Page 39 of Somewhere I'll Find You
“I can't marry your daughter.”
“Why not?”
“I'm already married.”
For a long time there was no sound except for the small, snapping fire. Both men stared into the dancing flames, while Wyvill mulled over the extraordinary statement. After a while he spoke, his voice heavy with suspicion. “This is the first I've heard of it.”
“It's been a well-kept secret for quite some time.”
“Who is she?”
“Lord Hargate's daughter, Julia.”
“Hargate,” Wyvill repeated, his short brows arched like two question marks. “I heard she was sent to a school in Europe—either that or dispatched to a convent. What has been going on all this time? Been hiding her in your attic or dungeon, have you?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then why—”
“I'm afraid I can't explain the particulars, sir.”
Looking sourly disappointed, Wyvill accepted the statement with as much grace as possible. “Pity. You would have done well to marry my Sybill.”
Damon did his best to assume a regretful expression. “I'm certain of that, Lord Wyvill. But as for William—”
The other man waved the issue away disdainfully. “I'll tell George there will be no duel. Let's just say that you owe me a favor to be determined at some future date.”
Damon let out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. In the meantime, I'll remove William from Warwickshire to defuse any remaining tensions.”
“That would be appreciated.”
They exchanged a cordial goodbye, and Damon left the room with a sense of relief. As he crossed the threshold, he heard Wyvill mutter to himself, “Hargate…no daughter of his could everhopeto equal Sybill.”
After telling William the good news, Damon was tempted to go immediately to his room and fall asleep. It had been a long day, and he needed some private time to rest and reflect. However, there was still a duty he had to attend to. Squaring his shoulders, he headed to his father's suite of rooms. He hoped that the duke had already retired for the evening, but as he neared the bedroom door, he saw a light burning from within, and heard a woman's voice reading aloud from a novel.
Knocking lightly on the half-open door, Damon pushed his way inside. Although his father, Frederick, had suffered from a series of brain hemorrhages that had left him partially disabled on his right side, he had retained much of his vigor. He had the coarsely handsome looks of a philanderer, a man who had enjoyed more than his share of worldly pleasures and had never regretted a moment of it. He loved to recount stories of his past debauchery to the many friends who still came to visit him regularly and reminisce about their youth.
Propped up on a pile of luxurious pillows, a glass of steaming milk in his hand, the duke seemed entirely comfortable. It was difficult to tell which he was enjoying more, the novel or the charms of the attractive young nurse who sat at his bedside. The woman paused in her reading, and the duke looked up expectantly.
“I've been waiting,” his father said, his voice slightly slurred from his physical condition. “Why didn't you…come earlier?”
“I had something to take care of.” Damon paused and added darkly, “A matter involving William.”
“Again?” The duke always enjoyed listening to tales of his youngest son's escapades, clearly feeling that he and William had a great deal in common. “Tell me.” He gestured for the nurse to vacate the chair she occupied.
As the nurse left the room, Damon sat by the duke. “You look well,” he commented.
“Yes, I'm quite well.” Frederick reached behind his pillow, withdrew a silver flask, and poured a liberal amount of brandy into his hot milk.
“You never change,” Damon said ruefully, shaking his head as his father offered the flask to him.
The duke seemed momentarily disappointed by his son's refusal of the brandy, then shrugged in resignation. “Neither do you.” He downed a large swallow of brandy-flavored milk and smacked his lips. “Now…about William?”
As matter-of-factly as possible, Damon enlightened him on the events of the past two days. As Damon had expected, the account seemed to entertain Frederick vastly. At first he seemed mildly displeased, but that was soon replaced by a misplaced sense of masculine pride.
“Foolish, self-indulgent boy…” the duke said, chuckling. “William has the morals of a tomcat.”
Damon scowled. “Is his behavior any surprise, after the example you set for him all these years?”
