Page 98 of Yours Truly, the Duke
She looked at him as if she loved him too but remained quiet. If she’d given him the slightest hint, he would have pulled her into his arms.
“Before I left, I should have told you that I’ve never kept a halfpenny of the money our club wins on the wagers at our games. Neither do Rick and Hurst. All our winnings go to the hospital I opened after I inherited the title almost ten years ago. We continue to support it.”
“Hospital?”
“Mostly for men who were wounded fighting against Napoleon and his forces. Men who continue to have problems with wounds they’d received years ago and the military no longer supports them.”
Her expression filled with kindness. “I didn’t know.”
“No one but the three of us know that we do this. Now you. It’s not necessary anyone know what we do. I do it because of the ghosts in my past. I didn’t do anything to help the lonely, hurting boys when I was at Eton. I blame it on the fact I was young and didn’t understand their pain. Now I do. This way I can help men who are in pain. Some of them attended Eton as boys.”
“Then no,” she said, quite adamant. “You can’t give up your efforts. I feel terrible for thinking all this time you were simply being callous toward my concerns. You must continue with the Brass Deck. Your cause is too important.”
He shook his head. “I’m not going to stop supporting the hospital or the one my father supported. I’ve just found an easier way to do it. I’m going to give the hospital all the income I receive from my grandmother’s estate. She obviously wanted her inheritance to go to a charity, but I couldn’t let it go to an organization I had no respect for. One of the headmasters at Eton was Mr. Percival Buslingthorpe, and he was also a member of The London Poetry Society. He had an obsession with verse. In every class he carried a thick birch stick and walked around the classroom whispering, ‘Discipline, son, discipline.’ He’d crack his stick on the knuckles of the boys who stuttered or were so nervous they couldn’t remember their poetry lines. Grant Fenway was one of them, but not for anything he did.”
Her breathing grew rapid again. “Is that what’s wrong with his hand?”
Wyatt nodded. “One day I hadn’t learned all of my lines. Buslingthorpe said he couldn’t punish me, but he’d punish one of my friends instead. So his stick came downhard on Grant. I live with the regret that he took the punishment from Buslingthorpe that should have been mine.”
“What a deplorable man,” she whispered.
“I have no idea how many boys he might have injured over the years he taught there. So no, Fredericka, I don’t like poetry and make no apologies. I don’t like the word ‘discipline’ and make no apologies for that either. I should have explained this to you earlier but it’s never been easy to talk about.”
Compassion showed in her eyes and expression. “I’m glad you told me.”
“There’s something else you need to understand. I love you. I need you, and I don’t want to live one day without you in my life.” He reached over and ran his finger across her soft cheek. “I won’t stop you from leaving me or even from leaving the house right now to go get the children, but I have an easier way to get them. Your way is temporary. My way we will make sure we keep them until they are ready to make lives of their own. I’m not coming back until I have them with me where they belong and settle this for good. I hope you’ll be here when I return.”
Wyatt turned and headed for the door. With no promise from her, each step was a struggle. At the threshold, he heard his name and turned.
“I love you,” she said, and bounded into his arms.
He circled her waist and caught her to his chest, pressing his face into the curve of her neck feeling as if he’d been given a new chance at life. “I love you so much,” he whispered as his fingers curled into the folds of her clothing.
“I’m so glad you came back. I’ve been lost. I need you and love you more—”
His lips came down on hers before she finished the sentence. They kissed with such tender passion it stole Wyatt’s breath. “I was beginning to believe you were going to let me walk away without saying a word.”
“I’m not letting you leave without me,” she answered, clinging to him as if she meant to never let him go. “I’m going with you to get the children.”
The trust in her eyes made his heartbeat pound. He may not deserve her but he was glad she was his. He placed his hands on the sides of her face and looked into her eyes. “You need to stay here. What I have to say to him is something that needs to be said man-to-man.”
“No,” she replied with a smile. “You can tell me all about it on the way. We are a family, Wyatt. We are going to do this together.”
CHAPTER 29
THE PASSION FLOWER
—BARTON
We roam the seas—give new-found isles
Some King’s or Conqueror’s name;
We rear on earth triumphal piles,
As meeds of earthly fame.
The butler at the Lord Chancellor’s house had been trained well and was good at his job. He used several stalling tactics in hopes Wyatt and Fredericka would get tired and leave. The longer they waited in straight back chairs in the vestibule, the more determined they became to spend the entire day and night waiting for the man if they had to.
