Chapter 23

23

WILLIAM

W hen Silas had fled to France, relationships between the brothers had been strained. There had been so much anger, so many feelings of betrayal in every direction. Learning the truth of what had happened had healed the cracks that had appeared amidst them, but there remained a bittersweet undercurrent, driven by Silas's continued troubles.

Now that he had returned, there was a joy difficult to describe with mere words. They were together again, and they finally understood the value of their brotherhood.

William would have gladly spent the rest of the day at the lodge, entertained by and participating in the banter between them all.

But he could not. He had guests to welcome and entertain. He had an image to project.

When he excused himself to return to the main house, however, Anthony followed him outside. He had been angry about being kept in the dark about Silas's return for so many weeks, but once William had explained the reasons for it, he had reluctantly agreed that it had been the proper course.

"Do you have a plan?" Anthony asked.

William knew to what he was referring, and he understood his brother's impatience. Anthony felt personally responsible for Silas's situation. Had Anthony gone with Silas and Langdon to confront Lord Drayton as he had intended to, there would have been a witness to attest to Silas's innocence. Or perhaps he merely would have been killed, as well.

"A plan of sorts, yes," William said.

"What does that mean?"

"It means that it is a complicated situation, Anthony. Silas returned under the assumption I could use my position to clear his name. He did not realize that my unexpected accession to the title is every bit as much a barrier as it is a boon. No one likes to see a ducal title bestowed upon someone as unknown as I. People are well aware too that relations between our family and the late duke were not entirely cordial. It has set many of them against me. The entire purpose of welcoming all of these guests is to help me gain favor."

Anthony nodded. "You think it will be enough?"

"No. It is a start, though."

Anthony grimaced.

This was the time to mention the plans for a match between Lady Cassandra and himself, but the words stuck in William's throat.

"Is there nothing else we can do?" Anthony asked more of himself than of William.

William remained silent. He could easily identify the root of his reluctance to verbalize the possibility of his marriage. It was his persistent feelings for Clara. Perhaps if he had been wise, he would have dismissed her and found her a position in another household .

But he was not wise. He was in love. He was concerned for her safety and well-being. He craved her friendship and her presence. Part of him wanted to throw caution to the wind and cast off the weight of the secrets he labored under, welcoming her into Rushlake as…

As what? She could not be his wife.

She would be his mistress, and nothing could more quickly solidify him as an outcast amongst peers than to unabashedly set up his maid in such a way, not to mention how it would affect her .

Much as his heart might search for a path forward for Clara and himself, there simply was none. Even if there had been a legal way to marry her, it would do irreparable harm to Silas's case and to the dukedom itself.

"There is more to the plan," William said.

Anthony's gaze flicked to his.

"Edmund believes the most powerful course of action would be for me to make a smart match."

Anthony's eyes lit up. "Of course. Does he have anyone in mind?"

"Yes. Lady Cassandra Montrose." There was nothing at all wrong with Lady Cassandra, so why was saying her name so difficult? "She arrived yesterday with her parents."

"A shrewd choice," Anthony agreed. "And is she amenable?"

"I believe so."

The corner of Anthony's mouth curled up. "Of course she is. What woman with her wits about her wouldn't wish to become a duchess?"

"I believe I was accounted somewhat tolerable even before the title," William said dryly.

Anthony chuckled, his humor vastly improved now that he saw a path forward for Silas's redemption. "Tolerable and stuffy." He clapped a hand on William's shoulder. "I will see you at the house for dinner. I am eager to meet Lady Cassandra."

William tried for a smile and bid his brother goodbye, watching him disappear into the lodge. In direct contradiction to expectation, Anthony had married first among the brothers. And even more contrary to expectation, he had married for love. World-altering, drive-one-to-the-brink-of-madness love.

William had never envied him more than he did now.

All of the guests save one couple had arrived by the time dinner was served. Aside from those two seats, every other was filled, the best china laid out, and all the footmen—both hired and native to Rushlake—attired in the finest blue livery. The room was bright with the light of the three chandeliers, which was reflected by their crystals as well as by the glasses on the table.

William was seated beside the highest-ranking guests—the Earl of Hawkesbury and the Earl of Ruskington—but Anthony sat beside Lady Cassandra. Halfway through the meal, he caught William's eye and gave a gesture of his approval.

The women retired while the men sat with their port—and all the political conversation Frederick could dream of—for half an hour, then reunited in the drawing room. Frederick sought out William almost immediately.

"What is this Anthony says about you marrying Lady Cassandra?"

William shot a glance at her across the room. "Keep your voice down."

"Very well," he said in a whisper, " but is it true?"

"No. As you see, I am talking with you, not marrying Lady Cassandra."

Frederick shot him an unamused look. "But do you intend to?"

"Perhaps. Nothing is settled."

Frederick clasped William's hands between his and squeezed. "You have my full support."

William chuckled. "Of course I do." Lord Hawkesbury was a powerful political figure, and Frederick could use all the high connections he could foster to help him toward his goal of gaining a seat in the Commons.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Frederick released his hands. "Go over there. Charm her and her family."

