It Had to Be the Duke by Christi Caldwell

Chapter 8

Ashort while after his morning visit with Lydia, as Geoffrey made his way back to his townhouse to see his son, he stared out his carriage window at the passing London streets and replayed his morning visit with Lydia. He went over it again and again in his mind.

Everything in being with her, in talking to her, in embracing her, was an unfettered joy. And it wasn’t that his life had been miserable these past years. There’d been moments of happiness peppered in. He’d known many of those times with Pamela Audley. Then there’d been the moments he’d spent with his friends. That was, when they weren’t with their families.

But happiness and joy were on far ends of a spectrum when it came to emotions, and the happiness he’d found after Lydia had always been… fleeting. Like spots of sunshine peeking through a thick gray sky that brought light shining briefly through before the clouds swept over it, stealing the unabashed light.

When he was with her, he remembered everything he’d wanted in life.

Absently, he traced his finger along the windowpane, the pad of that digit leaving a faint imprint upon the glass as he remembered another time when, in the midst of a summer house party at her family’s estate, he and Lydia had escaped to the quiet, well-stocked stream.

I’m marking our names upon this tree, Geoffrey, because someday, when we are no longer here, I want to leave the world with a link to the depth of love that we share.

Geoffrey stopped those distracted movements with his finger.

He wanted her.

And a family.

He’d desperately wanted that, too. That yearning had been the reason he’d allowed himself to make the match he had. He’d not wanted to wed a woman who’d had romantic hopes for something more than he’d been able to give, which was why wedding his wife had made the most sense. She’d not loved him. She’d been clear with a blunt directness he’d appreciated that her desire extended to the title and wealth that came from a match with him. As long as they’d been aligned in their wishes, then surely a future where he’d have a family and she’d have what she wished made sense.

He’d been so very wrong.

In their short union, there’d been not even a hint of affection from her, and there’d also been no children.

But perhaps Lydia was right. Why must it be too late for a relationship between Geoffrey and his children and a future with her?

The carriage rolled to a stop, and he sat there, frozen, his heart thumping under the wild wings of hope. It didn’t have to be impossible. Yes, he needed to work to prove himself to his sons and daughter, and yes, a lifetime had passed between him and Lydia, but nothing had changed. Not what was important, anyway.

A servant drew the door open, snapping him to the moment.

Grinning, Geoffrey jumped down. “Thank you, my good fellow,” he said cheerfully, and with a spring in his step, he danced out of the path of a handsome young couple passing; he tipped his hat as they went.

Enlivened, Geoffrey, his strides fueled by hope, hurried up the steps, eager to speak with Wesley. Nay, not Wesley. His son.

“My son.” He mouthed the words silently, testing and tasting the feel of them, so very foreign on his mouth and in his mind. And yet, also so very right.

He sailed through the door that stood agape in wait.

Shrugging out of his cloak, he handed it to his butler. “Good morning. Can you tell me where I might find my son?” he asked, giving the words the life aloud that they deserved. Wesley Audley, just as Rafe, Hunter, and Cailin deserved to be publicly acknowledged. They deserved their rightful places, and he was determined to see they had them.

“He is in the Portrait Room, Your Grace.”

With a word of thanks, he headed off in search of the young man.

The Portrait Room. It was an odd place for the young man to go. In fact, it was a room that Geoffrey hadn’t visited in more years than he could remember. When one had no children and only a late wife, one who’d disdained him greatly, there was certainly no reason to go and keep company with all the late relatives.

Geoffrey made his way there, and as soon as he entered the room, he found Wesley directly opposite the entryway, the young man’s focus directed forward.

Geoffrey slowed his steps and then stopped as uncertainty reared its head, reaching through the hope and excitement he’d come here with. Because there still remained the herculean task of proving to his son that Geoffrey cared and convincing him to allow Geoffrey a second chance.

This time as he moved forward, he ventured into the room with a greater hesitancy to his steps.

“Is this the woman you wed?” his son murmured, his gaze still on that portrait of Geoffrey and the late duchess.

Geoffrey reached his son’s side.

Wesley glanced over. “Is she the reason you didn’t marry my mother?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. His son stiffened. “Just not in the way you are thinking.”

A question filled eyes, a perfect match to his own.

Geoffrey shifted his focus to the woman he’d ultimately married. “I was in love. Very much so. She was clever and spirited and—” He immediately realized the insensitivity of speaking his praise for one woman when he’d been unwilling—nay, unable—to commit himself in that way to the boy’s own mother. He cleared his throat. “She chose another.”

As though he’d managed to catch him by surprise, Wesley whipped his gaze toward Geoffrey. “She chose someone else over you?”

“Because I’m a duke?” he asked, and at Wesley’s nod, he grinned wryly. “Her parents robbed her of the choice. But the man they chose for her was a good one. A friend of mine.”

