her to give up her interests to devote herself to him either. Not that he could afford one, but his aunt and uncle’s marriage was bigger than the usual society match and no wonder they sacrificed so much to make it happen. How wrong to visualise the wife he couldn’t have as dark haired and possessed of a pair of fine green-blue eyes and the warmly irresistible smile Miss Winterley saved for best. She wouldn’t have him if he had stayed the rich grandson of a duke instead of a barely solvent ex-army officer and it was high time he forgot her.
‘Nearly forgot to give you this, Colm.’ His uncle interrupted his thoughts, offering him a tightly sealed letter. ‘Farenze’s man brought it here with your real name on. Thought you wouldn’t want it sent on to Derneley House.’
‘No indeed, thank you,’ he replied as he eyed the crisply folded letter with his lordship’s seal stamped emphatically in the wax and wondered how he’d given himself away. Did he look like his father? Colm wondered, a little bit horrified by the idea and it was too long since he last saw him to know. The Derneleys hadn’t seen through Mr Carter’s plain old clothes to Lord Chris’s son underneath so perhaps he didn’t, but they would never truly look at a servant. A shrewd man like the Viscount might have seen Hancourt traits in him, but the idea felt disturbing.
‘Do you mind if I read this right away, your Grace?’
‘No more of that, lad. Be obliged if you’d call me Uncle Horace. When someone your Graces me, I still think they’re talking to my father or Gus. Makes me shudder if you want the truth.’
‘Me, too,’ Colm admitted.
‘Both tyrants, but they’re dead now,’ said the Sixth Duke with a furtive look round as if to make sure. ‘Had the devil of a job persuading Barbara to marry me because of them and she’s been the making of me. You should find yourself a fine girl with a mind of her own to make you happy after all you went through in Spain and Belgium.’
‘I doubt if I could persuade her to see past my father’s scandal and my empty pockets.’
‘Nonsense, a lady of character will see what a fine fellow you are and never mind the rest.’
The only lady of character he wanted to know that dearly was uniquely designed not to be able to see past who he was, so Colm shook his head, then turned Lord Farenze’s letter over as if that might tell him what the man had to say to Lord Chris’s son without him having to open it. Stay away from my daughter you lying rogue? His heart sank at the idea she knew who he really was and still played the game of pretending he was Carter. Had she and Miss Revereux laughed together about his credulity after their misadventure? Stop torturing yourself and read the confounded thing, his inner officer ordered impatiently.
‘Go and read it before you wear it out, lad. Oh, and your Aunt Barbara has sent for a tailor; he’s to wait on you today so he’ll probably be here soon. Don’t argue, my boy, Barb says she can’t endure dining with a nephew dressed like a curate much more than a week. The man’s to send his bill to me, so don’t argue about that either. Consider it a uniform if you won’t accept it as a gift to my nephew.’
‘I had to pay for my uniform,’ Colm objected half-heartedly.
‘Then take a few decent clothes in the spirit we offer them,’ his uncle said wearily. ‘Dashed if I ever came across anyone as poker-backed as you are.
‘Thank you then, it will be a relief not to worry about paying my tailor,’ Colm said and wished it was really a joke as he wandered upstairs, past his bedchamber and the chance of meeting that tailor before he’d had chance to put Mr Hancourt back together, then up more stairs to the bare rooms where the last Duke grudgingly housed him and Nell until they were old enough for school.
It looked the same as ever; no need to make it bright and comfortable for children his uncle and aunt didn’t have. Colm wondered fleetingly if he might be Duke of Linaire himself one day if Uncle Maurice’s wife kept producing daughters. It wasn’t a prospect he relished, even if he and Nell would have half a dozen old-fashioned homes to choose from. He liked the Duke and the Duchess and would rather have the modest house and a wife to make it a home he had dreamed of when trying to sleep on a bare mountainside or as he and his men were waiting for battle.
Colm went to the governess’s desk and extracted a penknife to slip under Lord Farenze’s seal. He should have known the man was too shrewd to take anyone at face value, but what did the Viscount want? He’d best read the letter instead of staring at it as if it might bite. Addressed in a bold, impatient hand, it was a masterpiece of distant politeness. They had matters to discuss arising from certain documents delivered to Lord Farenze. Since his lordship now knew who Colm was, they probably did as well. Tempted to wait until he had new clothes and looked a little more gentlemanly, Colm limped up to his room and wrote out an offer to call on his lordship tomorrow morning instead.
‘Mr Carter, my lord,’ the Viscount’s stately butler announced Colm solemnly the next day.
‘Come in, Carter, and bring burgundy, please, Oakham,’ Lord Farenze said as if it was quite normal to offer his good wine to a humble clerk.
‘Good morning, my lord,’ Colm said quietly.
‘Don’t stand in the corner like a nervous sheepdog, man, take a seat,’ his host ordered him impatiently.
‘Thank you, my lord,’ Colm said and did as he was bid.
‘Should I feel rebuked by your faux humility?’
‘Of course not, my lord. What right has Mr Carter to correct the manners of his elders and betters?’
‘Oh, touché; you learnt more than you want to admit in your old employment.’
‘Old employment, my lord? What work could a humble clerk do to teach him to be bold?’
‘Recently healed scars and a halt in a man’s step are all too common since Waterloo, so pretending the whole business was nothing to do with you attracts attention rather than deflecting it, Hancourt and you will have to resume your true identity under your uncle’s roof, won’t you?’
‘Did my uncle give me away somehow?’
‘No, your father did. You are the spit of him at the same age,’ the Viscount said dourly, as if he was trying not to hold it against him.
‘Barring the scars, I suppose?’ Colm said, wondering how he felt about being so like his father and what conclusions this man had made about him on the strength of his outward appearance.
‘Your hair is a shade darker and you’re leaner and perhaps taller, but that could be due to you leading an active life before you were injured.’
‘I wouldn’t know whether I look like him or not; there are no portraits of my father left at Linaire House and I don’t really remember what he looked like.’
That was the bare formalities out of the way, so Colm tensed, waiting for an order to stay away from the Winterleys from now on. God-send the man had not found out about Verity’s misadventure or the roles he and Miss Winterley took in it on that night he was trying so hard not to remember.
‘You should visit your late father’s godmother,’ Lord Farenze said. ‘She owns a very fine portrait of him taken in his youth and it confirmed all my suspicions about you.’
‘And now?’ Colm challenged because he couldn’t endure sitting here squirming while the man made up his mind whether to dislike him for being his father’s son.
Then the ageing butler re-entered, followed by a footman with that wine and Colm had to be patient after all. He watched his glass being filled with rich wine he didn’t intend to drink and bit back a sigh.
‘That will be all, Oakham,’ Lord Farenze said, ‘close the door behind you.’
Ah,