Page 29 of The Scandalous Love of a Duke (The Marlow Family Secrets #6)

As John entered the hall of Pembroke Place, Finch followed his welcome by announcing the receipt of an urgent letter.

John instantly knew who it was from when a footman passed it to him on a silver tray. He had spent enough hours studying this writing in the last few weeks to recognise Wareham’s hand.

‘Has everyone arrived, Finch?’

‘They have, Your Grace. Your guests are in their rooms, dressing.’

After his mother’s little tête-à-tête, John had left the house to his family and gone back into town to avoid them, though he had fulfilled his promise and let Robbie drive the curricle before leaving.

That afternoon had been amusing, although it had only highlighted to John how distant and different he was to his brother.

Robbie laughed frequently, chatted constantly and smiled readily, as John could never remember doing, but then Robbie had been raised by two loving parents and did not bear the weight of any anticipated title.

John’s stepfather was the second son of an Earl.

So, Robbie could do what he wished with his life.

Glad his family were out of the way John went to his rooms to read the letter. There was a cold hard knot in his stomach and a sick feeling in his throat as he opened the letter.

The words struck John like a fist to the jaw.

If you do not wish the world to know of your mother’s shameful past, you will give me the sum of fifty thousand pounds.

His mother’s shameful past! She had no secrets… But then, there was something he did not know about his mother… Where was she before I was ten?

John’s hand shook as he swept back his fringe. What did Wareham know that he did not? Realising that Wareham knew his mother’s secrets made him angrier than the notion of blackmail.

The letter fell from his hand and spiralled to the floor.

Instinct bid him destroy it but that would be foolish.

Even though it bore no signature it was still evidence.

Snatching up the note, John secured it in his personal safe, locking away his anger too.

He turned and strode out of the room, every muscle in his body tense.

Now was the time to ask the question he had denied himself all these years.

The heels of his boots hit heavily as he marched along the hall, announcing his arrival as he stopped before the door of his parents’ rooms. There was noise within, children’s voices, and Mary’s.

He knocked.

‘Come,’ his mother called, humour and happiness in her voice.

The sitting room adjoining his parents’ bedchamber was full of his siblings. The girls were excitedly looking over his mother’s and Mary’s evening clothes, while the boys were playing a rough-and-tumble game with his stepfather.

‘John!’ Robbie’s bright voice greeted John.

John could remember these hours before a ball. His parents had always spent time with their children before they went out for an evening so he, and now his brothers and sisters, would not feel excluded by the adult world and left behind.

‘John?’ his stepfather said, his expression changing as he swung David, one of the younger boys, from his shoulders down to the ground.

‘I did not know you were home,’ his mother said as she stood.

‘I have just returned. May I speak with you privately, Mama?’

‘Did you have bad news in town?’ Mary asked from across the room. ‘You look like thunder. In fact you look like Grandpapa.’

John cast his gaze at her and felt cold darkness swamp him.

‘Come on, children, out,’ his stepfather said. ‘I will walk upstairs with you. Dress in your room, Mary. Robbie, you must go and get ready too.’

When John looked at his mother a crushing disappointment swept over him. He was in turmoil internally, and he felt revulsion for her. He felt betrayed. What shameful thing had she done that would give his enemy the power of blackmail?

‘John? What is wrong?’ she said, walking towards him. She reached to touch his arm. He moved it back.

He did not want her touching him. She had deserted him and now she had deceived him.

‘Sit down,’ he said, without preamble.

She looked hurt but she did as he asked and occupied one of a pair of chairs before the window, perching on the edge of it, sitting stiffly with her hands clasped together on her lap. Perhaps she hoped he would sit in the other. He did not. ‘How can I help, John?’

‘You may tell me where you were before I was ten.’ His pitch was deep with accusation, his emotion overwhelming, although he knew his face was set like granite. ‘Where did you live? What did you do?’

Stunned shock froze her expression, and her porcelain skin paled to a sickly grey. ‘I am not having this conversation,’ was her answer as she rose. Then she crossed the room, as though she would leave.

Something like a knife blow thrust into his chest, but he was not going to let her escape this, he had waited long enough to ask, he wanted answers.

‘Then it is true,’ he growled at her, standing before the door so she could not leave.

‘You have something to hide. Are you not going to tell me what it is, Mama?’

‘Do not bully me.’ Her eyes held his, defiant and horrified.

He caught hold of her arm, a bitter feeling of dislike snapping at him, not a dislike of her, but of himself. He released her arm.

Her fingers rubbed where he had held it.

‘I’m sorry,’ he forced out. He hated himself. He hated himself for being weak and angry. He hated himself for caring about this – but I do . ‘Just tell me where you were and why you were not here.’

‘No, John.’ Her eyes shimmered with tears. ‘You are my son.’

Surely his being her child should be even greater reason to speak. He should have been the most important thing in her life then. She should have been with him.

‘Mary is right,’ she whispered then. ‘Every day you grow more and more like your grandfather. Whatever this is about, John, I am sure my past can have no bearing on it. I’ll not talk of it to you.’

‘Why would it have no bearing? Why do I not know where you were? Why were you not with me?’

His questions were not about the blackmail note. He hardly cared about it any more. Why would she not tell him?

‘And I am not like him .’ For a start he was never going to trust anyone again.

He was never going to be stung by a man like Wareham.

He didn’t bloody need people, he had proved that he could live alone in Egypt, he could do it here.

After tonight he would have nothing more to do with her – with any of them.

‘You are sounding like him, now.’ His stepfather had quietly entered the room.

John turned.

‘Son, what is this about?’

‘I am not your son, and I asked to speak with my mother, alone, not with you.’ His words surprised even John, but he no longer cared. They had hurt him. They had betrayed and deceived him. He did not doubt Edward knew the truth, they told each other everything.

John saw his words sting and felt glad, then hated himself still more. His stepfather had never treated him differently to the others or been unkind – but he had kept John’s mother’s secrets. Secrets which had fractured John’s life in his youth and made him half a man. Secrets which his enemy knew.

‘John.’ Edward’s hand lifted, reaching out to him.

‘I wish to know where she was and what she did, before you two were wed, before the night you came to Eton to collect me. Will you tell me? She will not .’

‘It is not my story to tell,’ Edward stated, before glancing at John’s mother.

She rushed into Edward’s arms then, sobbing.

John stared at them in silence for a moment, feeling the monster he had become, but then he turned and left, knowing he would learn nothing from them.

Through the open door he heard his mother sob. ‘I told you this day would come. How can I tell him, Edward?’

Whatever secret she was keeping, it could not be anything good.

In a couple of hours he had to face a house full of people. Damnation! He was not in the mood. He had no allies left. He could not trust his staff, or his family. He had no one but himself. He saw Katherine’s bright eyes as he thought of trust.

He had to face her at this bloody foolish dinner party too.