Wesley’s mouth tightened. “If he’d been a real friend of yours, he wouldn’t have wed her.”

That gave him pause. He’d not really thought of it that way. Of course, after Lydia had married Chombley, Geoffrey had ceased keeping company with him, just because of the reminder that the other man possessed the only thing Geoffrey had wanted in life. “After that, I was hurt. I was lonely and miserable. I took up with your mother almost immediately…” His lips curved at the corners in a reflexive smile sprung of cynicism. “I saw it as serving several purposes. I knew the papers would gossip about my affairs. In some part…I wanted to hurt the woman I loved with my actions. But I did enjoy your mother’s company.” He avoided his son’s eyes; staring beyond him. “Eventually…I married. Your mother…she’d been gone for a number of months.” Now he realized Pamela had gone and given birth to one of his children, while he’d remained unawares. All his muscles clenched, and he vacillated between rage at Pamela for having failed to tell him, and himself for whatever failing of his had led her to believe he’d not have properly cared for her and his daughter and sons. “I’d be doing my duty to the ducal line, and I’d also have a family like I yearned for.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “How damned ironic to find, all these years later, that I had that. I had the children I always imagined for myself, but never knew of them.” He whispered those words to himself. He’d had sons and a daughter. They’d been babes, then little children, and now they were grown adults, and he’d missed all of it. Nay, so much. Not all. Recalling his son’s presence, Geoffrey opened his eyes.

Wesley stared back, his gaze assessing. Probing.

Coughing into his hand, Geoffrey went on with the pitiable tale of his first and only marriage. “I figured, what did it matter if I married when the one woman I really wanted belonged to another? The lady whom I was introduced to was cold enough to not have romantic expectations of me. She could have what she wished—my title and wealth. I could have children, like I longed for.” He grimaced. More the fool was he.

“You were wrong?”

“So very wrong,” Geoffrey murmured.

They looked at the blonde ice princess framed beside his younger self in that portrait. “She despised me. The only thing she desired was my title and my wealth. She took lovers frequently, and instead of being hurt, I took that as permission to continue my roguish existence.” He cleared his throat. “I… didn’t want anything to do with emotional connections. I believed there was only one person for us, and…” Geoffrey twisted his clasped hands together. “I don’t know if that’s true, Wesley,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if my heart could have belonged to another. I… suspect had I not been a coward and had I allowed myself to open my heart again, I could have had the relationship with your mother that she deserved.”

His son said nothing for a long while, and then he spoke. “I know something of that.” There was a reticence to his son’s speech, as if he warred with himself over making any manner of admission that bonded them in some way. “About loving and not being suitable enough. I never believed you, a duke, would ever know anything about it, however.”

“I do,” he murmured. “Very much so.”

They fell quiet, both looking at the portrait of Geoffrey’s younger self and the late duchess, and Geoffrey wanted his son to continue speaking, to continue sharing those details about himself and his life so that he could learn more about him. Because he wanted to. When no further information was forthcoming, Geoffrey let his arms fall to his sides. “Is… she the reason you came and sought…” Help. A man as proud as his son had proven to be, in rejecting the highest military rank Geoffrey’s money could buy, would always balk at that word. “Is that why you sought me out?” he asked instead.

Wesley hesitated and then gave a curt nod.

“If she loves you, as you deserve, she wouldn’t expect you to change.”

“I’m not looking for paternal guidance now,” Wesley said tightly. “The time for that has passed.”

“We shall not think of it as paternal guidance. Rather, consider it what it is. Words from one man who loved and lost, to another man who I suspect also knows something of it.”

Wesley looked at him with stricken eyes. “It’s not her fault.”

Just as it hadn’t been Lydia’s. “I am not saying that it is,” Geoffrey murmured placatingly. And yet, neither had Lydia sought to rush Geoffrey off to war. Neither had she attempted to make him into something he wasn’t.

His son, however, appeared compelled to defend the young woman anyway. “Her father is a merchant, a successful, wealthy fellow with an eye on raising his—and their—ranks.”

“And he seeks to do so through marrying his daughter off.”

Wesley nodded. “A miner isn’t ever going to be a man worthy of her.”

It was a tale as old as the British kingdom. Wealthy, powerful, prestigious families always aspiring and seeking more wealth, power, and prestige. “A good man, however, is, and I’ve learned in just a handful of times speaking to you that you are a proud man, but not too proud to make decisions that will help you, and that despite being born into a Society where people are born into their posts, you see a way to grow outside the life you’ve lived in Cheadle.”

“She reminded me that my father is a duke,” Wesley said gruffly. “And that if I had a profession that could be looked upon with honor, her father could not refuse my suit.”

