Chapter 15

J o finished updating the ledger for the club and snapped it closed. It still felt strange to sit at her mother's desk in the study, though she'd been doing it more and more the past few weeks.

A week had passed since Sheff had left London. He'd sent over the rest of Jo's fee before departing. The two-hundred-and-fifty-pound banknote sat in a drawer in her dressing table.

She wasn't entirely sure why she hadn't taken it to the bank. Perhaps it was because things felt unfinished. They were still betrothed, even if they wouldn't be together again as an engaged couple. And they would remain betrothed until he did something that would prompt her to cry off. She couldn't help wondering exactly what and when that would be.

She hoped he'd arrived in Yorkshire and that he and Banemore were benefiting from their time together. In the past week, Jo had gone to the park with Min, Ellis, and Tamsin, spent an afternoon shopping at booksellers and speaking with publishers along Paternoster Row with Gwen, and attended the Phoenix Club assembly on Friday evening, though she hadn't danced with anyone and had left somewhat early.

There had been many questions about Sheff's departure—mostly directed to Min and the duchess. Jo assumed people hadn't asked her because they didn't know her. Or, perhaps more perniciously, it was because they preferred to avoid speaking with her. Whatever the reason, she was glad to not have to answer their questions.

Jo had only seen the duchess at the Phoenix Club, and it had been a brief interlude. She'd actually said it was good that Sheff had left town, that he likely needed time for contemplation and reflection. Jo took that to mean the duchess hoped he would change his mind about marrying Jo. The duchess was going to be so happy when the betrothal fell apart.

While that was annoying, Jo could only hope that things would be better for Sheff in the future, that perhaps the duchess would leave him be. She hoped the same for Min but feared that would not happen. The duchess continued to press her to wed, and Min continued to resist. She hadn't met anyone that was worth taking the risk of shackling herself for a lifetime. Jo could well understand her perspective.

The trip to Paternoster Row had been, by far, the best thing that had happened since Sheff had left. Jo's mind was churning with ideas of what she could do next armed with the small fortune Sheff had paid her.

She could open her own bookshop. Or she could help people, primarily women, to see their work published. Perhaps she could even become a publisher herself.

But first, she needed to speak with her mother about not taking over the club. It was time. And Jo was dreading the conversation.

Her mother came into the study then, as if summoned by Jo's thoughts. "Finished with yesterday's entries?"

Jo nodded as she stood. "It didn't take long."

"And where are you off to now?" her mother asked.

"Just to my chamber. I've a book to read." She'd purchased several during her outing with Gwen.

Her mother frowned. "I can't help noticing you've been doing more reading than usual—and spending more time by yourself. You appear to be moping. Since Shefford left town, if I'm being honest."

Jo gave her a wry look. "When are you never not honest?"

Chuckling, her mother moved away from the door toward the desk. "Sometimes I hold my tongue, but it is difficult. I am not going to do that now, however." Her gaze gentled, making her look more like the woman who'd cared for Jo her entire life, who sometimes was lost beneath the successful club owner. "Is there a chance you fell in love with Shefford?"

Jo winced inwardly. "No. I did fall in lust, if I'm being honest. But that's over now. I won't even see Sheff again until next year."

Her gaze skeptical, Jo's mother didn't immediately respond. When she did, she spoke quietly. "I hope you weren't ever truly hoping to marry him. And I don't say that because I am not an advocate of marriage. I mean that being wedded to him would come with a host of problems."

"No, I wasn't ever hoping that." That was absolutely true. "I feel sorry for his eventual wife having to deal with his mother."

"Amen to that," her mother said with a laugh. "Go on and read your book. You'll have less time for that when I go to Weston."

It was the perfect opening for Jo to say what she needed to. But now that the moment was here, she wasn't sure she had the courage. She clasped her hands in front of her and probably made some sort of terrible expression where she looked as though she were trying to soothe a patron of the club who'd just lost too much money. Probably because this was nearly as discomfiting as doing that.

