Page 4 of The Scandalous Love of a Duke (The Marlow Family Secrets #6)

The Duke of Pembroke was propped up on pillows and his head lay back, as though he could not lift it.

He was extremely thin, a ghost compared to the statuesque giant who had intimidated John as a child.

His skin was grey and his cheeks sunken.

His hands, which rested on the red cover, were skeletal.

The old man took a breath, which looked painful, and lifted his hand an inch from the bed. He breathed John’s name and then let his hand fall.

John passed his uncle and held his grandfather’s hand, lifting it. He pressed a kiss upon the bony knuckles. ‘Your Grace.’

‘My… boy.’ The words were barely audible as he fought for breath.

‘John.’

John turned to see Richard had brought a chair for him. He sat, still holding his grandfather’s hand, and rested an elbow on the bed, leaning forward.

‘Grandfather, I was sorry to hear your situation.’

A condemnatory sound escaped the old man’s lips ‘Because… it… meant… you… must… come… home… Sayle.’ The duke was the only one who called him by his token title, the Marquess of Sayle.

‘Because it meant you were dying,’ John corrected.

‘I do not relish that, Your Grace. True, I do not hunger for the reins of the dukedom, but nor do I wish to see you gone, you are my grandfather.’ It was probably the most honest statement he had ever made to the old man.

It was about bloody time he spoke truthfully.

‘Unlikely… But… now… you… are… back… I… may… go… in… peace.’

‘And that is equally unlikely.’ John smiled as he met his grandfather’s gaze. The old man’s body may have been weakened, but his direct gaze and the mind behind it were as strong as ever.

‘Enough… of… your… cheek.’

John smiled more broadly. ‘So do you wish to know what I have been up to in my absence?’

‘I-know… your… mother… has… read… your… letters… to… me—’ The Duke’s words were cut off by a painful-sounding cough.

John rose and pressed a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder. ‘Perhaps I ought not disturb you.’

The duke’s fingers lifted from the bed. ‘Stay,’ he breathed.

John sat again.

‘I… have… waited… for-you. You-must… speak-to… Harvey… about… business?—’

‘I am sure I shall manage, Grandfather.’

‘I… know… you… shall.’

John smiled again. That was possibly the only compliment this man had ever given him.

‘I will leave you to it,’ Richard said. The duke’s gaze reached across John’s shoulder, then John heard the door open and shut.

The duke’s hand moved and touched John’s forearm resting on the bed. ‘But… you… must… promise-me… one… thing. You… will… not… wed… beneath… you. You… must… choose… a… wife… to… preserve… the… bloodline.’

John felt his face twist in disgust. Even now, even on his death bed, the old man sought to cast orders and manipulate John’s life. With a self-deprecating smile he nodded. What did he care? It would not matter who he chose.

‘You swear,’ his grandfather pressed on a single breath.

‘I swear,’ John answered, his smile falling. He knew the old man’s game but chose to play.

‘Now… talk… to… me… of… what… you… have… done. I… will… listen.’

John smiled again and leaned back in the chair, folding his arms over his chest and stretching out his legs.

He spoke of Europe, of what he made of it, the things he had seen and done, and he made his stories humorous and even made the old man express a muted laugh.

It ended in another visibly painful coughing fit, at which point, the old man’s valet stepped forward to plump the pillows and make the duke more comfortable.

John would have left but his grandfather once more bid him stay.

John changed the subject to his true passion, to Egypt, and began talking about the place and people, about the amazing artefacts and architecture of that ancient world. He talked of the finds he was shipping home.

While John spoke, the old man smiled and shut his eyes, his chest rising and falling with each rasping breath.

It was strange watching him thus, this ogre who had dominated John’s life, as a man and not a child. His grandfather was just a man too, with human frailty.

John felt a heavy sense of regret as he continued recounting a pointless search he had set out upon once.

A sound of humour escaped the duke’s lips.

If John had returned in better circumstances, he wondered if they had more time, man to man, whether the past could be put straight between them.

His grandsire’s physician stepped forward a while later, advising His Grace to rest.

John rose and laid a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder. The old man opened his eyes.

‘I… do-not… want… your… pity… Sayle.’

John laughed. ‘You will not have it, Grandfather. But you will have my admiration.’ He gave a slight bow. ‘Your Grace, I will leave you to recoup.’ He had never spoken so openly to the old man as a youth.

John’s hands slid into his pockets as he walked back along the hall, his head full of drifting thoughts. He wondered now if the perceptions he had held as a child would have changed with an adult’s view. Possibly? Probably. But it was too late to know now.

‘John!’

Looking up, he saw a slender, strikingly beautiful young woman. She had ebony hair and pale blue eyes, like his own. A beam of joy lit her face and then she caught up her skirt and ran at him.

Good God , was this Mary Rose, his sister, all grown up?

She hugged him fiercely, her arms about his neck. He held her loosely.

‘John! Oh, John! I am so glad you are back.’ His baby sister was no longer a child. She had been about ten years old and not much taller than his midriff when he left. Now she was as tall as his shoulder.

He lifted her off her feet and twirled her once, smiling, before pressing a kiss against her temple. ‘Mary, my not-so-little-any-more sister.’

Her hands closed about his arms, and she leaned back, grinning as she looked him over. ‘You are no different, other than a little older.’

‘And more worldly.’ Another female voice came from along the hall.

John looked beyond Mary and saw his mother had stepped out from the drawing room. She was also still strikingly beautiful, their colouring was hers. But there were now two wings of grey in her hair at her temples. His smile softened. ‘Mama.’

