A Duke's Duty (The Duke's Club Book 2) Read online

  The man appeared to be older than Methuselah with wispy white hair and brown age spots covering his arms. The Sixth Duke of Oxford had become an old man.

  “You directed I come, Your Grace,” Jack said as he stood at attention. Just once in his life, he wished he could call the man father.

  The old Duke studied him for a long moment. His eyes were clear and intelligent. While his body might be failing, his mind was still there. Jack sighed internally. For some unknown reason, he was pleased to realize he would be dealing with his father and not some unaware husk.

  Frowning, the old man retrieved a piece of paper from amongst the pile on his bed. “Cape Santa Maria,” he read. “1804, HMS Providence, your first command.”

  Jack’s stomach clenched up as he remembered the day. “Only temporarily sir. As the second mate, I was the senior officer remaining. It was my duty to assume command.”

  The Duke grunted as he continued to read. “At twenty years of age, you took command and instead of retreating with a heavily damaged ship and depleted crew, you returned to the fight and led a boarding party to take a French Brig.”

  Jack remained at attention, what could he say. His father was factually correct.

  The Duke continued without looking up from the paper. “Instead of staying with the ship when you reached the yards and overseeing her repairs. You somehow convinced the Admiralty to give you command of a new vessel and send you back out there.”

  Jack stood even straighter, “Yes sir, The White Tern, the fastest ship with the best crew in the Navy.”

  The old man smiled just slightly as he continued to read. “Two frigates, a brig, a sloop, and numerous merchants’ vessels have been captured or sunk by the White Tern. Is that correct?”

  “Three Frigates, Sir, I have not yet submitted my formal report to the Admiralty for the latest action.”

  The Duke of Oxford sighed heavily as he finally glanced up from the paper in his hands. “I think you will agree, sending you to sea was one of my better decisions. It appears you were born for it. Probably from your mother’s side.”

  Jack bit back a nasty response. It had been years of war. Men killed. His men. The old man acted as if it had been nothing but a game. And somehow the success was due to his father’s wise decisions and his mother’s ancestry. Jack forced himself to remain calm. The man would never change and it was too late to try to change him now.

  “Yes, Sir,” Jack said, agreeing with the Duke’s assessment.

  “It is a shame you will have to give it all up. It appears the British Navy is going to lose an excellent Captain. But Captains are easy to replace. Not so much Dukes.”

  Jack rocked back on his heels as if he’d just received a French broadside. What did the man mean, give up the sea, give up command? Never. They’d have to pry his cold dead hands from the helm before he gave up his ship.

  “Sir?” he asked. “Why would I lose command of my ship. I believe I have earned the right. There is nothing in my record that brings shame to the Navy, or might I add, to your name. I have repeatedly proved myself in battle. No, I will not be giving up my ship.”

  The Duke laughed slightly and shook his head. “It is not your ship. It belongs to His Majesty.”

  A burning anger began to build inside of Jack. This man had dictated so much of his early life all while never actually participating in that life. And now he was going to try and do it again. Well, he didn’t care what the man wanted. If necessary, Jack would resign his commission and enlist as a common sailor. Nothing could keep him away from fighting the French. He had lost too many men. Too many friends.

  “Sir, I do not understand. Why must I give up command?”

  The old Duke sighed heavily. “Because Prinny has dictated that peers not serve in battle. At least not those from old and distinguished families.”

  Jack frowned as he fought to understand. He wasn’t a dull man but none of this made any sense.

  Seeing his continued confusion, the Duke smiled and said, “I have arranged for you to be recognized and eventually you will receive my title. Rather soon if the doctors are correct.”

  It was as if a strong gale had appeared without warning. What did the man mean?

  “I have no legitimate heir,” the Duke continued. “The last remaining distant cousin died earlier this year in a mishap with an angry bull. Therefore, I either find an heir rather quickly or the title reverts to the crown. I have three unwed sisters, the witches’ coven, I call them. They are dependent upon me and the allowance I give them. If the crown gets the title, then what of them?”

  “But, Sir,” Jack stammered. “I am a bastard. It isn’t allowed.”

  The Duke shook his head. “Actually, it is, the right conditions and with the crown’s approval. As I said, I will formally recognize you as my son. You will take my name. You will become the Marquis of Newcastle and eventually will be the seventh Duke of Oxford.”

  Jack stared at him. his mouth open in disbelief.

  “Your aunts must agree, of course. Prinny does not wish any disagreement in the family. But as I mentioned, your aunts have little choice. They will sign the document. A rather specific privilege for women, don’t you think? They should be honored the Regent is taking their agreement into account.

  Jack froze as his mind whirled. He had always wanted this man’s recognition. Not for the title, but simply so he could hold his head high. All he had ever wanted was a father’s approval.

  “Sir, I never wished for the title.”

  The Duke scoffed, “Regardless. You will be the next Duke. It is your duty and you will conduct yourself accordingly.”

  Jack cringed inside. His ship. His future. He had lost everything. And still, the old man didn’t truly want him. He had become the only, and last, option.

