Duke of Arrogance, page 2
“I am so sorry, Arch.”
Jon sat in the chair, mute for minutes, watching his twin, each breath looking like a struggle.
“I should have worn a French letter,” Arch muttered and opened his eyes again. “You always do. And I’ve made fun of you for it. Called you a coward. You were always the smarter of us, Jon. Now, you will be the duke one day.”
Shock reverberated through him. “No!” he hissed. “You are meant to be Blackmore. Not me. Never me.”
Arch managed a dry chuckle. “What beautiful revenge on Father, me dying and you becoming his heir apparent. He hasn’t had a decent word to say to you in a good decade or more. Now, he will have to grovel while you’ll have to learn to be someone you never wanted to be.”
He leaned forward and placed his hand on his brother’s. Arch gasped in pain and Jon withdrew it.
“Sorry,” Arch apologized. “It hurts to be touched.”
“Elizabeth said she’s not allowed to come see you.”
“No. I don’t want her to think of me like this, Jon. She’s only six. The memory would stay with her forever. Take care of her. You always have. I know she favors you.”
He chuckled. “She’s the only one who does.”
Arch looked at him with tired eyes. “I know you have taken the brunt of my punishments. Gotten me out of many a scrape. Covered my tracks and made it look as if you were the guilty one too many times to count. At least your reward will be that you will be Blackmore. You’ll be better at it than I ever could.”
“Don’t say that, Arch,” he pleaded.
“It’s true. Just don’t be an ass to your second son like Father was to you. Love all your children. Not just your heir.”
“I don’t know if I want children.”
“You’ll have to provide an heir for the dukedom,” Arch pointed out.
Jon smirked. “Perhaps that would be my greatest revenge on Father as he burns in Hell. Letting it pass to someone not of his immediate blood.”
Arch closed his eyes again and they fell silent for some minutes. Finally, his twin opened his eyes again.
“I’ve waited for you to come home. I needed your help with one last thing.”
“Anything. I swear it.”
“It might cause you to join Father in Hell,” Arch warned.
Jon never hesitated. “Whatever you need, I will do it.”
“I am in a great deal of pain. Dr. Broll has left laudanum for me. It’s in the amber bottle.”
He turned and saw it. Standing, he retrieved it. “What do I do?”
Weariness blanketed Arch. “Broll has been putting a few drops in a cup of water.”
He looked over and saw a pitcher sitting on the table, a pewter cup next to it. Retrieving it, he poured water into it and asked, “How many drops?”
“Dump the contents into the glass,” Arch instructed.
Alarm filled him. “Arch, that would . . .” His voice trailed off as understanding filled him.
“Kill me.”
“Kill you.” Jon looked at his brother, the person who was a part of him, the one he loved more than anyone in the world. “Kill you,” he repeated.
“Please.” Arch’s eyes pleaded with him. “Please, Jon.”
He saw how much pain his twin was in and how he was the only one who could end Arch’s misery.
“Dr. Broll is certain you won’t improve?” he asked, wanting to be certain before he acted.
“Syphilis is a death sentence, Brother. Some can live with the symptoms for years but they never improve. Some go downhill rapidly, as I have. I cannot take the pain anymore, Jon. My sight is going. I fear my mind will be next. Already, things are fuzzy to me when I try to recall them. The headaches are excruciating. The sores throb and ache constantly. I lie here in my own urine and wish I was dead.
“Help me. Only you can.”
Indecision might render him useless. Jon thrust it aside, thinking of how much he loved Arch. He opened the bottle of laudanum and turned it upside down, emptying the contents into the cup. With a heavy heart, he handed it to his twin. Arch couldn’t hold it steady, even using both hands. Jon placed his hands around his brother’s and brought the drink of death to Arch’s mouth.
“Are you certain?”
“More than you could ever know.”
With a nod, Jon tilted the glass and Arch drank the entire contents. Jon pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his brother’s lips.
“Fill the bottle with some water,” Arch said. “It won’t fool Dr. Broll but he won’t say anything.”
“You told him I would help you?”
His brother nodded. “I told him you were my other half. That we share in everything.”
Jon sat on the bed, taking Arch’s hand. “You will always be with me. You know that.”
“I do. Go make something decent of yourself, Jon. I won’t be around to drag you down. Find good friends. Live an interesting life. Marry a woman who will challenge you. Have children.”
“No one could be a better friend than you, Arch. And if I do have a son, I will name him after you.” He smiled sadly. “That way an Archibald Sutton could one day become the Duke of Blackmore.”
He didn’t know if his brother heard his last words. His eyes closed and his breathing ceased. Jon waited a few minutes and then kissed the top of his brother’s head.
“Farewell, Archibald Sutton, Marquess of Grafton.”
Bringing the bedclothes up, he covered his twin and left the dower house. He would see what his father wanted. More importantly, he would never let the duke belittle him again. He would stand up and hold his ground.
Because now he stood for two. Himself and Arch. Forever and always.
Chapter Two
Jon went to the basin in the room and thoroughly washed his hands, not knowing if briefly touching Arch had spread the wicked disease to him. He doubted it but thought he should take the precaution nonetheless. Returning to the house, he found Elizabeth waiting for him in the foyer.