"Mama, I need to tell you something." She moved from behind the desk.

Her mother's brows drew together. "Is something amiss?"

Jo blew out a breath, then took a deep one. "I am so glad you want to enjoy your life away from the Siren's Call, especially after all the years you've poured your heart and even your soul into it."

Taking a step toward Jo, her mother's brow furrowed even more. "You don't feel as though I've neglected you, do you? I have always tried to put motherhood before all else. Well, until you were old enough to not need me as much."

"I don't feel neglected in the slightest," Jo hurried to say. "On the contrary, you have been a wonderful mother. Which is why it's silly that I'm nervous to tell you what I must. I don't really want to take over the Siren's Call."

There was a silence in the air that seemed to weigh a stone at least. Jo couldn't immediately read her mother's expression. Her eyes shuttered, and her lips pursed. She looked confused. And perhaps mildly upset. Then surprise flashed in her gaze.

"Why haven't you said something before now?" her mother asked, an edge of irritation in her tone.

Jo thought of her mother's advice on marriage and her expectation that Jo would follow in her footsteps with the club and realized she'd been building her life on emulating her mother. "I admire you so very much, Mama," she said with great emotion. "I've always wanted to be like you, to make you proud."

"I could not be prouder of you, my girl," her mother said with a fierce warmth. "But you don't want to run the Siren's Call?"

Jo shook her head. "I don't feel the same pull toward it as you do. I was hoping that might change, but now that I have the financial means to do something else, I realize I don't want to be tied to the club."

"Is that how you see it?" her mother asked, sounding a bit agitated. "It has never been a burden to me. I'm sorry you see it that way since its success has provided you with anything you could need or want." She turned her head toward the window, her jaw clenched. "I didn't know you disliked it so much."

Jo rushed forward to touch her mother's arm. "I don't dislike it. In fact, I like working there. It has taught me so much, including the fact that I don't want to be responsible for it. I am not passionate about running a gaming club, Mama."

Her mother looked back to Jo, her expression gentling. "I didn't realize. And I should have."

"I should have told you before now."

"What is it you are passionate about? Especially now that you have this money from Shefford."

"You know I like to read," Jo replied. "And attend literary salons. I should like to have my own house where I can host such events, but I don't know if anyone will come since I will be a spinster with a minimum of social connections." Really, just what she'd made through her father and at the salons she attended.

Her mother made an inelegant sound and waved her hand. "Nonsense. Even without Shefford, you were on your way to making excellent connections. You became friends with a baroness, a viscountess, the daughter of a duke, and—I think—a duchess. You'll continue to develop your social circle, and your salons will be legendary." She had such an expression of intense pride that Jo's throat caught.

"Thank you," she managed to say. "I also thought I might like to help writers, particularly women, get their work published. I'm not sure how I'd go about that, but I'd like to try."

"You could open a library or become a publisher yourself," her mother said with considerable enthusiasm. "It wouldn't be easy as a woman, but neither was opening a gaming club." She winked at Jo, and all of Jo's anxiety melted away.

"You truly don't mind?" Jo asked, daring to hope that all would be well.

"I confess I was upset at first, which I'm sure you could see. I was just…surprised. I should have seen that you weren't excited about taking over the club. And I shouldn't have expected you to be. Just because you are good at something—and you are excellent at managing things at the club—doesn't mean it's what you want to do. Neither should you do something because I want you to." She cocked her head and smiled at Jo, then held out her arms. "Come here." Those were the two words she always said when inviting Jo for a hug.

Jo nestled against her mother and wrapped her arms around her waist. As her mother's arms came around her, she closed her eyes briefly, grateful for this woman who had always cared for her above all else. "Thank you, Mama." They hugged for a few moments before stepping apart.

"But what about the Siren's Call?" Jo asked. "You should still take time to do what you want, and I am more than happy to manage things this summer when you go to Weston."

