Page 8 of Her Wily Duke

“You seem to be labouring under the delusion that I sincerely care about the good opinion of others.”

Frederick’s tone was snide, though his pulse had quickened considerably when the threat was made, Adam noted, watching the raised vein on the side of his face pulse in time with his rapid breathing.

“I think that it would be in the best interests of all parties if I stayed for the foreseeable future.”

“Of course it benefits you,” Frederick spat. “But what good are you to me? How does it benefit me to let you settle in here?”

“I believe there may be many benefits,” Adam replied with perfect equanimity. “Wiggins has just elaborated on some of them.” Frederick’s ears reddened as he realised just how much of their earlier conversation Adam had overheard, and how little he would be able to deny. “So, allow me to make a proposal,” Adam continued, ignoring Frederick’s expression. “Your fortunes are sinking, but they don’t have to. You can be the Duke and continue to enjoy the privileges of holding the title, while I manage the affairs of the estates. These happen to be roles to which both of us are particularly suited, me being a capable manager and you being—”

“You can stop there,” said Frederick, holding up one hand in alarm.

“This is what will happen,” said Adam, with an air of authority which left Wiggins in no doubt that he was the true heir of his father. “I’m going to continue living here, because you won’t dare get rid of me. To the extent that you will allow, I’ll help with the administration and finances, because, to put it baldly, your ship is sunk otherwise. Certainly, you must realise that you need me to bail you out, even if you’re too stubborn to say it to my face. Very well, you don’t have to say it. But I’m here and I’m going to help you where I possibly can.”

Having said this, he turned and swept from the room, followed by Wiggins.

Behind him Frederick spluttered something angry and incoherent, then flung the carved paperweight which usually sat on his desk across the room, resulting in the destruction of a quite nice porcelain vase.

*****

Later that evening, shortly after dark, Wiggins found Adam quietly reading on a divan in the library.

“I wanted to apologise for the way in which the Duke behaved earlier,” said Wiggins. “He knows what is needed, and he knows how much he needs you. Even if he’s too boorish to show it.”

“There’s no need for you to apologise, Wiggins,” said Adam, setting the book down. (It was a first-edition copy of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu’s Turkish Embassy Letters). “Frederick is merely being what he’s always been, doing what he’s always done. And that is something which neither you, nor anyone else other than Frederick himself, can change. I know that you have done your best in the face of Frederick’s determination to waste all that he owns and controls.”

“I wish,” said Wiggins, “that there was some legal way to intervene in a situation like this.”

“So do I,” said Adam. “Obviously not out of self-interest, although I would greatly appreciate what I might have, were it possible to intervene, but because I hate to see what my father spent a lifetime building fall to ruin in one generation — in one year! — because the law tied his hands and prevented him from choosing his own heir. I’ll make sure that the stable staff are aware that our horses will be arriving in a few days – for I’d prefer that Frederick not notice them – given half a chance, he’d sell them out from under me!”

Wiggins grimaced.

“Likely he would. Sensible of you to have sent them along separately – slower will be kinder on them, and I’m sure that you’ll be glad to see your preferred mounts. What’s still in the stable is... less than high quality. The Duke has sold most of the good ones.”

Adam gritted his teeth in frustration.

“I expected that, sad to say. But there was little we could do to prevent it, bound by the Law of Primogeniture as the passing of titles is.” A silence fell between them in which they both reflected on the injustices and idiosyncrasies of the British Law of Primogeniture, and what it allowed bad men to do. Then another thought came to Adam. “Where is Caroline, by the way?” he asked. “Where is my darling sister?”

“She’s about to have a singing lesson - I think that she was afraid to come down when you arrived, lest Frederick get himself into a temper over it. And her lesson was already arranged for this time.”

“Really? I do want to see her, but I don't want to interrupt her training.”

“The lesson will start in a few minutes – at eight o'clock – and will take perhaps an hour. When enough time has passed that it might be finished, I’ll take you to see her.”

Adam leaned back on the divan, looking perfectly at his ease.

“So Frederick managed to do one thing right?”

“What do you mean?”

“He found someone else to teach Caroline after Father became incapable of doing it.”

“He actually did, if you can believe it!” said Wiggins. “The voice teacher is the most delightful creature.”

“A woman? That’s a little unusual isn’t it?

“It is, but she’s very competent, and her father is a well-respected teacher of the musical arts. Frederick himself seems completely enamoured of her. The whole household has spoken of nothing else since she arrived.”

“Does Frederick know what the house whispers?”