Page 10 of Stolen By the Duke of Stone

Andrew lowered himself into the chair in his study, his solicitor already lifting a briefcase onto the desk. The spare man looked as though he had altogether too many things to do and too little to eat.

“What have you found, Mr. Pritchard?” Andrew rubbed at his temples.

Mr. Pritchard pushed a piece of paper across the table. “Walter Kinley, your cousin on your father’s side. He is recently deceased, and his wife passed from childbirth a handful of weeks ago. I think, given the circumstances, it seems perfectly reasonable that you might have claimed the boy as your ward.”

“Walter,” Andrew mused. The man was a few years older, and they had never been close, but he had always had the importance of family hammered into his head from the day of his own birth. The world expected such things from him. “I assume you can handle the paperwork?”

“Oh yes, Your Grace. I shall get on that at once.” He retrieved the paper with Walter’s details written across it.

Andrew had barely scanned them; he recalled enough about Walter that he could be certain the man would stand up to scrutiny as William’s deceased father.

Once William’s legitimacy could be settled, nothing else mattered. The boy would soon have his name, and he would take him in, making him his heir. That was the least he could do for Rebecca.

His solicitor shut the briefcase with a click. “Is there anything else you require, Your Grace?”

“That is everything.” Andrew leaned back in his seat, eyeing the other man. “I presume you understand the importance of discretion.”

“Not a word about this matter shall leave my lips, and once I have completed the task, I will personally burn all documents relating to it.”

“Good.” Andrew rang for his butler.

A new thing, this. As a child, of course, he had grown up in a house full of servants, but they had all answered to his father and mother. Now, this house of servants all answered to him and him alone, their loyalty to him as their new lord and master.

A duke. He would soon have to accustom himself to this new position. All the ways he would protect the family name and interests as his father had not. He would protect what was his, the way he had failed to protect Rebecca.

Still, he knew how things were done, which was why he had invited his solicitor to his house rather than visiting the solicitor’s office. A duke would never take such things upon himself when he could compel the obedience of others.

His father had taught him that.

Foxwell, his butler, opened the door. “Your Grace.”

“Allow Foxwell to take you out,” Andrew said to Pritchard, “and he will ensure you receive the full payment.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Pritchard rose and left the room, the butler in tow.

Andrew linked his fingers together, hoping by God that he had done the right thing by the child.

“Lady Temperance Sutton and Lady Marwich to see you, miss,” the maid said, bobbing a curtsy.

Then, she allowed the two ladies to enter the small drawing room where Jessamine currently sat, doing her best to occupy herself with a book. William had just gone down for a nap, and she had been enjoying—or trying to enjoy—a little solitude before he inevitably woke and began crying again.

“Jessamine,” Lady Marwich said, sweeping in with more than a little pomp and grandeur. “How are you faring?”

“Yes,” Temperance said, smiling slightly as she entered the room slightly after Lady Marwich. “I hope you’re not too tired.”

“Oh, she’ll be tired if I know anything about newborns,” Lady Marwich said sagely.

Jessamine rose to greet them. “I’m not so bad. Do you have any news?”

“As it happens, we do.” Lady Marwich sat. “The duke’s father.”

“Knightford?”

“As was, yes. He died rather suddenly, which necessitated the current duke to return home, because he had a commission in the army. He is the second-born son, not the heir. Carriage accident.” Lady Marwich pronounced the words with deliberation. “Father and son together.”

“Foul play?” Jessamine asked, eyes wide.

“Not that we can establish, though I have my eyes and ears out. But the one most likely to have a motive is the one least likely to have orchestrated such a thing. From what I understand, he was a lieutenant in the army, and distinguished himself well. He did not have time to gallivant about the country orchestrating accidents. No, it was merely a stroke of…well, shall I say good fortune?”