"I do appreciate that, dear. The time has come for me to find an actual manager, but it must be a woman, of course." She briefly tapped her finger against her lip. "Someone like Lady Evangeline at the Phoenix Club. Or Lady Warfield, who manages the finances there. Ideally, it would be a combination of the two."

"We'll find someone," Jo said, thinking of Ellis. She wouldn't be the combination Mama was looking for, but she could do anything behind the scenes.

"We will indeed," her mother said. "Now, take yourself off, as I've correspondence to complete."

"Yes, Mama." Jo stepped toward the door, then glanced back as her mother sat behind her desk. A surge of joy passed through Jo as she thought of her mother's encouragement.

She left the office thinking it was nice not to be dwelling on Sheff. Except now she was.

Her mother's question came back to her. It was possible that she'd fallen in love with Sheff. But she would just as easily fall out of it.

S heff had been at the Grove, his father's estate outside Weston, for a few days now. And he was not alone.

Much to Sheff's surprise, when he'd arrived after visiting Bane, his father had been in residence. Sheff wasn't sure when the last time was that his father had visited the Grove in the summer. It had been several years, at least. He typically stayed in London until the very end of the Season, then traipsed off to a series of house parties that saw him into the autumn.

This year, however, he'd set up residence in the very place Sheff had been hoping to find peace and solitude so he could determine what to do with the rest of his life that would not see him ending up like his father.

That his father was here to witness and even participate in Sheff's ruminations was perhaps the most ironic thing ever.

They'd spent the last two days riding, playing cards, and going their own way in the evening. The duke had left every night without a word as to where he was going. Sheff was all but certain he was having a liaison.

Perhaps his father's presence wasn't the most ironic thing. It could also be that they were engaging in activities together, which was more than Sheff could say for his time with Bane. The man who had once been Sheff's closest friend spent most of his time closeted in his study. Sheff had only coaxed him to leave the house once. Every effort he'd made to engage Bane or to provide support and friendship had been rebuffed. Then, when Sheff had suggested that Bane come to Weston to spend time with him and their friends, to perhaps heal, Bane had told him to leave.

Needless to say, Sheff had spent a great deal of time contemplating his own situation, not that doing so had brought him any closer to determining what he wished to do next.

Well, besides ruin his betrothal. He needed to come up with that scheme, but he had time. Which was good, because the idea of being caught with another woman made him decidedly uncomfortable. He didn't want any woman but Jo.

Hopefully by August, he would be over this infatuation and feel differently.

The duke strode into the breakfast room, appearing fresh and eager. He rubbed his hands together before approaching the sideboard and heaping his plate with items from the buffet.

He sat at the table with Sheff, and the footman poured coffee. He also refilled Sheff's cup.

"Morning, Sheff. Another ride this afternoon?" the duke asked as he slathered butter and jam on his toast.

"I'm game if you are. You seem inordinately pleasant this morning. Indeed, you've been that way the entire time I've been here. What's going on?"

The duke chuckled. "Am I that unpleasant usually?"

"You are…challenging," Sheff said judiciously. "I also don't spend this much time with you in London. Sometimes, I only see you when I'm called in for rescue."

Grimacing, the duke took a bite of toast, then chewed it thoughtfully. After he swallowed, he said, "I would argue that you don't need to rescue me. I'm man enough to suffer my mistakes."

"That may be, but I am trying to protect the family's reputation, primarily so Min can make the marriage she wants."

"Bah. She doesn't want to marry. But then, neither do you." He sipped his coffee, eyeing Sheff over the rim of the cup. "Still can't imagine why you're betrothed to that chit."

"She's not a chit," Sheff said, his ire pricked.

The duke arched a still-dark brow. "I have struck a nerve. Perhaps you really do have feelings for her. Is that why you're moping around here? Why don't you go back to London?"

"Because Jo is busy with the Siren's Call, and I…wanted a respite. I was visiting with Bane."

"Yes, I know. Though, you said that was a waste of time."

That wasn't exactly what Sheff had said, but he wouldn't correct him. "Bane is struggling with his grief."

