Thomas guzzled the remainder of the bottle of brandy. More fiery liquid trickled down his chin and onto his shirt than reached his mouth. He hurled the bottle against the fireplace.
The loud crash of it shattering gave him little pleasure.
The following day, a note from Mr. Hamilton’s barrister dangled from Thomas’s shaking hand.
Mr. Hamilton is dead. Suicide.
How long he sat there Thomas had no idea. He started when his study door burst open. His burning eyes rested on Amesbury and Norwich, who held their noses as they entered the room.
“Good gracious,” Amesbury bellowed as he wrinkled his nose. “When was the last time you bathed? Damn, Wentworth, my eyes are stinging.”
He pushed aside the burgundy drapes and opened the window to let in fresh air. Amesbury approached the sideboard and held up the empty bottles, then swung around with brows raised in silent question.
“Not a drop left, and, by the condition of this place, I’d say you haven’t left this room in days.” Amesbury left the sideboard to lounge in the chair opposite Wentworth’s desk. “My God, man, for someone who’s always impeccably turned out, you’re a mess. Three-day beard, dirty, disheveled hair, soiled, ratty clothes. I’m almost embarrassed to call you my friend. Did Giles leave you for another? What brought this on?”
Thomas glared at his friends. For some reason brandy had lost its appeal last evening. Today, though he didn’t look it, he was alert and sober, and he agreed wholeheartedly that his study reeked. But how dare they come in uninvited and criticize his appearance?
“Why are you two here?” Thomas demanded, his voice hoarse from lack of use and from abusing the spirits he’d consumed. He tried not to squirm in his seat as four eyes––two brown, two green––narrowed on him. “Damnation, will someone speak? I’m not horseflesh to be appraised for sale at Tattersall’s.”
“Well,” Myles began, head cocked to one side, “we were just wondering what is so bad you have yourself wallowing in self-pity. Did you not just come into a fortune?”
Thomas leaned forward in his chair and shrugged his shoulders. How fortunate were these friends who insulted him without consequences. Being a duke had its advantages and downfalls. Too many of his peers sucked up to him and agreed with anything that tumbled out of his mouth because he was a duke. It was not so with these two.
Instead of explaining events, he handed over a copy of the Last Will and Testament of Mr. Charles Hamilton and the private letter addressed to him that had arrived with it. Patiently he waited for their reaction as both his friends read the documents.
Myles didn’t even try to hide his amusement as he handed back the papers. “What are you planning to do? Have you spoken with your family?”
“Do I look like I have?” Thomas shook his head. “They are due to arrive any day, and I’ve not decided what I’m going to do.” He slowly rose from his desk and paced the floor, his hands behind his back. “I might just forget the whole thing. I am considering contacting Mr. Hamilton’s solicitors in New Bedford to have them sell off everything and send the funds to me here.” He paused, rubbed the stubble on his chin, and winced. “As for the girl, there must be someone willing to take her in.”
“You mean to ignore a dead man’s wishes?” Amesbury asked with a sudden intake of breath.
“You cannot be serious, Thomas,” Myles said.
The shock in his friends’ voices puzzled him.
“Don’t ‘Thomas’ me. When I became Wentworth, I asked you to continue calling me Thomas and you refused, so don’t ‘Thomas’ me now. Besides, what do you expect me to do?” He slashed the air with his arm. “Never mind, don’t answer that. But what would you do if you were in my place?”
“Well, let me see.” Myles grinned widely. It was never a good sign when he grinned like that. “I think I’d book passage on the next ship to Boston, travel to this girl, extend my condolences for her father’s death, and beg her forgiveness for stealing all her money.”
Both Thomas and Amesbury yelled simultaneously, “What?”
Myles laughed. “Let me finish. Once she falls at your feet . . .” He paused, shook his head. “No, I take that back; she’s likely a feisty one. I think she’ll try to scratch your eyes out. Then I think you should marry the chit and bring her here as your duchess and get her portion of the monies, too. She might forgive you eventually for stealing her fortune and taking her away from the only home she has ever known.”
“You’re enjoying this.” Thomas eyed his two grinning friends and collapsed into his chair in frustration.