Jane Lark - The Scandalous Love of a Duke

A twinkle in his eye, Edward said, “Son,” and gripped John’s shoulders firmly. The man had always treated John as a real son, no different to Mary or Robbie or the rest. “I’m glad you are back.” Edward’s grip fell away.

Robbie then began urging his father for agreement on their outing to Tats.

~

John was woken by a sharp rap on his bedchamber door. He sat up and threw the sheet aside from where it had lain across his hips.

“My Lord,” a low voice called.

“Yes, what is it?” John was already swinging his legs from the bed and rising.

“His Grace, my Lord. The physician believes there is not much time. He sent me to fetch you.”

“I’ll be there in a moment,” John called back, instantly shifting to search for his clothes in the dark room.

It felt bizarre to be here. It had felt odd to see his grandfather ill, and now… It was like a dream, not a nightmare though. He only felt emptiness inside, not fear.

Finding his trousers, he slid them on now his eyes had adjusted to the dark.

The family had taken supper together before they’d left, sitting at the long dining table en masse in an impromptu, informal meal. It had felt like a celebration. The only quiet person was his grandmother, who’d sat at the far end of the table as John was encouraged to take his grandfather’s place.

Perhaps it was wrong to have held such a gathering while his grandfather lay on his deathbed, but John had appreciated the gesture and the jovial conversation, even though at times he kept feeling the axis within him shift as though he was poorly balanced.

He pulled his shirt over his head.

He’d said goodnight to his grandfather, as had the others before they’d left, one by one, and he’d wondered then, how long.

Hours .

He sat and pulled on his stockings.

God, this world felt strange to him – strange and a little surreal.

When John left his room, the hall was morbidly silent and the statues seemed like sombre mourners.

John gently knocked on the door of his grandfather’s chambers. “It is the Marquess of Sayle.”

The door opened and a footman bowed. “My Lord.”

His grandmother sat in the chair John had occupied earlier, her hand resting over his grandfather’s. She looked across her shoulder at John. “John.” Her voice was heavy with emotion, though he knew their marriage had never been a love match. For her it had been more like endurance.

John stood behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders.

There were three footmen in the room, his grandfather’s valet and the physician.

“His Grace’s heartbeat is very weak,” the physician said quietly. “He is unconscious.”

John nodded acceptance and then his eyes fell to the bed – to the man who’d always been a significant figure in John’s life. Even during the years he’d hidden from that influence abroad, he’d still been the Duke’s heir. He’d never been able to escape that.

The old man was barely breathing, weak and wraith-like.

John took a deep breath, stepped about his grandmother, leant forwards and rested a hand on his grandfather’s shoulder, then pressed a kiss on his cold brow.

“Goodbye. I never thought I would miss you, but I shall,” John whispered, before rising.

The Duke had probably not been able to hear it, there was no sign that he did, yet John felt better for saying those words. They were true.

The old man passed away in moments, as John stood with his grandmother, watching.

The room fell completely silent when the Duke of Pembroke took his last breath.

John’s grandmother rose and leant to kiss the Duke’s cheek, tears slipping from her eyes.

John felt only emptiness, oddness, a lacking…

When she drew back, the physician walked past them both and lifted John’s grandfather’s wrist, checking for a pulse. Then he bent and listened for breath, before finally rising and drawing the sheet up and over the old man’s face.

John’s grandmother turned sharply and John opened his arms to her.

While he held her, the men about the room bowed and his grandfather’s valet said, “Your Grace.”

John felt the ground shift sideways beneath his feet. He’d known this day would come. But God , it was strange now it was here. I am the Duke of Pembroke . This house, everything in it, and several more like it, acres and acres of land and the tenants living and working upon that land were all his to manage and care for.

Standing on the lea beside Westminster Abbey, Katherine watched as the procession neared.

The coffin was displayed in a black hearse pulled by six jet horses, with black dyed ostrich feathers bobbing on their heads as they trotted with high, precise, perfect steps. Their manes and tails were plaited and tied with black ribbon.

Gripping her reticule with both hands and holding it more tightly, Katherine took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding.

As the hearse drew to a halt, she lifted to her toes to see over the gathered crowd. She would swear half of London was in attendance to view the pomp and ceremony of the old Duke of Pembroke’s funeral. All she could see of John, as he climbed from his open carriage behind the hearse, was his head and shoulders.

Her heart ached.

She watched him move alongside his uncles to release and lift the coffin.

A rush of pain and longing spilled from her heart into her limbs. It was so long since she’d seen him but her reaction was the same as it had been more than half a dozen years before. The rhythm of her heart rang like a hammer against her ribs.

Her brother, Phillip, gripped her elbow, to stop her being knocked off balance by the crowd. He could have gone into the Abbey, but women were not to attend funerals and he’d promised to stay with her.

Katherine’s heart continued to thump hard as John and his uncle’s passed them.

The crowd swelled then as people moved in a crush to enter the Abbey and stand at the back.

Katherine waited outside with Phillip, her heart racing, so very aware of the chasm which stood between her and John. Yet she’d snatched at the chance to see him when Phillip had said he was going to come to the funeral. She’d read of the old Duke’s death and John’s return in the paper only days ago and she could hardly believe John had finally come back. She was still hopelessly in love with him, or rather with her dreams of him. She could hardly claim to know him now. She hadn’t seen him in years.

When his family filed back out of the Abbey, John was at the front and she could see his face as many of the crowd were still inside. He looked different. He’d matured. He’d travelled the world and seen things she would never see, experienced things she could never imagine. She was an inane, provincial nobody compared to him.

She felt as though she stood in a tragedy, and she mourned. But it was not for the loss of the former Duke, it was for the loss of any hope. Her feelings would never be reciprocated. She would never have John. It had just been a childish dream she couldn’t shake off. She had always known who he was – and what he was.

He walked past them. Though there were three or four people standing in front of her, she still had a clear view.

He looked unbearably, breathtakingly handsome, with his pitch-black hair and pale crystalline gaze, and there was strength in his sculpted features which drew the eye. Behind her, a dozen female whispers concurred with her view.

Katherine dropped her head and hid beneath the brim of her bonnet when John’s gaze passed across the crowd. Not that he would remember her, or even care that she was here.

Phillip gripped her arm.

He thought she’d come because John had been a close friend for a number of years and she wished to support him. It was why Phillip was here.