"Thank you for the encouragement," William said dryly, "but I favor a less forward approach."

In fact, the approach William favored was the approach to his bedchamber, where he could lock himself in peace. But he had another hour and a half until he would need to leave for the village, and only after that could he take refuge in sleep.

But Frederick was undoubtedly right. If he wished to further his acquaintance with her, it behooved him to make an effort.

Filling his lungs with a resigned breath, he went over to her and asked if she would care to play cards with him.

She smiled and readily agreed, and William wondered if perhaps he simply needed to give things with her a real chance.

She was an able card player and a skilled conversationalist. And yet, William felt no desire to suggest another game after theirs ended. He did so despite that.

His eyes watched the case clock on the opposite end of the room, however, and when it struck half-past ten, he allowed himself to lose in order to bring the game to an end .

"It is my belief," Lady Cassandra said with a knowing smile, "that you allowed me to win, Your Grace."

"An effect of fatigue, I fear," he admitted. "I find myself unseasonably tired for the hour. Perhaps I can redeem myself tomorrow night?"

"I certainly hope so," she teased. "Will you retire, then?"

"Yes, I think so. Thank you for the entertainment and conversation, Lady Cassandra." He bowed, she curtsied, and he made his way to the door with a sense of relief.

"And just where do you think you are going?"

William faced Aunt Eugenia. "I have a matter that requires my urgent attention."

"Do you, now?" She cocked a knowing brow.

"I do."

"Hmph. You know what I think?"

"I never know what you think, Aunt."

She smiled slightly, pleased with his answer. "I think you find us all tedious."

"I doubt anyone could find you tedious."

"True. Go on, then. But I mean to have a proper conversation with you soon. You may be a duke, but you were my rascally nephew first."

"First and always." He took her hand and kissed the back of it. "Good night, Aunt Eugenia."

He ordered one of the horses to be prepared, then hurried to his bedchamber and changed only as much as was necessary for a ride into the village. It was dark, but the moon was waxing, providing enough light. He had considered bringing Comet, but it was enough of a risk to ride her during the day. The sounds and uncertainty brought by a landscape bathed in dark were more than he cared to challenge her with, so he took his best-trained mare, a dapple gray.

He reached the village without incident and used the glow of sparse candlelight in the free house as his guide. He tied up the horse on the side of the building, then went to the front, watching for any sign of John and periodically checking his pocket watch. If he meant to meet Clara at eleven o'clock, he should have been outside waiting for her. But the only people outside were a servant woman and her daughter.

He opened the door and stepped inside, stopping on the threshold to take in the view. Two dozen people occupied the space, most seated at tables, while a few stood at the high counter where they nursed drinks or waited for their glasses to be refilled.

His eyes roved over the occupants, pausing on a man in a hat seated alone in the corner. His head was lowered, making it impossible to see his face properly. William waited until the man raised his head enough to provide the view he needed to verify it was indeed John Quinn.

He strode over to the table, and John looked up at him through droopy eyes that widened and focused when he realized who was standing over him.

"A word, please," William said.

John did not answer immediately, looking at him warily, then around the room.

"Outside," William said.

"I am meeting someone here."

"I know. I am that person. Clara is not coming."

John's brows knit, but he took a last sip of his drink and rose to his feet.

William had him lead the way, not trusting him out of his sight.

The man behind the bar noticed John making his way toward the exit and began to demand payment.

"He will return to pay in a few minutes," William assured him .

The man's mouth opened and his eyes widened as he recognized William. William gave a subtle shake of his head to signify he did not wish for a scene to be made by his presence.

The man closed his mouth, nodded, and let them exit in peace.

John's eyes darted around the village, and William remembered what Clara had said about the men supposedly coming after him.

"We are at a crossroads, John," William said.

John's expression morphed to one of confusion, and he looked at the ground around their feet.

"Not a literal one," William explained, trying for patience. "I cannot permit you to threaten my employees."

His brows drew together. "She's my wife, Your Highness."

"Perhaps she is, but you abdicated your responsibility over her, and if you continue to pester her for money and make threats against her, I will have no choice but to take legal action against you."

"But—"

"Or," William said, interrupting his blubbering. "Or we can come to an arrangement."

John looked at him through narrowed, bloodshot eyes. "What sort of arrangement?"

"Clara tells me you are in heavy debt."

"Aye, sir. And they're after me." He shot a look at the surrounding area, as though he had just remembered the threat he was living under.

William studied him for a moment, feeling a mixture of pity and disgust. In no universe did John Quinn deserve the woman he had married. But marry her he had, and even if she could not be free of him legally, Clara deserved to be free of his threats and life of dissolution.

"Here is what I will offer," William said. "I will give you enough to pay a quarter of your debt. You can give the bank notes to these men you speak of. Tell them that, provided they can wait, I am good for the remainder of the debt if " — he put up a hand to silence John's thanks—"you can put away the drink and leave aside the gambling."

John went quiet, processing this part of William's offer. It was certainly enough to give him pause. Such was the hold his vices had upon him.

