Page 22 of Making of a Scandal
Nick’s throat constricted, and for one frightful moment he felt as if he might actually shed tears. His eyes stung and his chest ached as he realized this was more than an old man musing over his own mortality. There was clear evidence of frailty in Paul, who had always been ridiculously healthy and active.
“Uncle Paul …”
He swallowed and blinked, doing his best to remain composed. Beyond the terrace doors were his father and brothers, and his mother or sister could return at any moment. He didn’t want any of them to see him fall apart.
“Are you ill?”
Paul sighed and gave a slow nod, his own eyes becoming watery. “I am told I have only months if I am fortunate. I’ve been poked, prodded, and bled by every physician from here to Scotland and all have given the same dire prediction. I am dying, Nicky.”
Nick shot to his feet hands shaking and insides roiling as he grappled with the dreadful news. “No. No, I don’t accept that.”
His uncle grimaced. “We have no choice but to accept it. I denied it long enough for the both of us. There is nothing else to be done.”
Male voices reached out to them through the terrace doors, and Nick glared in the direction of his father and brothers. “They all know, don’t they? Everyone else knew already.”
“Don’t be angry with them for following my wishes. I asked them to keep it quiet until I could tell you myself.”
Nick took a deep breath, but could not seem to calm the acute grief swirling in his gut. He’d always thought of Paul as invincible and ageless. The man had only begun going gray in the past few years, and had seemed healthier than most men of half his years.
“Surely it can’t be true that nothing can be done. You have to try, there must be a way—”
“I’ve spent the past year trying, and I am tired. But, it’s all right. I’ve accepted what will happen and that has made it easier for me to speak of it, think of it, and plan for what will happen once I am gone.”
Nick pressed the tips of his fingers against his eyes, finding that they came away damp. He felt as if someone had just dropped a boulder on him, the crushing weight of this news too heavy to bear.
“I’m so sorry,” Paul whispered. “I could think of no way to soften the blow. But, now we must talk about your inheritance.”
His head jerked up at that, eyes growing wide with shock. “My what?”
His uncle gave him a teasing smile. “You didn’t think I’d leave everything to Julius, did you? He gets the earldom and needs no help from me. Besides, I’ve always known who my heir would be. I thought of telling you many times, but I never wanted you to be content with knowing you had it to look forward to. If you didn’t realize it was coming, you’d find your own way to survive and flourish, and you’ve done just that. Now, I know I can trust you with Newburn.”
Horror washed over him, and Nick shook his head. “I would destroy Newburn, and you know it.”
“Would you? I’m not so certain.”
“I am.”
“That’s because you have the same opinion of yourself as everyone else. You’ve been told you’re a wastrel, so you’ve come to believe it. I think it’s time someone helped you make something else of yourself, don’t you? A gentleman farmer with more wealth than he could spend in one lifetime … yes, I think I like that for you better than ‘shameless, gambling rake.’”
Tangled up with his disbelief and shock was a visceral aversion to what his uncle was offering him. Was he supposed to delight in profiting from another man’s death?
“I don’t want it.”
“You not wanting it doesn’t change that I’m going to die. It also doesn’t change the contents of my will, which have been recently finalized to name you the sole recipient of everything that is mine.”
Nick ran a hand over his face, swiping away the last of the dampness that had leaked from the corners of his eyes. He hardly knew how to absorb this—his uncle announcing he was dying and leaving Nick everything he had, as if it were some kind of gift. He had been in desperate need of steady income for years, but would never have traded the person he admired most in the world to have it.
Just then, the door swung open to admit Charity, who gave him a pitying look when she noticed the residual tears clinging to his eyelashes. Nick dashed them away with a sniffle. His uncle and sister exchanged loaded glances as Nick dropped into the nearest chair and slouched, working to keep his face free of the signs of his devastation.
“The children are all sleeping soundly, thank God,” Charity said as she took a seat near him and kicked off her slippers. “Meanwhile, the maids are still searching for and cleaning up stray peas in the dining room.”
She seemed content to overlook the scene she’d walked in on, and steer the conversation toward lighter matters. Nick was grateful for the distraction. He would take the time later to wallow in his feelings, when he could be alone. Just now, he wanted to forget Paul had ever told him.
“If Cook doesn’t want us wasting peas, she shouldn’t serve them,” Nick quipped. “Everyone knows the best use of them is as projectiles, and why anyone would want to consume them is beyond me.”
“I want my children toeattheir vegetables, not use them as weapons.”
Nick scoffed. “Where’s the fun in that?”