Geoffrey didn’t know the young woman one way or the other to judge her motives in urging Wesley to come and advance himself and improve his life, but he could say that he was grateful to her for bringing the younger man here.

“And will she wait for you while you are off risking life and limb for a profession her father could look upon with honor?”

Wesley slanted a harsh stare on him. “You would fault her for encouraging me to come here and seek this favor?”

Geoffrey carefully weighed his response, knowing the wrong one would send the proud man running and that he’d never see him or hear from him again. “I could never. Whatever it is that brought you into my life, I am glad and grateful for it, Wesley. I would just have you take care that you aren’t hurt by someone who does not accept you for who you are. Someone who’d seek to change—”

“Please, stop.”

There was a faint pleading there from his son, one that indicated Wesley was all too aware of the truth of which Geoffrey spoke.

And yet, he was also unwilling to truly hear those words of wisdom that had come from the life experience of which Geoffrey now spoke. Perhaps in time he could help Wesley see. Perhaps he’d eventually allow that—as Wesley had previously mocked—paternal guidance. Geoffrey, however, knew not to push the boy. To go too hard, too fast would only drive him away. As such, he carefully made his way to another matter.

“And what of your siblings?” At Wesley’s questioning stare, he clarified, “Do they aspire to something more, as well?”

Wesley hesitated. Did he think to answer was a betrayal of his brothers and sister? “They are content with life as it is,” Wesley finally said, a gruff quality to that curt reply.

“Rafe?”

“Rafe is a foreman of the Cheadle mines. The highest rank outside of the owner.” Pride that could only be born of a younger brother’s admiration for an elder filled Wesley’s eyes and words. But then something faltered in his gaze, and a frown formed on his lips. “Hunter, on the other hand…”

Geoffrey latched on to that, reaching out to grasp every detail he might about his children. “Hunter, on the other hand?”

Wesley went tight-lipped. “Hunter is fine.”

“I do not doubt it,” Geoffrey murmured in placating tones. “But… I trust he’s of a similar pride and has a like desire to attain a greater role and place.”

Wesley’s shoulders lifted in a little shrug. “He can’t do that as long as Rafe is in charge of the mines.”

Geoffrey mentally filed that detail away. “And if Rafe was here…” He clarified, “In London.” With me. Assuming his rightful place.

“He would never come.” Wesley spoke with a bluntness that should have killed all hope. “He carries enough hatred…” His son grimaced.

For me.Geoffrey’s heart seized painfully.

“And he’s content enough with his life,” Wesley said.

“What about—?”

“I’m not helping you get them here,” Wesley interrupted. “If that is what you think to do. To use me so you can have a relationship with them. It isn’t going to happen.” A vein bulged in Wesley’s right temple. “I won’t be used by you.” The younger man made to leave, but Geoffrey hurried after, placing himself in his path.

He lifted his palms up, silently pleading with him to remain and hear him out. “I am not looking to use you. I didn’t know of your existence. Any of you. Had I? You may be assured that I would never have let any of you, not your mother, not your brothers, not your sister, suffer or struggle. I would have seen you cared for.”

“Would you have married my mother?” Wesley asked bluntly.

Geoffrey paused.

His son leveled a piercing gaze on him.

Once more, Geoffrey proceeded with care, ultimately knowing how close Wesley was to walking out. One wrong word would shatter the uneasy, but still comfortable, exchange they’d shared. In the end, Geoffrey opted for what he thought would matter most to the other man—the truth.

“I don’t know, Wesley,” he said simply. “I like to think I would have. But… I don’t know.” Unnerved by his son’s piercing stare, Geoffrey let his gaze drift back to his wedding portrait. “One can easily say I was a coward for letting my fear of being hurt again get in the way of potentially very real happiness.” He looked Wesley squarely in the eyes. “But I would have cared for your mother. I would have looked after her. I would have given her every part of myself that I was still able to give.” He paused, letting his words settle into the air around them. “Just as I would give Rafe, Hunter, and Cailin whatever I can of myself now.”

Wesley’s brow creased. “They wouldn’t want more.”

Geoffrey continued to hold his stare. “Do you really believe that?”

By the answering silence, Wesley might as well have spoken his concurrence aloud.

He sensed a wavering. He felt some great shift had occurred between them, and Geoffrey pressed that newfound connection. “Your brothers? They may very well be in a position to reject me and any offer of outside help. And honestly? They’d probably be fine.” Everything Wesley had revealed about Rafe’s rank and Hunter’s involvement with the mines run by his brother spoke to the character and strength of his elder brothers and their ability to survive in a harsh world. The idea of that, however, threatened to rip Geoffrey in two. “On the other hand, you do not need me to tell you what the world is like for women. It is different. It is harsh. And unfair.”

