as if he had been struck in the stomach. “What claims?”
Hastings’ eyes flickered. “Claims that you are not the rightful heir to the Dukedom of St. James.”
Rupert stared at him. It was everything he had feared, but hearing it now, from a man as powerful as Hastings, made him feel as if the carpet had been pulled out from under him. As if the ground were actually roiling beneath him.
“On what grounds?” he managed to murmur, even though the rest of his body felt as if it couldn’t move. Only his lips worked.
“On the claims that you are not the trueborn son of the former Duke of St. James.” Hastings looked down, and Rupert was glad, at least, to see a flush of shame in his cheeks. “There are questions as to the legitimacy of your birth.”
Whatever shock Rupert had been feeling vanished at once, replaced by a fury that was so fast and so complete it was difficult for him not to throw his glass against the sideboard, shattering it.
“I hope you are not implying what I think you are,” he whispered, the words deadly and full of venom. “That my mother in some way dishonored herself? Because that would be a serious accusation indeed, Hastings, and one that would bring about the full weight of my dukedom’s fury.”
Hastings looked up at him. The flush was gone now, but his expression remained sympathetic.
“I am aware of the seriousness of these claims,” he said, his voice infuriatingly calm.
“And I do not make them lightly. In fact, I do not claim to believe them at all. But they have been brought to our attention, and, as Lord Chancellor, I must take them seriously and investigate them. It is my solemn duty and oath to uphold the inheritance laws of our country and keep the peerage legitimate.”
Rupert’s hand was shaking so badly that he was surprised, when he spoke, that his voice didn’t.
“And who,” he whispered, “would dare to make such vile and salacious claims?”
Hastings hesitated. “I cannot say,” he said at last. “Not until the investigation is complete.”
Rupert gripped the glass so tightly he thought it actually might shatter in his hands. “How can you protect the coward and liar who would ruin my family’s reputation and steal my birthright from me?” he snarled.
“It is policy,” Hasting said, although he had the good grace to look embarrassed.
“I do apologize, Your Grace. But there is nothing more I can do for you at this time. Not until the investigation is complete. Your title and fortune and estate shall remain yours, but I must ask you not to take your seat in Parliament. For now, that right shall go to your uncle, your father’s brother.
Once we have proved the falseness of these claims, as I pray to God we might, then you shall have your seat back. ”
“And if you are not able to prove them false?” Rupert said. “If it is merely one man’s false claim against my own word? Against my mother’s?”
Hastings stared back at him. “If we find them to be correct, then you shall forfeit your title, estate, and all attached incomes.”
Rupert let the glass fall to his side. The whiskey spilled on to the floor. He did not care.
“I am sorry,” Hastings said, drawing himself up. “But this is the law of our land. Now, you must excuse me. I am late to another meeting.”
Hastings patted him on the shoulder, then moved past him and out of his office, leaving the door open behind him.
Rupert stood very still in the office, staring blankly out at the window.
He could not believe this was happening.
After everything his parents had gone through to conceive him…
They had waited for years and years to have a child.
They had prayed and cried. His mother had told him the story many times.
Until, late in life, she had been granted a pregnancy at last.
Something treacherous and wretched flickered through his mind, and he felt himself sway on the spot.
Was it possible that she never had been pregnant with him?
But no, he could not think that way. It was ludicrous. Impossible! Blasphemous!
His parents would never do that. Never. Even if they longed for a child more than anything.
Still dizzy, he forced himself to move, to place the glass back on the sideboard and leave the office.
Out in the hallway, more peers were beginning to fill the halls. They moved past him, most barely glancing at him, although a few gazed at him for longer than was necessary, and Rupert wondered, vaguely, if they had heard the news.
It would get out soon enough.
And while he knew it would be difficult for him, he was far more worried about his mother.
This could kill her. For this to happen so soon after Father’s death…
“Rupert!”
He looked up at the sound of his name to see his uncle hurrying toward him. Uncle Reginald’s hair was mussed, as if he had left home in a hurry before finishing combing it, and his cravat was tied incorrectly. He looked very pale and confused.
“Rupert!” Uncle Reginald stopped right in front of him, gaping at him.
“I just got the letter this morning from the Lord Chancellor…” With shaking hands, he pulled a sheet of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to Rupert.
“He says that I am to fill in for you at the House of Lords? That your legitimacy is being called into question?”
Rupert took his uncle aside, and there, in hushed tones, explained everything that Hastings had said to him. By the time he had finished, his uncle looked as dazed as he felt.
“It cannot be…” he whispered, his eyes very wide.
“Your mother and father were pillars of decency and propriety. They would never have… your mother never would have…. It is preposterous! Insulting! I ought to call Hastings out right now and tell him to meet me at dawn with pistols drawn for insulting my late brother like that!”
Rupert glanced around, but the corridor was deserted now. Still, he kept his voice very low.
“You do not think there is any legitimacy in it, do you?” he asked, hating himself for even asking it. “It was odd, was it not, that my mother should have become pregnant so late in life?”
“It was unexpected,” his uncle said slowly, “but not unheard of.”
“And you saw her when she was with child?” Rupert urged. “You saw evidence of her pregnancy?”
His uncle stared at him for a long moment. “In truth… I was away during that time,” he said at last. “And your father was so fearful for her health that he did not allow visitors. They were afraid that too much stimulation might make her lose the child.”
Rupert felt another wave of dizziness overcome him, and he had to close his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, his uncle was still gazing at him in shock.
“What are you implying, Rupert?” Uncle Reginald asked. “You do not think that they faked the pregnancy, do you? That you were the foundling child of someone else?”
“I… I do not know,” Rupert said. “But…” he thought of his mother, her insistence that he find a wife, that the title be passed down, the line secured.
But then he thought of her as he had known her all these years, as the most shining example of honesty, integrity, and propriety that he had ever known.
“No,” he said suddenly, shaking his head. “It is not possible. I was simply thrown by what the Lord Chancellor said, and I gave into terrible suspicions, suspicions that are unbecoming of me.”
His uncle lay a bracing hand on his arm.
“There is no truth to this,” he said, “and we will be vindicated in the end. From this moment forward, we will put every ounce of effort into proving that you are your parents’ legitimate and trueborn son.
Do you understand me? This will not stand.
We will not allow the honor of our house to be brought into question.
We will fight this until our dying breaths if we have to. ”
“Thank you,” Rupert said, and after his uncle had departed, he did feel slightly more hopeful. The moment of doubt about his legitimacy was simply a moment. It was madness. And he would not entertain it a moment longer.
What he needed now was to go home to his mother and break the news to her, although he knew it would be one of the most difficult conversations of his life. He felt, as he left Westminster, as if a dark cloud were hanging over him, turning everything around him to black sludge.