He was referring to his first wife and his legitimate son. “You believe that?”
“With absolute certainty.”
“You have a wife and a son here and now as well.”
“Ah, yes. The wife I didn’t know how to love, and the son I didn’t raise. I failed you both. Don’t feel bad for me. I don’t deserve it. The least I can do is get out of your way.”
Gabriel pressed his lips together, his nostrils flaring with conflicting emotions. “I wish things were different.”
“There are many things I wish were different. Or rather, that I had done differently. But bringing you and Hannah together is not one of them. That’s one of my best deeds. Do you love Hannah?”
Gabriel looked at the duke, the undeniable truth shining in his eyes. “You know I do.”
The duke stretched his hand, and Gabriel took it. The old man’s grasp was not strong, but vehemence lent it power.
“Then marry her after I’m gone. Raise your son together. I have named you and Hannah joint guardians of the child. Gabriel, they will need protection from my nephew. Don’t lower your guard. Protect them. But above all, be happy with her. Promise me you will, and I will die with fewer regrets.”
“I promise, sir. It’s easy to make that promise, for it’s what I want most in the world.”
“You make me very happy. I love you, son.”
Gabriel squeezed the duke’s hand, forcing the words out of his constricted throat. “I’ve never called anyone ‘father’ in my life. This will be the first and last time I do so. I love you too, Father.”
The old duke closed his eyes and exhaled, a beatific smile stretching his lips.
His body survived until the next morning. But he never awakened again. Not in this world, at least.
CHAPTER 42
A DUKE’S FUNERAL WASalways a complex, elaborate affair. Harold, always the conscientious planner, had left explicit instructions to follow for his funeral upon his demise. She appreciated the provisions, and Gabriel’s help, for even with her husband’s efficient arrangements, there was still much to decide.
The house needed to be prepared. Invitations to the funeral service needed to be sent to family and friends. And then hospitality had to be offered to those who attended the funeral. Gabriel took charge of preparing the duke’s body, with the help of Harold’s valet, and also helped her oversee the myriad other details that needed attention. He chose to stay at an inn, so as to not give cause for gossip, but visited every day. His presence a sturdy support upon which she could lean.
Before a week was out, half of London descended on the abbey for the service to be held at the estate’s chapel. She could excuse herself from attending, since social conventions allowed widows to stay in seclusion. But she felt like she owed it to Harold to attend. Even if their love had not been a passionate one, she had profound respect and affection for her husband.
Unfortunately, attending the service also meant she had to sit in the front pew of the chapel, next to Neil Blackwell. As he was the only other close relative, that was the proper arrangement, and inevitable.
She tried to ignore him and concentrate on the words of the vicar, but it was difficult to do when she felt the ill will radiating from Blackwell.
There’s nothing to fear, she reminded herself. Friends and family surrounded her. Gabriel was sitting just a few pews back. There was nothing Blackwell could do to her in this environment. She just had to make sure she remained around people and not allow him to catch her alone and away from others.
“You may fool all these people, but those widow’s weeds don’t fool me. I know inside you must be rejoicing, thinking that all your plans went so splendidly,” he told her sotto voce.
She ignored the venomous comment. But he didn’t stop there.
“Well, don’t celebrate victory just yet. I plan to sue you for adultery. I have proof and witnesses that you were conducting an affair around the time you conceived. Expect to receive correspondence from my solicitors. I will have your whelp declared a bastard and claim my rightful title.”
To any observing them, Blackwell’s expression gave nothing away of the malice he spewed in a low voice, just for her ears. She had to fight to remain impassive while inside her chest, pain, fear, and fury were waging a terrible battle.
Her training came to her aid. Even if inside she was screaming and wishing Blackwell would leave, on the outside, her face never lost the somber but serene expression everyone expected of the Duchess of Stanhope.
She couldn’t remember a word of the service or the burial after. At last, when they were about to retire to the house, she broke her silence.
“Do not come to the house. If you do, I’ll have you thrown out like the vermin you are.”
With that, she turned and preceded the guests into the coaches to return to the house and the refreshments arranged there.
GABRIEL HAD TAKEN REFUGEin the nursery for the latter part of the funeral reception. He was not officially a mourner, so there was no reason for him to linger. Instead, he chose to spend some time with his son.