Wesley fisted his hands at his sides and gave a slight nod. “I’m well aware.”

“Then you’re also aware your sister would be best served coming to London and having a life here.”

“I don’t want to agree with you,” Wesley said tightly.

“And yet, you do.”

Wesley briefly closed his eyes and bobbed his head in a quick nod. “She should be here. Rafe will hate it,” he said on a rush. “But he’d also never allow her to come alone.”

Geoffrey stilled once more. “Then I’ll visit and explain—”

His son was already shaking his head. “He’ll never receive you. And if you try to explain anything, he’ll likely level you. He’s got a hot temper,” Wesley added.

A wry grin pulled at his lips. “I appreciate your honesty.” He proposed a different course. “Then I can send someone in my employ and—”

“He’ll never hear out an opinion on anything. He’s as stubborn as the mining day is long. He’s set in his ways. The only people who have a hope of reasoning with him are his siblings.”

Geoffrey arched forward. “Perhaps you are the one to reason with—”

“Not me.” Wesley glanced down. “My brother and I are… at odds over my decision to come to you. He won’t be receptive to anything I say.”

“Even if Rafe and Hunter reject all offers of help, I promise to find a way for Cailin.” Geoffrey patted the younger man on the shoulder, a gesture that felt so natural and one that his son didn’t pull away from, and emotion clogged his throat.

Wesley grunted. “Thank you. I—”

“Don’t thank me.” Geoffrey let his arm fall to his side. “I… have someone whom I believe might be able to offer some guidance on how best to extend that first connection and who’ll also help present Cailin, should she come.” When she came. Geoffrey had no intention of failing any of his children, and certainly not his daughter.

Wesley gave him a look. “Who?”

Oh, God.

He’d said too much and proceeded too quickly, so desperate to preserve this moment and the shared connection he’d formed with his son. Geoffrey considered a lie only briefly. “The woman I once knew…” His lips pulled. “That is…”

“The woman whom you were in love with?” His son spoke without inflection, and Geoffrey took heart and found hope enough to continue.

“Uh, yes. Lydia, the Countess of Chombley. She is recently widowed and has grown children of her owns. She has offered her support, and I know that means she’ll sponsor Cailin were she to come, and she’d also have an idea of how to hopefully bring her here.”

He tensed, braced for his son’s rejection, for the death knell of the truce they’d formed.

“You believe this countess will help your bastard children?”

“I know she will,” Geoffrey said. “I’ve already spoken to her, and she offered to help in any way.”

The young man’s brow dipped, creasing with confusion and giving him a boyish look and offering in a moment a hint of the serious child he’d no doubt been. “Indeed?”

He nodded.

Wesley cleared his throat. “If I might convey my thanks to her.”

Geoffrey’s heart paused. His son wished to meet Lydia. “I know she would very much like to meet you. If you would be open to speaking with her, I can arrange a meeting, just so that you can ascertain for yourself that she is the manner of person who will treat your siblings with kindness and the respect they deserve,” he hastily added.

“I… would like that, too,” Wesley said. “Thank—”

Geoffrey cut off the remainder of that gratitude. “Please, don’t thank me, Wesley. You’re my son,” he said simply.

The young man glanced at the floor, but not before Geoffrey caught the bright shine to his eyes, a shimmer that hinted at tears, and yet, when Wesley looked up a moment later, Geoffrey might as well have imagined that show of emotion.

With a quiet goodbye, Wesley headed for the doorway, and Geoffrey clasped his hands behind him and stared after his son.

Suddenly, Wesley stopped.

He turned back. The proud younger man stood there, silent, at apparent odds with himself.

Geoffrey could appreciate how impossible any of this—all of this—was for the other man. He’d no doubt spent the whole of his life hating Geoffrey, resenting him as the heartless duke who’d failed his mother. And Wesley, along with his brothers and sister, were right to every ill sentiment they had about him.

“They… probably would be fine,” Wesley said gruffly. “But they also don’t have the power they think they do. My brothers, that is. The mine owner is a bastard.” His lips quirked. “In the figurative sense.” But then that smile dropped. “He’ll squeeze every pence out of them and won’t think anything of tossing them over when he is done.”

Geoffrey went absolutely motionless. He was asking for help for his brothers. Despite his earlier statements to the contrary, he wanted them out of that world as much as Geoffrey did.

He’d found an unlikely ally in his son.

“I promise to do everything within my power to give them the life they are deserving of.”

Wesley inclined his head.

With that, his son left, and hope continued to blossom in Geoffrey’s chest. He’d made so many mistakes. Too many. And yet, within these past couple of days, it felt like he’d found an opportunity for a second chance.

With his son.

And with Lydia.

And Geoffrey was determined to not let either of them go. Never again.

Geoffrey smiled.