Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

"L ord Whitwood has arrived, Your Grace."

Richard nodded and dismissed the butler, but he made no attempt to leave his study, his mind still boggled by the lengths his uncle had gone for a title that was not his.

No matter how much he thought about it, all the pieces fell in place perfectly—if not haphazardly—indicating that there was really no explanation other than the conclusion that they had arrived at the day before.

While the feud between them might have been justified for the years it had been ongoing, there was no reason to involve an innocent bystander like Nancy. Lord Whitwood had no qualms whatsoever in dragging the Duchess into a mess she had no business being involved in, and he had slandered her without a second thought.

And that was something Richard would not stand for.

"It's time to put an end to this ridiculousness, once and for all," he whispered to himself as he stood up and left his study, heading straight to the drawing room he knew his uncle would be waiting in.

Lord Whitwood was standing by the fireplace when Richard walked in, his gaze fixed on the portrait hanging above it. The Duke let his own gaze linger on the painting of himself and his brother for a moment before he cleared his throat.

The Earl quickly turned around, schooling his expression into a pleasant mask a moment too late.

Richard took notice of the look of displeasure his uncle had been wearing when he faced him and ignored it in favor of urging him to take a seat.

"Good morning, Your Grace." Lord Whitwood smiled. "You look… well."

"You say it as though you expected the opposite to be the case," Richard responded calmly.

The Earl scoffed. "Of course not, nephew. I am relieved to find you in fine spirits, but I merely intended to imply that if you wished to wallow, I would not judge you. One would expect as much in light of recent events. I was quite shocked and disturbed by the column that slanderous scandal sheet published."

"Were you, now?" Richard narrowed his eyes, already tired of feigning cluelessness. "I would have thought that if anyone was wholly aware of the contents of that sheet—before it had been published—it would have been you. Seeing as you were the source of the story, after all."

Lord Whitwood was still and silent for a moment then he leaned back with a look of confusion on his face.

"I do not know what you mean. How could I have been the source of the story? I have only met your lovely wife twice. Do you really believe she would have confided in me about her affair with her dog trainer?"

"There was no affair. You concocted that story all on your own and fed it to that useless gossip sheet. Because in the light of such issues, my ability to fulfill my duty as Duke would be brought into question, leaving you as the next possible and only potential heir."

The Earl's eyes took on a pitiful light, and he sighed. "Richard, I know not what you speak of. I do not know who fed you such lies, but I would never have stood against you in the same way you have accused me of doing. I know you are angry and hurt by her betrayal, but you must keep your head up. You are a Harrington, and you will rise above this. You cannot let this matter get the best of you—to the point where you start accusing people without proof!"

"I came here because you had invited me, and I thought you needed some counsel. I worry for you, Your Grace," Whitwood went on, "The hurt will pass, and another woman will come. You have had no problems finding others in the past, I assure you this time will be no different. But you cannot let yourself wallow or make ridiculous claims such as this, or else things will not improve."

Richard felt his jaw clench in anger at his uncle's words.

Not only was the man feigning ignorance and pretending to be innocent, but he couldn't keep himself from referencing Richard's past. No matter what, he would always bring it up, poking at a past life that Richard had left behind the moment he became Duke.

He could not believe it had taken a scandal for him to realize how unworthy he had been in his uncle's eyes this whole time.

"What makes you think I have no proof?"

"Your Grace—" the Earl sighed in exasperation.

"I have a witness who can attest to you paying a columnist from the Scandal Gazette to publicize the fabricated story about my wife's affair. Bertram Thornton, I believe his name is. Am I wrong?" Richard questioned in an utterly polite tone.

His uncle fell silent again, this time turning pale with shock.

Not done, Richard added casually, "I have also acquired further proof of the correspondence between you and said columnist, after the story was published for public consumption. Now tell me, dear uncle, do my claims still seem ridiculous to you?"

That was a lie. Richard had no such proof, but he was willing to make a wager that such correspondence did exist, and if his uncle's current attitude was anything to go by, it was likely he hadn't been as discreet as he believed.

The man did have a meeting with the columnist to plot Richard's downfall in his own home—in his study, even. If Lord Whitwood was usually this callous, the fault of not realizing so sooner was none other than Richard's.

The Duke expected more denial, perhaps with additional manipulation to appeal to the favor his uncle had in his eyes—favor that did not exist. But Lord Whitwood merely sighed, losing his pitiful and well-meaning expression as he sat back, his gaze hardening.

"I have to say, I am impressed. You are generally so self-absorbed. It would have not surprised me if you never realized that I was responsible for your current predicament. Perhaps you are not as hopeless as I initially thought," the Earl stated coldly.