The duke's brow furrowed as he nodded. He ate his breakfast for several minutes while Sheff drank his coffee.

When the duke spoke, his words surprised Sheff. "He didn't want to marry that girl—Malton's daughter. But his father forced the issue."

Sheff had suspected as much, but Bane had never said. "He didn't even tell me he was betrothed. And we were together in Weston just before he traveled north to be wed."

"When he was caught with that other chit," the duke said. "I'm sure Banemore has many regrets. You can let them drag you into darkness, or you can forge your way through and find peace with yourself."

Sheff had never heard his father speak in such a manner. "Is that what you've done?"

The duke swallowed a bite, then sat back in his chair, surveying Sheff for a moment. "You presume I have regrets."

"Don't you?" Sheff couldn't help gaping at him.

"Plenty, and if I were a stronger man, I would stop doing things I regret almost daily, but alas, I am not. I have made peace with who I am."

"A drunken, carousing, selfish libertine?"

The duke dabbed at his mouth with his serviette before returning it to his lap and taking another bite of toast.

"I didn't mean to offend you," Sheff said. "I was only speaking the truth."

"You are right to describe me in that way." The duke shrugged, but there was a sadness etched into his features that Sheff hadn't ever seen before. "It is what makes me happy."

"You don't seem happy," Sheff observed softly, though he had appeared happier here in Weston. Perhaps it was London—or more accurately, who was in London—that provoked him to misbehave. "I am often left with the impression that you are seeking something you can't have. But then I remember that you had it and tossed it aside in favor of your appetites."

"You mean your mother?" The duke laughed, but it was hollow. "If you think I had happiness with your mother, you are mistaken."

"I should have said you had the chance for it. Instead, you chose to continue your rakish ways after you wed."

The duke pushed what little food was left around his plate. "Not at first. I was a rake when I wed your mother, but I fell so deeply in love with her that no other woman could compare." He scowled briefly. "I was a fool, for though she'd played the coquette and charmed me during our courtship, she did not love me. It was my title she coveted."

Sheff's chest tightened. What was his father saying? His whole life, Sheff had understood the divide between his parents. His father had been a horrible rogue and had continued as one after marrying Sheff's mother. And she struggled with being married to him.

"You loved her? And she did not love you?" Sheff could scarcely wrap his mind around that. He wasn't sure he could believe his father.

"The duchess would rather you not know that. Just as she would rather you not know that she is the reason I am the way I am. Not entirely—I fully acknowledge that I have made my own choices." His jaw quivered, and he looked away for a moment. When his gaze found Sheff's again, his eyes were damp. "When I fell in love with her, she saw her opportunity to be a duchess. That was her goal. She didn't want me as a person."

There was truth in his words. Sheff had seen firsthand that social status and position were more important to his mother than anything else when forging a union. She hated that he'd chosen Jo because she wasn't appropriate. It made sense that she would choose her own husband with calculation. Cold calculation, apparently. Sheff could hear the pain in his father's voice.

"I'm sorry," Sheff murmured.

"Her rejection was devastating. I wanted to find solace—even love—elsewhere. I'm still looking." The duke smiled sadly.

"Did you not even have that with Ellis's mother?" Sheff asked, deciding that as long as his father was sharing secrets, they could address the most obvious one.

His father's brows rose sharply then his lips flattened. "I did want that with Ellis's mother, which I've explained. Your mother is Ellis's mother."

Sheff gripped the edge of the table. "What?"

"I know you and countless other people think Ellis is my daughter, but she is not." Sheff recalled what Jo had told him, that Ellis had insisted she was not the duke's daughter.

"Does Ellis know?"

He shook his head. "Only that she isn't my daughter. She asked me a year or two after she came to live with us, and I swore to her that I was not. But I could not tell her the truth. That was a condition your mother made when I convinced her to allow Ellis to live with us."

Sheff tried to make sense of this incredible revelation and could not. "I don't understand. Who were Ellis's parents, then?"