  Chapter Three

  Young Lady Abigail Dupont tried to hide her limp as she approached the old biddies of the ton. That fleeting look of pity on their faces always sent a sharp shudder through her. No other young woman would spend their evening sitting to the side. No, they would be dancing and flirting. Enjoying themselves. The last thing she needed was more pity.

  Pushing back a deep pain of regret, she gently lowered herself to the chair next to Lady Isobel Osborn and her two sisters, Mary and Elizabeth. Each of the three sisters had been pillars of the ton for over forty years. They sat there in their chairs and pronounced who would be accepted and who would not.

  “Are you well?” Lady Mary asked with that look of pity that she had so feared. For the last nine years. Ever since the age of twelve, she had become very familiar with that look. The look that said it was such a shame for someone so young to lose every opportunity all because of an accident.

  “I am very well, thank you,” Abigail replied as she twisted and hooked her cane on the back of her chair.

  All three sisters smiled gently then returned to perusing the room. That was what the outsiders did. Watched the others. Watched and occasionally commented with biting observations. A poor fashion choice, a misstep in family politics. Anything that could hurt a woman’s chance of finding a good match.

  Abigail smiled while she ground her back teeth. A talent she had learned at an early age. This was her life. On the outside looking in. Why did she even come to these things?

  Because this was the only game in town she thought with an internal smile.

  For the last four seasons, ever since she had turned seventeen, she had attended the ton’s galas. People had been confused at first, it was obvious that she would never marry. A woman from a minor family with almost no dowry. A woman who was lame, who walked with a cane at twenty-one, barely able to make her way across the room, let alone dance.

  No, she knew the truth. But she refused to sulk and hide. She belonged here as much as anyone. Sighing internally, she lifted her chin and refused to show her true thoughts.

  “Who’s that?” Lady Mary said with a nudge and a nod to the entrance to the ballroom.

  Abigail looked
up and froze. A tall, very handsome Naval captain was talking to the Duke of Bedford and his new wife.

  “I don’t know,” Abigail said as her brow narrowed with focus. She prided herself on knowing everyone who was anyone in the ton. What else did she have to do at these things? This striking man with black hair, light blue eyes and very wide shoulders had never attended a ton event before or she would surely remember him.

  Who was he? she wondered as she watched him scowl at the Duke next to him. Strange, she thought. Most people were careful around such a powerful man as the Duke of Bedford. This man acted as if he were angry and didn’t care who knew it.

  The furrowed brow, the strong chin set in stone, the way the man shook his head when told something by the Duke. Everything spoke of a man who knew his own mind. A man of action, not politics.

  Abigail felt her heart jump as he looked out over the room and his gaze locked with hers. For just a short second she forgot her world. It was as if everything sloughed away and it was just this man and her.

  Her Grace, the Duchess of Bedford said something and pulled his attention away. Abigail felt a loss. A disappointment deep inside of her. Then the memory of her situation returned and she felt a sadness fill her as she thought of the opportunity lost to her.

  “If we don’t know him,” Lady Elizabeth said, “Then he shouldn’t be here. Lady Blythe will be very upset, she prides herself on an exclusive guest list.”

  Arabella glanced up to make sure the strange man was not watching, then used her hands to shift her leg to a more comfortable position.

  “I don’t know,” Lady Isobel said. “The way that man looks in his uniform. I am rather sure that several of the young ladies here tonight will be pleased with his attendance.”

  Lady Elizabeth scoffed and waved her hand dismissively. That was so like her, Abigail thought. The most hidebound of any woman she knew. The woman was the ultimate stickler for protocol, decorum, and most of all, not bringing shame to one’s self or one’s family.

  Abigail set aside her thought about the woman and focused on the man without being obvious. The way he stood, the tanned skin and the set of his shoulders told her that this was a man of the sea. Not a functionary at the Admiralty.

  And so young to be wearing the insignia of Captain. Again, she wondered who he was and why she had never seen him before.

  The man bent a little to hear Her Grace say something as she pointed across the room in their general direction.

  He nodded, grimaced, then bent over her hand before starting for them. Abigail’s heart jumped as both the man and the Duke of Bedford came towards them. He was even younger than she had thought. Mid-twenties, yet his eyes held a steady intensity that surprised her. What had this man seen and done? she wondered.

  It was obvious they were steering towards the three sisters, yet the man gave her a quick glance with a strange look before returning to focusing on the older ladies next to her.

  Of course, Abigail thought to herself. A man such as this would never be concerned with someone like herself.

  The Duke of Bedford bowed towards the three sisters. “Ladies,” he began, “may I introduce Captain Jack Hardy.

  Lady Elizabeth gasped and brought her hand to her throat. Both Mary and Isobel frowned, obviously upset. “Really, Your Grace …” Lady Elizabeth said with obvious anger. Abigail noticed that she did not address the young man next to the Duke. An obvious cut.

  The Captain’s scowl threatened to turn to a smile, but he bit it back quickly before bowing at the waist.

  Lady Isobel leaned over to Abigail and whispered, “Oxford’s bastard.”

  Abigail gasped, causing the Captain to look at her with a quick frown before returning his attention to the three older women next to her.

  “Ladies,” he began, “the Duke of Oxford sends his compliments and requests you attend him tomorrow.”

