Richard stood for a moment, trying to process exactly what the solicitor was saying. It couldn’t be true. There was no bloody way that his cousin was laughing at him from their family tomb. Dear God, not only had Richard dealt with the cesspool of a man the entirety of his life, but now Musgrave was preventing him from getting the one thing he needed to make a change in this unjust society.
Curse his bloody cousin.
Richmore fell back into his chair, unable to stand upright another second. His legs were weak under the weight of his body, his heart beating wildly in his chest. The dull pounding in his head was growing in its intensity and would not cease.
For the first time in years, Richard felt like that little boy again, forced into a rivalry between him and the only young relative he had. Richard and Graham were just boys, pitted against each other for a dukedom that by right was always going to Richard as the first-born son of the duke’s first-born son.
“How is this possible? I was informed that my cousin rarely visited his wife at all.” He looked up at Harris, whose body trembled in fear.
Richard wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. In a few short years, his reputation as a playful, well-mannered gentleman had detoured to a complete menace.
Which wasn’t the case.
He stood, not wanting to dwell on the cause of his shift in temperament in the past year. What he needed was a drink. Never a man to overindulge, he occasionally partook of brandy or port for enjoyment but never to be inebriated. He never needed it, as he was always naturally jubilant or happy. Or he had been until recently.
Harris cleared his throat again, the sound piercing Richard’s eardrums. “Perhaps they were not as estranged as you were informed they were.”
Harris’s statement followed Richard across the room. Something about the information was not sitting right with him.
Reaching the small sideboard in his office. He took out a small glass, pouring the rich liquid. “No, every account I heard of their marriage was that Lady Musgrave was safely tucked away in Surrey while my cousin spent days and night gallivanting with his mistress.”
Keeping his back turned from the solicitor, Richard pondered over the last reports he had received about his cousin. Paying servants to spy on his cousin became like second nature to him. Every report from his cousin’s London servants was the same. He was in town with his mistress, never venturing out to Surrey.
Over the years, he had tried to gather information on the occupants in Brown Manor, to no avail. Every servant that was employed by Lady Musgrave was loyal to her beyond reason.
It had vexed Richard greatly over the years. He had needed to be informed of everything concerning his cousin and heir. Taking a gulp of his brandy, his mind began working on another plan. It was no time to panic; it was to execute, and Richard’s years in Parliament made him excellent at solving problems.
“She must be examined by a doctor. I’ll send my physician to Brown Manor.”
He heard Harris stumble behind him. Not bothering to turn around to check if the other man was well, Richard continued drinking.
“Y-your Grace, she, Lady Musgrave, that is…” Harris stopped speaking, his words lingering in the room.
The silence was so prevalent that Richard could not help but turn to face the solicitor, wanting to be alone. “Spit it out, man!” He flung his hand at Harris, ready to be free of him.
“Lady Musgrave refuses to see a physician of your choosing. She does not want any harm to befall the child.” Harris rambled, taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket, patting his bald head repeatedly.
Good God, the woman was as crazy as her dead husband.
Something was not right here. Richard could feel it in his very bones. It was his intuition that helped end the Atlantic Slave Trade. He was a force in the House of Lords, fighting for the oppressed. Some chit would not fool him.
Surely, there was a relative to take her, her mother, and her aunt in. Her cousin, the earl who inherited her father’s title, surely would help the women in his own family. Why were they Richard’s responsibility?
Leaning against the sideboard, Richard decided. He would not play parlor games with Lady Musgrave. She would yield to him.
“Either she agrees to an examination from a physician of my choosing, or she will move into Hamilton House.”
“Your Grace! Surely, we can wait until she is progressing?” Harris exclaimed, stumbling forward.
Richard shook his head, suddenly bored with the conversation. “No. My mind is set. Either she agrees to an examination, or she becomes my guest.” Turning away from the solicitor, he began refilling his glass.
Richard drank, staring out of the window. His small garden was bare, lacking a woman’s touch, but it could not be helped. He would never marry. His cousin had made it impossible for Richard to trust a woman again.
Now, Graham’s widow wanted to prevent him from doing good. His friend Aberdeen and his wife had traveled to Jamaica, freeing the enslaved on Lady Aberdeen’s deceased father’s plantation. It had taken months, but slowly, free men, women, and children would arrive from Jamaica. Lady Aberdeen did not stop at her own father’s slaves, but she began aiding freed enslaved people, finding lodgings and employment.
Richard was happy to help with a noble cause. He had spent his years in Parliament fighting against slavery, and yet he was still hungry to do more.
A knock on the door interrupted the silence in the room. He kept drinking, ignoring Harris and staring out of the window, watching as a blackbird took flight. The smooth brandy doing nothing to calm him down from the news he just received.
