Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

T he insult his uncle had just uttered barely irked Richard. He had heard much worse from his uncle under the guise of a light-hearted joke.

"Thankfully so." Richard nodded curtly. "But I fail to understand why you would go through such lengths for a title that is rightfully mine?—"

"Rights have no place in the face of propriety. The Harringtons have always maintained strict discipline and were known to be well-mannered men who reflected greatness on all counts while they held the dukedom. But you—and your father, foremost, have tainted that line of glory. You have never been worthy of the title in my eyes, not while you bore a striking resemblance to my brother Michael with your conduct and character."

Richard scoffed. "While it is truly unfortunate that you did not get along with my father, it was not necessary to involve?—"

"This wasn't just some… petty disagreement," Lord Whitwood snapped coldly. "Michael was unfit to be Duke. He was cruel, manipulative, and a disgrace to our family name. He did not care who he hurt or the amount of ridicule and shame he brought upon us, so long as he was able to do as he pleased.

"With William, my concerns lessened because he seemed to be the only good thing that he managed to accomplish in his life. And then the virtuous son died, and you were all that was left to take control of our legacy. You—and your promiscuous reputation and fondness for spirits. There was no guarantee that you could be relied on to adequately handle the role you had inherited."

His words dripped with poison as he continued.

"So, I had to do something. I knew that your sudden desire to marry had stemmed from your aspiration to secure your claim to the title—a hunch that was further proven by my visit. There was no love between you, nothing that could prove that this marriage is anything more than a sham. From there, it was easy to come up with a means of not only separating you two."

Richard had never heard his uncle sound so… pained.

The man was always so unnecessarily jovial—even with his bad jokes that were always made at Richard's expense—and his usual amicable attitude was something the Duke had despised about him, firmly of the belief that the man was hiding something. He never would have guessed it was such pain and disapproval, stemming from years and years of hatred and spite towards his father.

"You were not the only one my father hurt," Richard heard himself say after a few minutes of silence. "I respect your opinions of him, and I admit that you are entitled to your hatred for him. But you had a chance to build something away from him—a life of your own, one that you could live without being haunted by his voice and his harsh upbringing."

"I did not have such a choice. Neither did William. I… I left this place when I could," he admitted, "When it was apparent that William would make a fine duke and it would be best for me to be far away from him so as not to be a bother. And I tried to find my own freedom, not realizing that I had abandoned my brother to spend the rest of his days trapped in the shadow of a man we both resented. Not until I was in that position, all alone.

"Suddenly I was overly aware of my shortcomings, could hear his voice say it no matter what room or hallway I was in within the walls of this house. He would always scream my incompetency at me, so after his passing, this house seemed to echo the sentiments he believed. I took on the role of Duke because it is what William would have wanted of me. I was prepared to do what was required of me for his sake because he gave all that he had to be the Duke of Wexford, and I was not going to let all of his efforts go to waste."

"That is why I married Nancy. And I was no better than I was before I met her after we got married, but she… she wanted more. She believed I was more than what my father thought me to be and truly wished to help me attain a life of peace. Until you slandered her publicly."

Richard shifted forward in his seat, narrowing his gaze as his voice turned even colder than it had been.

"Your issues with our family were meant to be handled within the family. As tactless as I might be, I know that much. You had no right to humiliate her like that, merely as a ploy to take what doesn't rightfully belong to you—not while I am still alive."

"But that just goes to show that just as a person can be what they love, the same can apply to what they hate. Because in my desire to free myself from the constraints of my father's judgment, I led a life he had been known for. And you, blinded by your desire to be a duke, had no qualms about making my innocent wife out to be unfaithful."

"All she had wanted was a fresh start with me, yet you besmirched her name and sowed discord between us, and as I imagine you must already know, she has left me. I can't give you all the credit for ruining my marriage, though, because it certainly didn't help matters that I was unwilling to believe her innocence—not until she had left. Try as we might to despise my father, it does feel ironic to know that we have somehow grown to resemble him in some ways."

The Earl looked stricken by Richard's words, as though his nephew might as well have stuck a blade in his chest.

Richard's father was just like this—scheming and cruel, always eager to watch family members tear each other as though it was a sport. And his uncle had always despised that vile trait, yet he had done the very same to his nephew.

"I envied you and your brother once," Lord Whitwood said, "William always spoke so fondly of you, as though he knew no man better than you. Michael never had any kind thing to say about anyone other than himself."

He paused for a moment.

"I wish… I wish we were more united as a family. Even if your father had not been interested, I should have done more for you and William as your uncle," he sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Perhaps," Richard muttered, knowing that once upon a time, he had longed to be close to his uncle, who always seemed like better company compared to his father.

The corners of Lord Whitwood's lips quirked up slightly in what seemed to be an attempt at a smile.

However, he shortly abandoned it, and he said, "You are not like your father. You wished to honor your brother, and you have conducted yourself properly since you assumed the role of the Duke of Wexford."

Richard's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"And it is evident to me now that you care for your wife, given how worried you are about her. You are nothing like your father—not anymore, Richard," his uncle continued, his tone the most sincere it had ever been.

"You have grown into a fine young man. Much like William. I am certain he would be proud of you if he were to see you now," he added.

Richard glanced at the door, as though William himself would stand there, with his warm smile and nod at him, like he always did.

"You must fix the mess you have made," Richard responded as his eyes returned to his uncle.

Lord Whitwood had no objections to Richard's statement, and the Duke continued.

"Since you are familiar with using money as a means to achieve what you want, it should not be a problem to do so again. Give Thornton as much as he wants and tell him to write that the rumors are untrue. He should state as clearly and concisely as possible that the Duchess and I are happily married. I do not care what needs to be done or said, but I want that scandal buried as soon as possible."

"Of course. I will do all that I can to undo the problems I have caused," Lord Whitwood agreed easily.

Richard nodded and stood up. "Then we are done here. If you would excuse me, I have to handle matters from my side."

"Richard," the Earl called out hesitantly, looking a little unsure of what he intended to do next when the Duke turned around to face him.

"I should have trusted in you and your ability to do right by our family. Moving forward, I will do more to support you, rather than undermine your efforts. As family should."

His words seemed well-intentioned, and Richard wanted to harbor some belief that perhaps, someday, they would grow to rely on each other as family does.

"We will see," is all he felt comfortable to say at that time.

It seemed to be the right thing to do because Lord Whitwood's dismayed expression lightened slightly, and he nodded in appreciation then stood up and bowed.

"Goodbye, Your Grace."

After he left the drawing room, Richard lingered there for a moment, his mind reeling from the conversation he'd had with his uncle.

He had known that there was a lot of pain his father had caused—within and outside the family—and he knew it could burrow and fester, twisting the mind and character. It had happened to him, but for some reason, he had not imagined that his uncle had been saddled with the very same burden.

He could only hope that things would be better for all of them, moving forward.

"Mrs. Silverstone!" He called once he was out of the drawing room, "Arrange for a carriage at once and have Ernest bring me my coat."

His urgent tone did not escape her, especially when she had to catch up to him as he had already begun to march to the entrance of the castle.

"Your Grace? Where are you going?" she asked breathlessly, beckoning a maid over as she rushed after him.

He spared her a single glance before he stepped outside. "To Bluebird Hall. I have to bring my wife back home."