“No, he never mentioned anyone. We didn’t talk about families or our lives outside the club.”
“Inheriting the title never changed my father. We moved into the Wayebury estate, of course, a much larger home with more servants, but Papa never went to London. His health was already failing by the time he assumed the title. Nathan was a quiet, educated young man. For a time, he considered following Papa’s footsteps to become a clergyman, but then Papa became the viscount and he needed Nathan to help him with all there was to learn and oversee—and for a time, he did. But then Nathan went to London and joined the Heirs’ Club, and he changed.”
“London has many vices to offer a young man.”
“Especially for one who has suddenly come into wealth and a title, and is eager to enjoy both.”
“Don’t blame him for that, Louisa,” the duke said quietly.
“When Papa died and Nathan became the viscount, I think he tried all the debauchery London had to offer. The power, the lands, the money, the gaming, and women—all of it changed him. He told me he became a different person when he went to London.”
“It might have changed what he did and how he did it, but I’m sure it didn’t change who he was. He was always friendly, fair, and well liked among the other members and the ton.”
“Thank you for telling me that. The lamps that I see lining the road, were they lit that night?”
“They are always lit at dusk and extinguished at dawn,” he said.
“Do you still race with your friends?”
“It’s a young man’s sport,” he said, not really answering her pointed question.
“I was told it was foggy that night.”
“It was.”
Feeling stronger, her eyes drier, her chest lighter, she turned and faced the duke. “Can you tell me about the accident?”
For a moment, he looked at her with such tenderness that she was once again tempted to throw herself into his arms and weep. Instead she set a steady gaze on his piercing green eyes.
“I could tell you, but I’m not sure I should.”
She wasn’t sure either, but she wanted to know something about that night and trusted the duke to tell her only what she needed to know. “Don’t you think I have a right to know more about what happened?”
“You know what happened, Louisa. He died.”
“But not instantly.”
“No.”
“He talked to you.”
“For a short time.”
“Did the carriage overturn, lose a wheel, hit a tree?”
“No one knows for sure. He was in the lead. It was dark, foggy, and misting rain, too. No one saw what happened.”
Louisa could tell it troubled the duke greatly to talk about this, but she pressed forward. “Still you raced.”
“Yes. We all did foolish things whenever we got together. We were way too far into our cups to think rationally, and no one tried to stop us, because they had been drinking all night, too. Hell, they had money wagered on the outcome. I’m not making excuses, just telling the truth.”
“You must have some idea about how the accident happened.”
“We think his wheel ran over a limb or a bottle and it flipped the curricle, throwing him off the seat and into the air.”
She tried to hide it but knew there was a slight tremor in her voice as she asked, “Did he break his bones, his back, or his neck?”
“No, Louisa,” he whispered in anguish. “The physician we took him to said it was internal injuries. He tried, but there was nothing he could do to save Prim.”
