Page 3 of The Not So Perfect Duke

God above.

He picked up the serviette and wiped his mouth, then took another mouthful of the brandy to steel himself for the disclosures ahead. “How do you know about these children, and what became of them?” Damon asked.

“Your father kept me apprised of their progress through the years, whether I wanted to hear of it or not. With each quarterly allowance statement, he sent a noxious letter bragging of his conquests and the fact he had illegitimate children in every corner of London and beyond.”

Damon glowered, despising his father afresh. “I am sorry you were subjected to that.”

“After a few years, I no longer cared. But I read the letters to spite the duke. And to prove to myself they had no effect on me.”

“How many more offspring are there?”

“I know of seven, no wait, eight,” his mother murmured. “But, as I said, I know there are more, considering the infidelities. At first, your father noted locations and names and even continued their maintenance, at least the boys. But later, he ensured they were taken to an orphanage and never thought of them again. Those are the ones you will never locate. There are no doubt a dozen or more of the poor children. At least, that is what he told me. I doubt the veracity, considering the information came from him.”

His mother sipped her brandy. “Your father preferred poor, young, attractive women, mostly Irish, so not all the children you may try to locate will have blond hair and blue eyes.”

“Good God,” Damon muttered. “Rumor states the Earl of Oakby died of syphilis, along with some baronet the earl was friends with. Why is Chellenham so hale and hearty considering his flagrant behavior?”

His mother reached for a panellet. “I have often asked the same. It is why I kept him from my bed after you were born. You know what he is capable of, and I did not trust him to keep me safe and healthy.”

“Do you still have any lingering feelings for him?” Damon inquired. “Forget I asked; it is an indelicate question.”

“No, I will answer. Not for a long time. That particular destructive fever left me a year after you were born. I have turned my affections elsewhere.”

A man in a crisp white linen suit strode across the flagstones toward Damon’s mother as if on cue. The handsome man looked in his mid-forties, and his eyes softened as he gazed affectionately at the duchess. The man leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“We have company,” his mother beamed. “This is my son, Damon Cranston, Marquess of Brookton. Damon, this is Antonio De León.”

The man held out his hand. “Tony, please. A distinct pleasure.”

Damon took his hand and shook it.

“I will leave you, mi corazón, to visit with your son. You will stay for dinner, my lord?”

“Yes, thank you.”

How astonishing that he would agree so swiftly, but the day was full of surprises, and Damon had the notion there were more shockwaves to come.

De León was about to depart when the duchess took his hand. “My love, could you ask Mateo to bring a pen, ink, and several sheets of paper?”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I shall.”

After De León left, Damon asked, “How long have you been together?”

“Over nineteen years. Tony is six years younger.” She bit her lower lip, pausing as if considering revealing a secret. “You have a younger brother. Promise you will never tell your father.”

“I swear it.”

My God. A secret, indeed.

“Sebastián is away visiting his grandparents far north of here, but we will arrange a meeting soon if you wish. I am so pleased you are staying for supper. Will I see you again? Will you write? Am I in your life again, my darling boy?”

That is what his mother used to call him.

My darling boy.

It took all his inner courage not to fall to pieces, for a rush of memories threatened to overcome him. The affection she had always shown him, the extra hugs and attention. As if making up for the lack of warmth from his father. Yes, in the past, his mother tried to protect him. But falling to pieces, showing emotion?

It was not the done thing. It was not Damon’s done thing.