Page 44 of Twice Upon a Midnight

Fergus blinked, bewildered. “For what, sir?”

“This.” Spenser stepped past the old butler and stormed inside. “Pensworth!”

“Master Spenc—I mean—sir!” Fergus followed behind, the old butler flustered, his face beet-red. “Sir, please! You mustn’t—”

“Where is he, then?” Spenser strode down the hall into the heart of the house. “Pensworth!”

Spenser threw open the door to the duke’s study and stopped. The old duke stood in front of the tall window and looked out over the garden, his hands clasped behind his back.

Pensworth cast a single glance over his shoulder at Spenser, then nodded to Fergus to leave them be. When the butler apologetically bowed and left, the duke turned his attention back to the window. Beyond the glass, black shadows replaced the orange-purple light of the setting sun which had already sunk below London’s horizon.

“Your mother loved this garden,” Pensworth said quietly, as if more to the garden itself than to Spenser. “She spent hours out there among its rose bushes and little fruit trees, even in the winters when the weather was so cold and damp that it should have driven her indoors. I think it reminded her of the countryside.” He dropped his gaze to the floor. “She never liked living in London, but I couldn’t leave you three alone on the estate at Skeldale while I was here.”

“Because you didn’t trust her,” Spenser accused.

“Because I couldn’t bear to be separated from her.” His stepfather turned to face him. “She was the single best thing that ever happened to me. There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t thank fate for bringing her into my life and then curse it for taking her away far before her time.” He paused before admitting, “I dearly loved your mother.”

“You had an odd way of showing it.” Spenser stepped into the study without invitation, not caring if he was intruding or not. “You abandoned her child when he needed help most.”

“Of course you would see it that way.” He crossed the study to the corner liquor cabinet and opened wide both glass doors. “But you were never abandoned. You were given the best life possible.” He reached for a bottle of port and poured two glasses. “The life your mother wanted for you.”

His stepfather held out the second glass as a peace offering, but Spenser would never accept it. The man might have truly loved his mother as he claimed—what man wouldn’t have? Elizabeth Rhodes was beautiful, vivacious, well-educated, cultured, and kind to a fault—but he certainly didn’t love her child.

In disdain, Spenser sent a dismissive glare at the glass. It was poison as far as he was concerned. “Thrust into a life among strangers, ignored by my stepfather and half brother, and cast aside like unwanted garbage?”

Pensworth set down the refused glass with a shrug and took a long sip of his own port. He paused to study Spenser over the rim of the crystal glass, eyes narrowing, before lowering it away. “Is that why you’re here, then—to attack me over decisions made nearly two decades ago?”

“No. I’m here because of this.” He gestured at his bruised and cut face, but he knew Pensworth had already noticed the damage and chosen to say nothing. He probably thought such wounding was commonplace among the working class. “Your son did this. Rather, he hired men to pulp me because he was too spineless to do it himself.”

Pensworth stiffened.

“Where is Simon?” Spenser demanded.Thatwas why he was here. And God help his brother when he found him.

“Well, a confrontation like this has been coming for a while now, I suppose,” Pensworth murmured. “You two never did bump along well, even when you were children. Odd that, considering you both shared the same mother.”

“Not long enough to make a difference in Simon’s character,” Spenser pointed out.

Pensworth set down the glass on his desk and circled behind the mahogany monstrosity to sink into his leather chair. He leveled his hard gaze on Spenser. “Because your brother was jealous of your relationship with your mother.”

“Jealous?” Spenser laughed at the idea. “How could he be jealous? She died before he even knew her.”

“Exactly.” The duke sat forward and laced his fingers together on the desktop. “You had her for six years. You have memories of her and her love. Simon has none of that. He was too young when she passed to even remember her at all.”

“For that I’m supposed to forgive this?” He drew a fingertip down from his swollen eyes to the black and blue bruise on his cheek.

“No.” Pensworth lowered his voice in a contemplative warning. “But taking your revenge out on him gains you nothing. You know as well as I how society works. He’s the son of a peer and so untouchable.”

“While I’m just thestepsonof a peer and so worthless.” The words bit like acid on his tongue. “That’s why you sent me away when I was a boy, wasn’t it? Because I was nothing to you but an inconvenience you would have been forced to raise.”

“I’m a duke,” he reminded Spenser coldly. “No one forces me to do anything but His Majesty himself.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “And your mother. She came into our marriage with nothing but the pittance the government paid her as a war widow. Under our marriage settlement and my entailments, there was nothing to be given to you upon her death except a small allowance I was required to pay your relatives for taking you in, raising you, and educating you. I merely followed her wishes in that, as I did in all things.” He nodded at Spenser. “Including sending you north.”

Spenser clenched his fists. “Why would she have done that? This place and Skeldale were the only homes I’d ever known. You and Simon were my only family.”

“Not your only family. Just the only family you’d ever met.” Pensworth slumped back in his chair, this time bringing the glass of port with him. “But did you ever consider what sort of life you would have had as the stepson of a duke? As the child who would always finish in second place to the younger heir and who had no allowance or inheritance of his own? A life in the army if you were lucky, or perhaps a living the Church. Even when you were just a child, your mother knew you would never have thrived in a position that either killed men or saved their souls. Not you.” He swirled his dark port and watched it sheet down the sides of the glass. “That’s part of the reason she wanted you to be raised by her family if anything happened to her. She knew you would have more opportunities with them than you would have with me. Even then, it took me years to come to that same realization.”

Pensworth tossed back a long, healthy swallow of port, then stared down into the empty glass.

“I waited until you were ten before carrying out her wishes to send you north to your cousins in York,” he continued quietly. “By then, you and Simon were already fighting, even with him barely out of leading strings. As for me, seeing you every day—seeingherin you—had become too much of a reminder of all I’d lost. Sending you away was the right decision for all of us. Your cousins had a thriving business and children of their own, and they were able to provide a good life for you.”