"When your mother fell pregnant the second time—you were a few years old—I knew the child could not be mine. We did not share a bed once she was carrying you. I don't know who Ellis's father is, nor do I care. I offered to raise the child as mine, but your mother refused. She was furious to have been caught in her infidelity, and she wanted to give the child away. I arranged for friends of the family who hadn't been able to have a child of their own to adopt her."

" You arranged?" For his wife's illegitimate child to have a family. To say Sheff was shocked by all this was an understatement of massive proportions.

"I wanted to make sure this poor child would be loved, and though I would have loved her—I actually do love Ellis as a parent ought, I think—your mother refused to even try."

Poor Ellis. "And then Ellis's adoptive parents died," Sheff whispered.

"Yes, and I insisted we take her in," the duke said firmly. "Your mother fought me on that as well, but I was adamant. Sometimes, I think it was the wrong decision given the way your mother treats her, but she and Min have such a close bond. Even you do too."

"I think of her as a sister," Sheff said. "Because I assumed she was."

"And so she is." His father smiled wryly. "Just not from the parent you thought."

Nearly everything Sheff had believed about his father and mother, about the dynamics of their family, blew apart. It was no wonder everything had always felt so chaotic. They'd been living in a battle zone for practically Sheff's entire life. How had it taken him so long to flee in search of peace? "But you and Mother must have reconciled…unless Min is not your child either?"

"Min is our child. After being unfaithful and birthing Ellis, your mother was most contrite. I'd long wanted a spare to go with my heir, or a daughter—I didn't particularly care which. I just wanted more children. I always envisioned a house full of joy, especially when I fell in love with your mother. She saw it as her duty to give me a second child, and so she did. We have not shared a bed since."

Sheff's heart ached for this man who'd been utterly rejected by the woman he'd loved. "Do you love her still?"

"Heavens, no. She quite killed that with her treatment of me. I finally understood there was no hope when she became pregnant with Ellis. Then, watching the way she treats Ellis…" The duke pursed his lips, and his jaw clenched with anger. "I can truly say that I loathe her now. I'm sorry to have to say that to you, but you deserve the truth."

His mind reeling, Sheff released the table and laid his hand atop it. What he wouldn't give for a glass of something strong. Gin, perhaps. "I wish you'd told me sooner."

"As much as I detest your mother, I never wanted to spoil your relationship with her."

"But it was at the expense of your relationship with me . Doesn't that mean something?"

The duke's eyes filled with tears once more. He blinked them away and wiped his hand over his face. "I suppose a small part of me still loves your mother—at least enough to not want her children to hate her."

A sadness settled inside Sheff. He was somehow even more petrified of marriage than ever. His father had fallen in love and wed believing a beautiful life lay in front of him. He'd been so wrong. "I think you've just confirmed that I should not wed."

"You've changed your mind about Miss Harker? I thought you were in love. You are—at your core—a romantic like me, I think." He smiled. "I was hoping you would fall in love, and it seems you have. Your betrothed can't be like your mother."

No, Sheff couldn't imagine Jo entering into a marriage because she wanted a title or money or anything but love. And she didn't even want that—marriage or love.

Sheff hadn't thought he did either. But knowing what he knew now, could he take the same risk his father had taken?

"Why did you choose to be a libertine?" Sheff asked.

"As I explained, I was looking for love, or at least comfort. I wanted to feel wanted. And I knew how much your mother hated my behavior. I'm not proud of wanting to provoke her, but there it is."

Sheff had done the same thing with his fake betrothal scheme. He'd wanted to provoke his parents. In doing so, he'd unearthed secrets he'd never imagined.

His father shrugged. "Being a libertine is now who I am."

"You could change." Sheff realized he was addressing his own fear with that statement. He was afraid of being like his father, worried that he was already on that path. But now that he knew the truth about his father, he had to reassess that assumption. Perhaps Sheff could choose not to be that way. He'd already successfully mastered celibacy.

