So he kept it to himself and ignored their questions when they asked why he brooded, why he’d let his hair grow out and only shaved when Society required it. Why he hid in his castle at Brighthollow or his chambers here in London like a wounded beast.
“I shall look at them. I assume you left them on my desk?” he asked as they entered the study together.
“Of course.” Murphy indicated the small silver tray on the corner of Hugh’s desk, the one now brimming with correspondence in a variety of hands he knew so well.
He ignored them and went around to his seat. As he took it, he glanced up at Murphy. “If there isn’t anything else…”
Murphy cleared his throat. “Only two pressing matters, Your Grace.”
Hugh arched a brow. “And what are those?”
“You told me to treat any messages from Mr. Kendall as urgent. One arrived for you yesterday.”
Hugh pushed back from his desk, his chair making a screech on the wooden floor that caused his butler to turn his face in displeasure. “Kendall?” he repeated. “Where is it?”
He grabbed for the tray and began to sort through the letters there, shoving aside the ones from his friends in the search.
“Here, Your Grace,” Murphy said, his tone suddenly hushed, concerned as he dug into his inside pocket and drew out a folded piece of vellum, sealed with red wax. “I-I held it aside for you.”
Hugh snatched it and turned it over. His name was spelled incorrectly. But he hadn’t hired the man for his letter writing skills. “That will be all,” he said, his voice shaking as he turned it back and grabbed for his letter opener to break the seal.
“Your Grace, there is one other thing—”
“No!” Hugh waved him off impatiently. “It can wait. Thank you, Murphy.”
The butler nodded and saw himself out, shutting the door firmly behind him. Once he had gone, Hugh rushed to the fire and took a seat there. It was a short message, thank God, for Kendall truly was a terrible writer. His handwriting was barely legible and his poor spelling made Hugh have to reread each sentence to pick out its meaning.
But there it was, in the end, in black and white. The nightmare Hugh had been waiting for the moment he hired Kendall over a year ago.
Aaron Walters found nother. He askt a lady to mary im. It aint publick yet. See Vycunt Quinton. His doter. —Kendall
His hands shook as he set the letter in his lap and reached up to cover his eyes. “Fuck,” he muttered to no one in particular.
“Can’t help you there, mate.”
He jerked his head up to watch as one of those very dukes he had been musing over earlier, Lucas Vincent, Duke of Willowby, entered his study with Murphy at his heels.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace, I did try to tell you that His Grace was here to see you,” Murphy sputtered.
Hugh nodded. “It—it’s fine, Murphy. Thank you, that will be all.”
As the servant departed, Hugh shoved the letter into his pocket and got to his feet. “Lucas,” he said, coming forward with his hand outstretched.
Lucas rolled his eyes and tugged him in for a brief hug. As he pounded Hugh on the back, he said, “Don’t pretend I’m not your best friend.”
“How could you not be?” Hugh said, finding some way to fall back into old habits as he crossed to pour them each a scotch from the sideboard. “The youngest member of the club and the youngest man to become duke. We were bound to be best friends, even if youdidn’twrite to me all those years you were running around as a spy.”
Lucas smiled slightly. “Holding that against me even still, I see. You know you would have guessed what I was doing. I feared you would figure out why.”
Hugh bent his head. Lucas had been gone from their circles for many years, with no word, no news. He’d worried about his friend very much. Since Lucas’s return a year before, the two men had renewed their friendship. And Lucas’s secrets, the ones that had caused him to run from his life, had come out. They had changed nothing, of course, except that Hugh wished he’d been able to help his friend in his pain.
“Why are you here?” Hugh asked as he handed over the drink.
Lucas sprawled himself into one of Hugh’s chairs and stared at him far too intently. “I knew you were returning today and I wanted to see you.”
“Oh yes?” Hugh said as he took a place beside his friend. “Why is that?”
“Because you haven’t been yourself in a long time. Everyone says it over and over again. They whisper about it at the duke meetings, you know.”
