Page 5 of The Duke's Return
How it started, I hardly even know.
Two months ago, Julian had been recovering from one of his few but deadly skirmishes in the infirmary when his commanding officer brought paper clippings to him with a grim expression. “You had best see this.”
“Petty gossip? The war is over?” he had jested with a slight cough, his lungs still on the mend.
But his breath had caught in surprise over the clippings.
When a low curse escaped, his officer had nodded. “Precisely. This bodes ill for you, I imagine. More than the mockery you might find here. Is this going to be a problem?”
A rather large problem, in fact, like an interwoven knot of strings he would have to untie. Several concerns crossed his mind. Strangely, it was the matter of his wife that had lingered the longest.
“The name,” she had murmured on their wedding day. “My sisters.”
He would have to go back in person to handle the situation. Because of her.
Julian had cursed again because he hardly knew what to say. When the stern man glared at him, he forced a short apology and then added, “Yes, I’m afraid this is going to be very much a problem. How likely is it I can get myself to London?”
It had taken countless negotiations, with some minor bribery, to ensure he could take his leave. Someone had to take his place, which took two weeks, and then he began his journey home.
By the time he had arrived, just this morning to port, his lungs were well, and the bruises and cuts had healed. He was well enough. But everything else was a brewing disaster.
“Her Grace has established herself very comfortably in the townhouse,” Mrs. Culpepper was saying as Julian pulled himself back to the present. “She’s never been to Southwick, you know. Not that it would do any good; your family would still hound her anywhere she goes.”
He frowned. “I beg your pardon? They shouldn’t be hounding her. The entire selfish lot of them should be going through my solicitor.”
Eyeing him, Mrs. Culpepper gave a shake of her head. “What a pity how men are so blind even in broad daylight. I tell you what, we’d have old Boney sorted right out if the navy were full of women. Your family thinks your wife is a ticket right into the family coffers. And they always know where she is.”
“I have several estates. Surely she doesn’t stay here in London?”
“She says London is all she knows,” the housekeeper responded defensively. It seemed his wife had won her over in turn. “She should be happy here. Safe. So I expect you to do right by Her Grace. Your Grace,” she added.
Inhaling deeply, Julian found it a little difficult to keep the smile on his face as he tried to concentrate. There was much to be done. He wanted to sort out these matters quickly and efficiently. If he could have everything handled when his wife returned from her afternoon outing, then––
A rap on the door behind them caught him off guard.
His housekeeper startled but hastily moved around to crack the door open to say, “I’m sorry, sir, but the house is not open at this time. Would you like to leave a card?”
“Are you certain?” came a vaguely familiar voice. “I was told the duke would be returning this morning. It’s very important that I speak with him. It won’t do to leave a card.”
“Let him in,” Julian said. He pulled the door open to reveal Louis Winfield, his London solicitor. “You received the letter, very good. There is much I would like to discuss with you.”
Though he knew the matter was serious, he didn’t think his solicitor needed to look so anxious. But the man was nearly dancing, he was so jittery. “I’m afraid a new development has taken place, and… Well, Your Grace, we need to talk.”
Mrs. Culpepper glanced between them. “Shall I prepare tea?”
“No. It appears we’ll need something stronger,” Julian said, finally letting his smile go. There was no more point to pretending any longer. “Leave us be until I ring. Mr. Winfield, my study is just around the corner.”
Still dusty from traveling, he wound up back at the study he had hardly ever used. It was merely where he liked to sign a few papers and keep some particularly fine brandy.
But now Julian settled low in the chair after pouring them glasses. His solicitor hardly glanced at it before pulling out some folders and papers from his briefcase. He’d been a struggling barrister at one point, Julian recalled, and after the two of them enjoyed a long bout at his club fencing, Louis had traded roles and trained under Julian’s retiring solicitor to take his place.
Hopefully, this didn’t mean he was about to have to find yet another solicitor.
Don’t I have enough problems? An old Italian mistress claiming I married her with questionable proof, a duel in Paris that ended badly, and questions about my service in the Royal Navy as though I’ve been acting a scoundrel across the Continent instead of serving my country. Surely this is enough trouble to face.
“Several Parliament members from both houses, as well as your Southwick solicitor, have raised several concerns and have reached out to me. I can offer no defense of my own, truth be told, with your absence,” explained Mr. Winfield.
“About what? Surely not my wife and my marriage.”