‘John.’ She swept towards him as Mary moved aside, and she was in his arms in a moment and pressed a kiss on his cheek. ‘You have been away too long. I have missed you.’ There were tears shining in her eyes.

‘I missed you too, Mama.’

‘Liar,’ she whispered before she drew away, low enough so Mary could not hear. It was not a malicious word, just the truth, and they both knew she was right.

One fingertip tapping her beneath the chin, he made a face. ‘I am home now, anyway.’

‘And I am glad. Come and meet everyone else.’ She slipped her arm through his, linking him to her with an elbow, as she turned towards the drawing room. Mary occupied his other arm, and both women questioned him eagerly as they walked.

He felt very strange and disorientated to be so besieged.

When they reached the drawing room though, all hell broke loose. He was mobbed by his various aunts and elder female cousins.

Once they finally pulled away, hankies in their hands, John was then greeted by the men, his uncle’s by marriage first, and then his male cousins. His stepfather, Edward, held back.

When the pandemonium ceased John looked at his stepfather.

He stood across the room with a youth beside him.

Robbie! John’s eldest brother. He looked so like his father it was unmistakable.

Robbie must be fifteen; the age when awkwardness set in.

He seemed to deliberately not look at John.

That must be why Edward stayed back, torn between welcoming his stepson and supporting his own son.

John smiled and approached them. He greeted his brother first. Robbie was already over shoulder height against his father. ‘Robbie.’

The boy coloured up with palpable self-consciousness. John’s smile broadened. Robbie had idolised John as a child, but he had been eight when John left. The age gap between them was too wide for any real relationship.

‘John.’ Robbie took the hand John had offered and shook it limply. But John used the grip to draw his brother into a brief embrace and patted his shoulder.

‘You have grown. Would you like me to take you to Tats with me when I look for a carriage and horses?’

‘Yes!’ The boy’s face lit up as Mary’s had done earlier. ‘Will you really take me?’

‘If you are sensible.’ He lifted a closed fist and press it to his brother’s jaw, in a masculine gesture of affection, but the lad ducked away, laughing.

‘I am always sensible. You have just not been here to know it,’ the cocky brat responded.

John laughed.

‘Perhaps you ought to ask me if he has been good. I think his masters at Eton may have some tales to tell if they were asked.’ His stepfather interrupted. ‘John.’ His name was spoken with warmth and layered with hidden emotions.

John smiled. Edward’s hair was still a dark brown, untainted by age, yet there were more lines about his eyes. He was younger than John’s mother. ‘Father.’

With a twinkle in his eye, Edward said, ‘Son,’ as he held John’s shoulders firmly. He had always treated John like his own son, no different to Mary or Robbie or the rest. ‘I am glad you are back.’ Edward’s hands fell away.

* * *

John was woken by a sharp rap on his bedchamber door. He sat up and threw the sheet aside from where it had lain across his hips.

‘My lord,’ a low voice called.

‘Yes, what is it?’ John was already swinging his legs from the bed and rising.

‘His Grace, my lord. The physician believes there is not much time. He sent me to fetch you.’

‘I will be there in a moment,’ John called, instantly shifting to search for his clothes in the dark room.

It felt bizarre to be here. It had felt odd to see his grandfather ill, and now… It was like a dream, not a nightmare though. He only felt emptiness inside, not sadness nor fear.

His eyes adjusting to the dark, he found his trousers and slid them on.

He pulled his shirt over his head.

He had said goodnight to his grandfather, as had the others before they left, one by one, and he had wondered then, how long.

Hours, was the answer.

He sat and pulled on his stockings and shoes, then his shirt.

When John left his room, the hall was morbidly silent.

John gently knocked on the door of his grandfather’s chambers. ‘It is the Marquess of Sayle.’

The door opened and a footman bowed. ‘My lord.’

His grandmother sat in the chair John had occupied earlier, her hand resting over his grandfather’s. She looked across her shoulder at John. ‘John.’ Her voice was heavy with emotion, though he knew their marriage had never been a love match. For her it had been more like endurance.

John stood behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders.

There were three footmen in the room, his grandfather’s valet and the physician.

‘His Grace’s heartbeat is very weak,’ the physician said quietly. ‘He is unconscious.’

John nodded, his gaze falling to the man who had always been a significant figure in his life. Even during the years he had hidden from the duke’s influence abroad, he had still been the duke’s heir. He was never able to escape that.

The old man was barely breathing, weak and wraithlike.

John took a deep breath, stepped about his grandmother, leaned forward and rested a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder, then pressed a kiss on his cold brow.

‘Goodbye. I never thought I would miss you, but I shall,’ John whispered, before rising.

There was no sign that the Duke had heard him, yet John felt better for having said the words. They were true.

The Duke of Pembroke took his last breath as John stood with his grandmother.

John’s grandmother rose and leaned to kiss the Duke’s cheek, tears slipping from her eyes.

John felt only emptiness, oddness, a lacking…

The physician walked past them both and lifted John’s grandfather’s wrist, checking for a pulse. Then he bent and listened for breath before finally rising and drawing the sheet up and over the old man’s face.

John’s grandmother turned sharply and John opened his arms to her.

While he held her the men about the room bowed and his grandfather’s valet said, ‘Your Grace.’

John felt the floorboards shift sideways beneath his feet.

He had known this day would come. But it was strange now it was here.

I am the Duke of Pembroke . This house, everything in it, and several more like it, acres and acres of land and the tenants living and working upon that land, were all his responsibility now.