“Did you get to see Arch?” she asked anxiously.
He didn’t want to tell her that her brother was dead but knew it was better hearing it from him than anyone else.
Seeking privacy, he took her hand and said, “Let’s walk down to the stables. You can show me the pony you’ve been riding.”
He let her chatter on as they crossed the lawn and headed toward the stables. She told him about learning to read and that she could already add sums in double digits. She seemed to like her new governess but what she really wanted to do was learn to ride.
They entered the stables and he greeted the head groom. “Good afternoon, Mallory. I hear my sister is learning to ride. Who is teaching her?”
“It’s good to see you back, Lord Jonathan. And Lady Elizabeth has only had the one riding lesson with me.”
“Might I step in and help with those lessons?”
“Of course, my lord.” Mallory winked at Elizabeth. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, my lady? Your brother is a fine horseman. I’m happy to put you in his capable hands.”
Elizabeth’s eyes lit up and she stared at him in adoration. “You’ll really teach me yourself, Jon?”
“I will. You are the perfect age to start.”
“I already love horses.”
“She does, my lord,” Mallory seconded. “Lady Elizabeth comes to the stables every day and talks to every horse in its stall. She also likes to help me brush the gentler ones.”
“I hope Father doesn’t know about that.”
Mallory shrugged, a twinkle in his eyes. “We know not to bother His Grace with small matters.”
Unsaid was that the duke would have put a stop to Elizabeth’s visits. The thought of his daughter doing manual labor would have thoroughly disgusted him.
“I’ll take over the lessons for now,” he told his sister, “but if I’m not available, Mallory is an excellent teacher. He taught both Arch and me.” A lump formed in his throat at speaking his twin’s name.
“Come see my pony,” Elizabeth urged, taking his hand and dragging him along.
They visited the horse and several others before he said it was time to head back to the house. As they walked together, he knew he couldn’t put off the bad news any longer.
“Elizabeth, there is something I must tell you. About Arch.”
She stopped and gazed up at him. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
Jon nodded. “He was very, very sick.”
Her mouth set in a hard line. Suddenly, she looked years older. “I should have been able to see him. To tell him goodbye.”
“You should have,” he agreed. “But Arch didn’t want you to remember him that way.”
“He didn’t?” she questioned. “He said so?”
“We talked about you. He missed seeing you and loved you very much. But he’s gone now.”
She blinked several times, her eyes bright with tears, and then clasped him. “You won’t die, will you, Jon? If you did, I couldn’t stand it.”
He lifted her in his arms. “I am far too mean to die, little sister.”
“You aren’t mean,” she chided. “Arch could be mean sometimes. Not to me. But sometimes to others.”
“I know. But we still loved him, didn’t we? And we’ll go on loving him. He will always be a part of us.” He tapped his chest. “Here. Inside our hearts.”
He carried her back the rest of the way, her cheek against his chest. When they arrived at the house, he set her down.
“Go find your governess. I need to speak to Father.”
Elizabeth shuddered. “He’ll be angry.”
“I suppose he will. He loved Arch and now he is gone.”
“You’ll be the duke now, won’t you, Jon?”
“I will when Father is gone.”
“I hate him,” she said vehemently, surprising him.
“Why?”
“Because he doesn’t like you or me. He only liked Arch. He never wants to see me. He said I was a silly girl and he didn’t have time for girls.”
Jon smoothed her hair. “Fathers can be many things. Sometimes he is mean. Sometimes he is nice. We just happened to see more of the mean side of him.”
“You won’t be a mean father, will you?”
He laughed. “I may not be a father at all.”
Her eyes widened. “You have to. If you’re the duke, you have to have a boy so he can be the duke after you.”
It surprised him that at six, Elizabeth had already grasped the politics of the family.
“Well, I am only sixteen now though I’ll be seventeen shortly. I still must go to university and then I have years before I need to wed and have children.”
“I will be a good mother when I have children,” she proclaimed. “Even though my mother died, I think I can be a good one.”
He kissed the top of her head. “You will be a wonderful mother, Elizabeth. Off you go. I must speak to Father.”
He opened the door and watched as she skipped across the foyer and scampered up the steps. It saddened him that their father had cast her aside. He thought, in part, it might be because Elizabeth favored their mother so. She’d died giving birth to her daughter. Knowing the duke, he held Elizabeth responsible for her mother’s death. Jon vowed to keep a close eye on his sister and make sure she had both attention and affection from him since she lacked receiving either from her only parent.
Turning to the footman in the foyer, he asked, “Do you know where His Grace is?”
“He was in the library the last I knew, Lord Jonathan.”
“Would you send for Dr. Broll? I need to see him at once. It’s most urgent.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Jon nodded and proceeded upstairs. He entered the library and saw his father seated in a chair, gazing out the window. Slowly, the duke turned his gaze upon his son.
“You were to come to me when you arrived home.” His wintry tone could have frozen the lake at Blackstone Manor.
“I needed to see Arch first.”
His father’s features softened for a moment before they twisted. He glared at his son, his ire obvious.
