Austin had not slept as his mind was plagued with memories of his mother and father.
He sat in Dominic’s London drawing room, staring into the cold fireplace as dawn crept weakly through the tall windows. The house was too quiet for a home that usually echoed with children’s laughter. But Mary and Percy were safe at Greystone Estate with Dominic’s most trusted maids and guards. He missed their presence; it made the house feel hollow.
Could my mother have had a lover?
His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to his parents again.
The late Duke of Windemere had been a man of charm and ruin in equal measure. A rake of the highest order. A man who collected lovers the way others collected books. He broke hearts as easily as he breathed.
And his mother… God, his mother.
She had loved him. Loved him with a devotion that made no sense to Austin even now. She forgave every betrayal, every whispered scandal, every night his father did not come home. She smiled for society, held her head high, and pretended that she did not bleed or cry. And here he was, questioning whether she was as loyal as he believed she was or if he was just a product of a grudging affair.
A bastard.
He closed his eyes tightly, praying that this would all somehow go away.
“Thinking yourself into an early grave, are you?”
Dominic’s voice broke through the fog. Austin blinked and looked up as his friend, his brother in all but blood, crossed the room. Dominic clapped a firm hand on his back.
“You’ve been staring at that fireplace for a while,” Dominic said. “It’s not going to speak back.”
Austin huffed a humorless breath. “I wouldn’t mind if it did. It might give me better answers than we have found.”
Dominic squeezed his shoulder. “We will sort this out, Windemere. You have a family now. You are not alone.”
The words hit harder than Austin expected. He had never dared rely on family before, but Dominic proved his loyalty time and time again.
He nodded once at his friend, unable to speak what he felt, but Dominic understood him without any words.
The room door opened, and the rest of the household filed in. First came Selina with her gentle smile, then the Dowager Duchess with her cane and sharp eyes, and Deena… Deena, who looked pale since Mr. Whitman’s visit yet was determined. Her hair was pulled back in a simple knot, and her gaze fixed on him as though she could hold him together by will alone.
They all took their seats. Austin remained standing, unable to sit still.
The Dowager sighed dramatically. “I am far too old for this nonsense. Blackmailers, scandals, and forged documents. In my day, people handled their problems with duels and brandy.”
Selina blinked. “Duels?”
“And brandy,” the Dowager added. “Brandy eased the pain after the duel, unless they died instead of getting injured. But the point stands—blackmail is the tool of weak people who cannot get their way.”
“Grandmother.” Deena gave her a stern look, but the Dowager simply shrugged and sipped her brandy.
Austin chuckled softly. “I agree, Your Grace. The question is, who wrote the column? Who knew about the whole mess?”
Selina stepped forward and bit her lip nervously. “Could it be… perhaps… an old lover of yours?”
The room went still. Austin’s stomach dropped. He opened his mouth to answer, but his gaze caught on Deena. A flicker of hurt crossed her face. It was quick but unmistakable. And suddenly he was ten years old again, watching his mother sit alone in her room, pretending she wasn’t crying. Pretending she wasn’t breaking.
His fists clenched.
“Perhaps,” he forced the word out, though it tasted bitter. “I have made enemies. And many mistakes, so I would not be surprised if it is a lover from my past.”
Deena looked down at her hands, and something inside him twisted painfully.
I will make certain to apologize to her tonight.
He turned away, pacing to the window. The London streets were waking. Carriages rattled past, vendors shouted, and life continued as though his world had not just been ripped apart.