  All three of the older ladies continued to frown as they fought with themselves internally as to whether to reply or not. Abigail wanted to yell at them. How dare they cut this man simply because of his birth.

  “How is our brother?” Lady Isabell asked obviously deciding that propriety would be upheld if she was only asking as to her brother’s welfare. No one could criticize her. It was also that her question was asked because of her obvious concern. She had always been the nicer of the three, Abigail thought.”

  “Not well, My Lady,” he replied. Abigail was surprised to see no hint of concern or worry in the man’s tone. Was he that cold?

  “Why does he wish to see us?” Lady Elizabeth asked. “Normally, he despises our mere presence.”

  The tall Captain finally smiled, just a tad. “I believe he intends to announce his intention to recognize me as his heir.”

  A deathly silence fell over the group as all three older women turned pale.

  “Never,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath.

  To this, Jack Hardy simply shrugged. But Abigail could tell. He was neither impressed, nor cared as to their opinion on the matter. In fact, she was rather positive the man never concerned himself with anyone’s opinion.

  Then, her heart jumped when he glanced at her for longer than was appropriate. His eyes taking her in and holding her in place, spellbound.

  Who was this man and why, oh why was she lame? For the first time, her heart broke as she actually realized all she had lost or might never have.

  .o0o.

  Jack Hardy squared his shoulders as he turned away and started to leave the three old bats, otherwise known as his aunts. The cold look in their eyes and obvious distress at being introduced to their brother’s bastard was a memory he would not soon forget.

  Perhaps this title might be a good thing after all. If it upset their view of the world it wouldn’t be all bad. Of course, no sooner had the thought flashed into his mind than he remembered all he would be giving up. The White Tern was ever more valuable than upsetting three old women.

  “That went better than I thought it would,” Brock, the Duke of Bedford said as he rested a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

  Jack scoffed but decided not to fight the man on the issue.

  “Ian and Duncan are never going to believe this,” the Duke said as he shook his head.

  “Well, at least now,” Jack replied, “the Duke’s club will be legitimate.”

  Brock smiled widely. “We were always legitimate. The difference now is that you get to share the agony of Parliament and these things.” The Duke waved his arm taking in the ball and all of the people associated with this world. “In addition, no more sailor haunts by the docks. We’ll have to get you a membership at White’s.”

  Jack frowned, “I will be avoiding these things like a hidden reef. As for Parliament, Liverpool might not enjoy my opinion. I can assure you, it will not align with most of the Lords. And you won’t get me into White’s with a belaying pin upside my head.”

  Brock studied him for a moment, then smiled with relief. “Oh, my good boy, you have so much to learn.”

  “As I remember,” Jack said, “I am several months older than you and with my new title, you should refrain from addressing me as boy. After all, it was you who let himself become ensnared by a beautiful woman.”

  The Duke threw his head back and erupted with a deep belly laugh. “Oh, Jack, I am going to enjoy this. Once the mothers get a whiff of your title and all your father’s money, there isn’t a young woman who won’t be throwing herself at you. It will be a miracle if you survive three months.”

  Jack’s insides turned over at the thought of one of these women of the ton trapping him into matrimony. No, never.

  No sooner than he had the thought than the picture of the young woman sitting next to his aunt Isobel invaded his awareness. He had noticed her not long after stepping into the room. There was always something about intelligent brunets. Especially ones with high cheekbones and a hint of … awareness about her that made him wonder who she was.

  Chapter Four

  The clock s
truck noon when Carmichael opened the door and announced the three aunts. Jack took a deep breath but remained standing by the far window. This was his father’s battle, not his.

  Each of the elderly women shot him a quick glance before approaching his father’s sickbed.

  “Oxford,” Elizabeth said with a stern expression.

  “Brother,” Mary added.

  “Benjamin,” Isobel said softly as she tried to take his hand.

  His father pulled his hand away before it could be captured. As he did, he slowly studied the three women before him. Jack almost smiled to himself. The last time he had experienced this much tension and awkwardness, a French captain was deciding whether to surrender or not.

  “The boy told you of my intentions,” his father said. Staring up at them daring them to disagree. Jack found it surprising. The three sisters were several years younger than his father. Was that the issue? Had they supplanted his grandmother’s affection?

  See, this was one of the many problems with not truly being a part of the family. It was impossible to read the undercurrents and hidden shoals.

  “Really, Oxford,” Elizabeth said as she straightened her back. The dynamic was obvious, the other sisters let the oldest lead the way. “Is this wise?” she continued. “You do realize the family will become the talk of the town. Every parlor, every dance…”

  His father waved a frail arm about as if he were dismissing an annoying gnat. “We are nobility, we do not fret over other people’s opinion.”

  “But the Queen,” Mary interjected. “She will be so disappointed in us.”

  His father scoffed. “If she was worried about scandal, she should have done a better job raising those boys of hers.”

  “Brother,” Mary exclaimed as she brought her hand to her mouth. Jack could tell that she was one of those people who could not abide negative comments about the royals. After all, his own family’s power and wealth were due to some ancient king or queen bestowing honor and glory on one of their ancestors.