The medical part of Alex’s brain knew this.
And yet—
What else was he to do?
This was a mostpanickableturn of events!
Yes, two of his best friends—Sir Rafe Gilbert and Andrew Langston, Lord Hadley—were members of the English peerage, but it did not follow that Alex wished to emulate them.
Besides, both Andrew and Rafe had been raised to fulfill the duties their stations required. They’d had year upon year to adjust to the expectations, to mold their lives around the weight of their responsibilities, to the way of life it dictated.
No true gentleman would cause such needless suffering.
Alex had devoted fifteen years of his life to alleviating suffering—to become a physician, to spend his days tending to others’ ills.
More to the point, Alex had sacrificed much to achieve this goal.
He had been cast off by his wealthy father for hisungentlemanlypursuit of medicine. Though impoverished, Alex had forged ahead with his studies, living off meager funds. He had subsisted on dry bread and salted pork, memorized Latin by guttering candlelight, and used blankets instead of coal to ward off the winter frost.
When his older brother, Ian, had died six years ago, his father had demanded Alex abandon his studies and assume his place as heir to the family horse-breeding business.
Alex refused.
He had made his choice, and the decision was inviolable.
He would be a physician—full stop.
His father had been incensed and turned to whisky to numb his pain.
If such events could not convince Alex to give up medicine, then a London solicitor and a distant marquisate hadn’t a prayer of doing so.
“Before you leap to conclusions, allow me to finish my explanation.” Mr. Carter shifted in his seat, his brief-bag balanced on his knees. “As you are most likely aware, titles generally pass to the highest-ranking male member of a family. If there is no male heir, the title reverts to the Crown. The late Lord Lockheade had two daughters but no sons.”
Alex nodded, looking out the hackney window as the carriage crawled through traffic on Queen’s Street. He well remembered his encounter with Lady Charlotte Whitaker and her elder sister, Lady Frank Fulton.
The entire sequence of events still set a blush to his cheeks. Even three years on, he could recall the horror on Lady Charlotte’s astonishingly-pretty face as she realized that the man in a dreadful justacorps and powdered peruke would be delivering her sister’s baby.
Lady Charlotte was likely married with children of her own by now.
Mr. Carter continued, “The title was to have passed to a cousin, Mr. Gabriel Whitaker. Unfortunately, Gabriel Whitaker drowned in Rome last autumn.”
Alex tapped a foot. As was typical of a solicitor, Mr. Clark was taking forever to get to the point. “You said the matter was not straight-forward. How so?”
Mr. Carter nearly sighed. “As you can well imagine, the late Lord Lockheade was distraught over Mr. Gabriel Whitaker’s death. As his lordship was unaware of your existence, Lockheade assumed that his title would go extinct. Therefore, his lordship did what any responsible lord would do—he planned. His elder daughter is married to Lord Frank Fulton, second son of the Duke of Ferndown—”
“Ferndown. Frank. Fulton,” Alex interrupted. “That’s a tremendous amount of alliteration.”
“Gossip has it that Ferndown and his children are fond of the letter ‘F.’ Case in point, Lord and Lady Frank’s son was christened Frederick.”
Ah.The very child that Alex had helped bring into the world.
Alex placed a steadying hand on the door as the hackney rounded St. Andrew’s Square and carried on toward Greenside Place two streets beyond.
“The Duke of Ferndown—Lord Frank’s father and little Frederick’s grandfather—sits on the King’s Privy Council and has His Majesty’s ear,” Mr. Carter continued. “Last January, Lockheade and Ferndown submitted a formal petition to the Crown, requesting that upon Lord Lockheade’s death, Parliament should bestow the title and its entailed properties on their lordship’s joint grandson, Master Frederick Fulton. This is a common practice in such situations. The Crown likes to see properties and titles stay within the bloodline whenever possible.”
“That makes sense.” Alex leaned back against the carriage squabs, still drumming his gloved fingers against the wooden seat. “Why allow the title tae veer off to an unknown Scot who’s never lifted a finger in support of the marquisate?”
“Yes. The problem, as I stated earlier, is that English law does not allow a parent or grandparent to choose an heir to a title willy-nilly. In this case, Lord Lockheade passed away before any decisions had been made. Ferndown took control of the affair at that point because, well, he is a duke and they tend to assume control of things that affect them. And then your existence was brought to the Crown’s attention.”
