Page 83 of The Duke Undone

“Read them and we’ll talk if you have questions.”

Anthony rose, tugged the bellpull. He put his palms on the desk, bracing himself.

“Better we talk now.”

“Very well.” Yardley tilted his head, studying him. As Anthony hesitated, he nodded slightly, the encouraging nod he’d given on innumerable occasions during Anthony’s boyhood, when he’d failed to express himself well, stumbled on his words, flew into a passion.

Calm down. Spit it out.

Yardley had listened to him patiently. Anthony set his jaw. He wasn’t that attention-starved boy anymore. He wouldn’t be humored.

“In ten days, I will turn thirty,” he said.

“Indeed. Have I ever forgotten your birthday?”

Anthony shut his eyes briefly. No, Yardley had never forgotten his birthday.

On his eleventh birthday, just two months after his mother died, Yardley had taken him to see the suits of armor in the Tower of London. A few bright hours of excitement in those unremittingly dark days.

His father had requested his presence after dinner and his nurse had brought him into this very room. His father had sat behind the desk at which he now stood, staring at him coldly for what felt like a thousand years before he delivered a curt ultimatum.

Your nurse tells me you’ve been crying about your mother. You’re a grown boy now. If I hear of your crying again, I’ll have you dropped in an ice-water bath where you can sit until you learn to contain yourself.

He opened his eyes. “After this birthday, we might not have occasion to talk.”

“Anthony, are you quite well?”

Yardley’s face creased, looking suddenly worn with care. Anthony fixed his eyes on the lapel of Yardley’s jacket, took a deep breath.

“Whether I am or not, it is my concern. In the future, you will handle your affairs, and I will handle mine.”

“Your affairs are my affairs. For now, that’s the legal reality.” Yardley made a resigned motion with his hand. “After your birthday, well. You’ll be thirty, fully emancipated as they say. But the bonds of affection remain. I will always endeavor to help you in any way I can. You know that.”

The footman knocked, entered, placed the tray on a table, vanished. Yardley regarded the tall glasses of milk. Anthony came around the desk, leaned back against it.

“I’d offer you something stronger,” he said. “But I fear you’d report me to Hamilton and Johnstone.”

Yardley lifted a glass of milk with a slight grimace. “Your father took the matter a bit far.” He sniffed at the milk, then sipped. “I don’t deny it.”

“Then why are you so hell-bent on enforcing his rules?”

Yardley returned his glass to the tray.

“Hell-bent,” he said, musingly. “I worried this would happen, that you’d make me out to be a demon in this. You resent the restrictions your father placed on you. I understand that. But you should understand the sense of necessity that drove him to it.”

He ignored this. Yardley had made the case before. But this time his quarrel wasn’t with his father, but with Yardley himself.

“You knew I was going to the Albion. You hoped to catch me drinking.”

Yardley tilted his head. “Miss Coover told you.”

“She didn’t have to tell me. I saw you.”

“Ah, well.” Yardley sighed. “A test. You passed with flying colors. I was pleased.”

“Were you?” He searched Yardley’s face.

“Of course.” Yardley smiled. “I’m less pleased by your continued acquaintanceship with Miss Coover. I sincerely admire her, but the attachment can’t be a happy one.”