The maid nodded and the door closed, only to be opened again moments later by the duchess herself. “Thank God you are here!” She stared up at him with shimmering eyes, and then, in the next second, her arms were around him, and she was holding him to her as if he offered necessary support.
Unaccustomed to such a display of affection from his mother, Caleb hesitated briefly before wrapping his arms around her as well. He hadn’t expected such a warm welcome and was slightly thrown by the effect it was having on the resentment he’d harbored for the past ten years.
Placing a kiss on his mother’s cheek, he listened to her uneasy breaths until she was ready for him to release her.
“Shall I have some tea sent up?” Murdoch asked, reminding Caleb of his presence.
“Please do,” his mother said. She opened the door to her sitting room wider and invited Caleb in. Unlike his mother, whose youth had departed during his absence, the space looked unchanged. “Come sit with me, Caleb. There is much for us to discuss.”
He wasn’t even sure where to begin. This reunion wasn’t going at all the way he’d imagined it would. Since leaving Paris five days earlier, he’d pictured himself storming into his father’s study and shoving the evidence of his success under the man’s haughty nose. Now, inhaling deeply, he approached the sofa and lowered himself to the vacant spot beside his mother. There was so much to say. Too much, in a way.
Perhaps the best place to start was with an apology. “I am sorry,” he told her and reached for her hand. “I should have written to you, but the more time passed, the more difficult it became.”
“I know.”
He looked at her and was swiftly accosted by guilt at the sight of her watery eyes. Christ, he’d been awful to her. She hadn’t deserved it, but his pride had been wounded, and he’d only been able to think of himself and of getting away from the life he’d come to despise.
“At least I am not your only son,” he murmured. She had three besides his older brother, George, the heir who’d received all their father’s affection.
“You haven’t been in touch with Griffin or Devlin?” she asked in reference to the brothers who’d been born only minutes after himself. He shook his head. “They left shortly after you, for similar reasons, I suspect. Now, after everything that has happened, I am hoping they will return as well. I’ve sent out letters, but it will take time for them to reach your brothers.” She met his gaze. Her brow puckered ever so slightly. “I’m surprised you are already here since I had no idea of your actual location. I suppose the agent I hired to find you was good at doing his job.”
Unease traversed Caleb’s spine. He tightened his hold on his mother’s hand. “No one came to find me, Mama. I returned of my own accord.”
“But then…” She swallowed and closed her eyes. Her lips trembled and it became suddenly clear to Caleb that she was making a stoic effort to maintain her composure. “You do not know.” The words were only a whisper.
“Know what?” he asked even though he sensed he had no wish to hear whatever it was she would say in response.
“Your father is dead, Caleb. A fire broke out at the Everly stables last week,” she said, referring to one of the dukedom’s larger properties. “He and George went to inspect some repairs. They were supposed to be gone only for a few short days but now…” A sob cut off her words, and her free hand rose to smother the sound.
Caleb’s heart thudded against his chest. “And George?” he asked, already dreading her answer.
“When your father didn’t come out, George went in after him.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “They’re both gone, Caleb. I buried them at St. George’s this morning.”
It was as if time slowed to a halt. A distinct feeling of disappointment and deep regret trickled through him, numbing his veins. Slumping back, he tried to make sense of it, to accept what his mother told him as fact, only to find that he couldn’t.
The door opened after a quick knock, and Murdoch returned carrying a tray. He placed it on the table, exchanged a few words with the duchess, and departed once more. Caleb’s mother withdrew her hand from Caleb’s and dabbed at her eyes. She then busied herself with pouring tea while he watched with a strange sense of detachment.
He shook his head. “No. It cannot be true.”
She sniffed and took a sip of her tea. “You know what this means,” she said, as if he’d not spoken. She waited for him to meet her gaze before saying, “You are the Duke of Camberly now.”
Caleb stared at her in dismay. “I don’t want to be.” It was the first thing that came to mind. He liked his uncomplicated life, free from all the responsibilities his father and older brother had faced. He’d never envied either of them. But he had cursed the way his father’s sense of duty and obligation had affected his life.
“Unfortunately, that hardly matters. With your father and brother gone, the title falls to you.”
He instinctively shuddered and bit back the comment that threatened. To say that he ought to have stayed away would only cause his mother pain. She was happy to have him home and probably quite relieved with the prospect of him taking over the day-to-day running of things. And for her he would do it, or at least he would try.
He drew a deep breath and felt his chest tighten. “Very well. But if I am going to do this, I will need something stronger than tea. Please tell me you still keep a bottle of sherry in that cabinet over there.”
Her wobbly smile tilted as if trying to find its balance. “Yes. I dare say I could do with a glass myself.”
Raising her hand to his lips, Caleb pressed a tender kiss to her knuckles before going in search of their fortification. He was conscious of his heart beating a dull tattoo, like a drummer marching him off to the gallows. Recalling the satchel he’d left downstairs, he closed his eyes briefly and muttered a curse. Everything he’d worked for these past ten years had been for nothing. His father would never know of his success. How ironic that the son he’d named his greatest disappointment would now be continuing his legacy.
As had becomehis habit in recent weeks, Caleb arrived at White’s shortly after nine in the evening to enjoy a drink and possibly a game of cards with his friend, Robert Moor, Viscount Aldridge. The two had known each other since childhood and had been sent off to Eton together as lads. The moment Caleb’s return to London had been announced six months ago, Robert had immediately come to call, and the two had spent an hour washing away the years wedged between them with a few glasses of brandy.
Since then, Robert had offered invaluable advice and support. He’d invited Caleb out for rides and to Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon whenever he’d needed to lose himself in something besides accounts, ledgers, investments, and his mother’s most recent obsession – his need to think about marriage.
He’d cut her off and walked away the first time she’d made the suggestion and every time since. But when the Season had been well underway and she’d produced a list of potential candidates she considered appropriate for courtship, he’d had no choice but to listen, even though he detested the extra pressure it placed on his shoulders.