"You will find a position and lead an honorable life," William continued. "And you will leave Clara alone. On no account will you contact her. If she wishes to contact you, that will be for her to decide." The mere thought made him sick, and he sincerely hoped she would not wish for such a thing at any point.

John nodded, frowning more deeply than ever. "'Tis very gracious of you, Your Lordship."

William said nothing to this. He was not doing this for John. He was doing it for Clara. She deserved to sleep without a guilty conscience and without the fear of John making further threats to finance his addictions.

"You agree to my terms, then?"

John nodded again.

"And you understand that the remainder of your debt will be paid only if you comply? It will not be easy."

"Aye. I understand."

William searched his face for another few seconds, then reached into his coat and pulled out a sheaf of bills.

"These are for your debt only, John," William said. "Not to be used in search of more money at the gambling table."

"Aye, sir."

William handed them to him, and John took them with a bit of wonder in his eyes.

"Thank you, Your Grace. "

William smiled reluctantly. For once, John had managed to address him correctly. His amusement faded quickly, however. "Be wise. There are far better things ahead if you choose to pursue them."

Clara was the exception to that, of course. John would never find anyone or anything better than the woman he was leaving behind. He had not appreciated her. It was likely he simply hadn't the capacity to do so.

John finished counting the notes, then looked up. "What of Clara?"

William's lips pressed together. "She is no longer your concern."

He gave an uneasy laugh. "Right. No doubt 'tis for the best. Don't think I'm a marryin' man after all."

"If only you had realized that before," William muttered through clenched teeth.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Good night. And do not forget the terms of our agreement." He returned to his horse, who was doing her best to nip at the scant bits of grass the horses who had come before hadn't managed to consume.

William let her take the road back to Rushlake at a gentle pace, his own mind full. He sincerely hoped that, as far as Clara was concerned, that was the end of John. He cared for her happiness deeply. But part of him wondered whether there was a selfish element to his offer to John. Perhaps he was so eager to rid himself of the man because he disliked the reminder that the woman who held his heart was married.

"Your Grace?"

William blinked out of his abstraction and pulled up on the reins. He had not even noticed he had reached Rushlake's grounds—or that Clara was standing in the shadows near the stables .

He slipped down from his horse. "Clara, what are you doing? It is late." It had to be nigh on midnight.

"I could not sleep until I saw you."

"Is something amiss?"

"No," she hurried to reassure him. "I was merely worried." She let out a little breath and smiled. "But you are safe."

"I promised you I would be, did I not?"

She nodded, and the overwhelming desire to take her in his arms filled him. Her duties required her to be up before the sun, and yet here she was, sacrificing precious sleep to ensure he had returned.

William had lived his entire life in the role of the eldest Yorke child, responsible for the Yorke name and the well-being of his brothers. Having someone care for his well-being as Clara did…it was strange. It meant more to him than he could say.

"Did you find him?" Clara asked.

He nodded. "We spoke, and I made it clear that he is not to seek you out under any circumstances."

Her brows pursed. "And he agreed?"

Was she hurt? Or surprised?

"He did," William said. "There were a few conditions."

"What sort of conditions?"

"He is to put aside the drinking and gambling and to find a respectable position. In exchange, I gave him enough money to satisfy his creditors temporarily. If he can stay on the path we agreed upon, I will help him pay off the remaining debt."

There was a moment's pause, then Clara dropped her chin and covered her face with her hands.

Alarmed, William took a step toward her. "Clara?" He put a hand on her arm, but her head only shook back and forth over and over, so he let go, the pit of his stomach weighed down by an anvil-like weight. He had hoped she would be relieved .

Finally, she let her hands fall, her lashes and cheeks wet.

"Have I done wrong?" he asked.

"No," she said, her voice unstable.

"Then what is it? Please. Tell me."

She met his gaze, and he waited until she could speak.

"All my life," she said, "I have had to rely upon my own ingenuity to manage the difficulties I have faced. I have made poor decisions at times—stealing that watch to take revenge, marrying John out of desperation. I have been at my wit's end trying to find a way to satisfy his demand for money without disappointing myself. But then you…" She swallowed, her shimmering eyes fixing on his. "It has been so long since I have felt looked after. Until I met you."

He smiled ruefully. "Do you know I had precisely the same thought as I was riding here? My world feels so much less lonely and my burdens so much lighter with you in it."

"And yet you take on my burdens in addition to your own."

"And you mine. Somehow, two shared burdens weigh far less than a single burden one carries alone."

Clara nodded, her eyes searching his. "Lady Cassandra is a fortunate woman, Your Grace. She will be a credit to Rushlake."

William tried for a smile, but it emerged as more of a grimace. "And yet…"

And yet, if someone had given him the chance just now, he would be tempted to give up the dukedom for a chance to call Clara his.

She offered a sympathetic but shaky smile. "You have worked so tirelessly. I could never forgive myself for standing in the way of your success or the interests of your family. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for what you did tonight. Sleep well."

And then she disappeared into the shadows.