Of course, that was easy when you only wanted the one person you couldn't have.

The duke blinked. "Why would I change?"

"Because the drinking is going to get you into serious trouble. Or kill you. And why not just take a mistress? Someone long term. I thought perhaps that was what you'd done here since you're gone every night."

Very small swaths of pink slashed briefly up his cheekbones. "I have met someone to warm my bed while I'm here."

"Perhaps she does more than that?" Sheff could hope. With his father's revelations, Sheff wanted nothing more than for him to find—and receive—love.

"I'm always afraid to find out," the duke whispered, once again shocking Sheff with his honesty.

"Perhaps it's time to take a risk again," Sheff said, wondering if he should do the same. With Jo. He could tell her how he felt. And then what? Marry? The fear he'd felt a moment ago had not really dissipated. Even if his father was right that he was a romantic, Sheff wasn't entirely convinced.

"Perhaps," his father murmured. "But I'll still have to return to London at some point."

"Yes, but I think it's time you and Mother lived apart. Other couples do this—Wellesbourne's parents lived in different cities. Find Mother a new house somewhere fashionable."

The duke barked a laugh. "She will never consent to that. Managing Henlow House was one of the reasons she wed me. And the Duchess of Wellesbourne was—wrongly—vilified for taking their daughters and living separately. She was called a pariah for not standing by her husband. Your mother would not want to chance that happening to her."

"I'll speak to her," Sheff said with determination. "I'll find her a new house."

His father's face creased into a deep frown. "No, Sheff. This is one mess I won't let you tidy. Perhaps it is time I make some changes. But first, I've a party to host."

"You're having a party here?" Sheff asked.

"Yes, in a few days. This can be my last event of debauchery." He waggled his brows. "You must join in, though I can't promise there will be a great many people your own age. I'll see what I can do to rectify that since you are here."

"It's all right. I don't need to attend your party. Honestly, I'm not in the mood for debauchery."

"You do love Miss Harker, then?" his father asked.

Sheff avoided a direct response, saying only, "It won't last."

The duke frowned. "Why not?" He held up a hand. "I think I know the answer—you expect to be like me. I can assure you that you are not. My choices are the result of events that happened to me. They have not happened to you. You may have rakish tendencies, but you are conscientious and caring. You've gone out of your way to protect your sisters from my behavior while I've not thought enough about how I may affect them."

Sheff supposed that was all true. But what if his fear wasn't so much that he was like his father, it was that marriage was a battleground? That was all he'd ever observed. Now that he knew the reasons behind his parents' chaos, he could rationally see that he was not necessarily destined to suffer the same fate. Especially not if he and his wife loved one another. When he was with Jo, he felt something he never had before—a sense of rightness and belonging, harmony, even.

"I wasn't even sure that I knew what romantic love was until I met Jo," Sheff said quietly. "I assumed I was incapable of feeling that."

His father's gaze turned fierce, but there was affection too. "Do not think that you don't have the free will and ability to be a loving, devoted husband. That's all I wanted to be," he added softly.

Sheff's heart cracked. "Perhaps it isn't too late for you to find that."

His father smiled—it was the warmest expression Sheff could remember seeing on him in some time. "I had given up hope, my boy, but I am beginning to think you may have restored it."

Perhaps it wasn't too late for Sheff either. He wanted what his father had been denied—a loving partner, a joyous family. Listening to him talk about his dreams and knowing they hadn't come true was gut-wrenching, but at least his father had tried. He'd taken the risk, and while it had failed, he was still here.

"You don't regret marrying Mother?" Sheff asked, recalling what he'd said earlier about not having regret.

"Never, for then I wouldn't have you and Min. Or Ellis, even." The duke gave him a pointed look. "My only advice to you is to be as certain as you can that your love is reciprocated, that your expectations match that of your bride. Otherwise, your romantic ideals will be dashed, and I couldn't bear if that happened to you too."

That was the problem—Sheff wasn't certain at all.