“You are to obey me, Jonathan. In everything. Without question.”
“You are not a general. I am not your foot soldier. I spent far too long being afraid of you. I was fearful of the beatings you dispensed and yet still longing to impress you. Hoping for a single look or a kind word. When I stopped caring what you thought or said, it was quite liberating.”
“You insolent, ignorant—”
“I’d wait on listing so many derogatory adjectives. Especially when you describe your heir.”
His words were like a slap in the face. His father went from stunned to grief-stricken in a matter of seconds. For a moment, Jon wanted to comfort him. He held his ground, though, knowing the duke would recover. As expected, he did, and turned his venom on his only remaining son.
“You are worthless as an heir,” Blackmore lashed out. “You look like Archibald and, yet, you are nothing like him. My son is good and kind and smart and wonderful.”
Jon kept silent. There was no need to blacken his twin’s name. Even if he told his father what Arch could be like, the duke never would have believed him. He’d favored his heir from the very beginning.
“The tutors at Harrow would tell you that I am intelligent,” he pointed out. “Athletic, as well. I may not be the duke that Arch could have been but I sure as hell will be better at it than you. I can’t help it that you took my brother to a place where a whore gave him syphilis. I cannot change the fact that he was in agony until he took his last breath. And yes, I got to speak to him before he died. I might have missed that opportunity if I had come to see you first.”
His father leaped from his chair and slapped Jon. The sting his face felt was nothing compared to the curses that sprang from the duke’s lips. He berated Jon, calling him vile and useless, telling him he would disown him if he could.
Finally, Blackmore collapsed into a nearby chair. “I loved Archibald. I gave everything I had to him. He was my heir. My hope for the future. You are a worthless nothing. I hate you. I never want to . . .”
Jon had already turned to leave, not wanting to listen to the continuing tirade. He spun around, however, and saw his father sputtering. His eyes went wild. His left hand clutched the right arm and shook it. Then he slid from the chair and hit the floor. Jon returned and knelt as his father tried to speak—and couldn’t.
Calmly, he said, “You have suffered at attack of apoplexy, Father. I had a friend at school whose uncle suffered one. He was bedridden for years, one side of his body paralyzed. That could be you. Or you might go quickly. Knowing you, you will want to be with Arch.”
He rose. “I’d already sent for Dr. Broll so he could confirm Arch was gone. I will see that he tends to you, as well.”
Leaving the library, he met up with Roy and said, “His Grace has fallen ill. He will need several footmen to carry him to his chambers. Dr. Broll should already be on his way back to Blackstone Manor. We lost my brother today.”
The butler’s face betrayed no emotion. “I’ll see to His Grace at once, my lord.”
Dr. Broll arrived an hour later. By then, the duke had been taken to his bedchamber, unable to speak and only moving his left hand. His mouth drooped to one side, drool dribbling down his chin.
Jon rose from his chair by the bedside and greeted the physician.
“I believe my father has suffered a sudden attack which may be apoplexy. And during my visit with my brother, he passed on.”
A look of understanding passed between the two men and the physician said, “It was not unexpected. Lord Grafton was very ill. I know he was comforted in getting to see his brother a final time before he moved on.”
“We had a good conversation,” Jon confirmed. “He was at peace when he went.”
“Let me examine His Grace.”
Dr. Broll went to the bed as Jon crossed the room and stood next to the window. He gazed out on the rolling green lawn as he heard the doctor ask several questions. His father could only grunt a response. Despite the horrible treatment he had received over the years from the duke, inwardly, Jon flinched. It didn’t take a doctor to tell him that the once larger than life Duke of Blackmore had been reduced to nothing in a matter of seconds—and that he would never recovery his robust health again.
After several minutes, the physician called to him and Jon returned, coming to his father’s bedside, Broll facing him on the opposite side.
“His Grace’s condition is very serious, Lord Grafton.”
Jon tried not to react, hearing himself referred to by his brother’s title for the first time. A title that was now his. It seemed surreal to think he was now Lord Grafton, a peer with a title. A man who was heir to a dukedom.
“What can be done for him?” he asked, looking to the bed and seeing his father’s gaze fixed upon him, his eyes full of hostility even now as he lay helplessly in the bed. For his part, Jon could only ignore it. He’d grown rather good at ignoring his father the past few years.
He turned back and saw Dr. Broll had witnessed the silent exchange between father and son. Pity filled the physician’s eyes, making Jon angry. He tamped down his ire, knowing to express it would serve no purpose.
“His Grace can be kept comfortable,” the physician said. “Eating will be a challenge since I doubt he can chew. Many peers who find themselves in this position have their valets act as a nurse to them. If His Grace chooses not to do so, I can recommend—”
The doctor’s words were interrupted by wild grunts from the duke. Seeing he had their attention, he tried to speak. Only garbled noise came out, frustrating him further. He attempted to shake his head.
“How long does he have, Doctor?” Jon asked.
“It’s hard to say, my lord. I have seen men live for years in this state.”
A whimper came from the bed. He forced himself to look upon his father, now defeated, and saw him go limp, as if he’d given up. His eyes closed. It looked as if his breathing halted.
