The Fairy Tale Bride

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

Peter asked for a month to accustom himself to his former home, to allow his daughters to adjust to the changed situation. Simon granted it. It did not please him, but he understood.

Just as he understood when his mother requested he not tell Peter that he knew he was his father.

“He turned away from this life because of his shame, Simon. Don’t add to it by making him face it every day when he sees the knowledge in your eyes. It will be hard enough for him as it is.”

He had wanted to refuse her request. Miranda had persuaded him to abide by it instead. When he agreed, he had every expectation that the secret would make the month pass slowly and painfully. But he had not counted on coming to like the man who had cuckolded his own father and the faked his death to avoid living with the results of his own perfidy.

Perhaps he had been a fool to trust such a man. He hoped not. For today was the day that they officially disinterred him from the dead.

He hoped his troubles were over. He had dismissed Miranda’s worries about Peter. If the man’s decision made him miserable, it was only just. He had made so many others miserable for so long. Simon had felt free to make love to his wife with abandon at night even as he tutored his father in his duties as duke during the day. He was determined not to regret this idyll. And to that end, he was willing to do almost anything. Including forcing Peter to resume his responsibilities.

And his title.

With a bold stroke he signed the necessary papers and gave them to the waiting servant. “Deliver these at once.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The man nodded.

Not the proper title for much longer, Simon reflected. “You may tell Mr. Watson that I am ready to speak to him.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” The door closed quietly, opening again almost instantly.

“I have begun the paperwork. The agreed-upon month is over. Welcome home, Your Grace.” Simon used the term determinedly as he stood away from the desk he had sat behind for five years.

He took the leather pouch from his pocket and removed the sealed envelope meant for the true Duke of Kerstone. He tossed the envelope, unbroken seal up, atop a pile of papers that would require the new duke’s attention. He commanded, “Sit.” Peter would not escape the truth of his destiny. He would not allow it.

The older man — his father, Simon acknowledged painfully as he looked into eyes the same color as his own — met his gaze steadily.

“I don’t believe you have considered all the ramifications of my becoming duke, Simon.”

“Of course I have. A matter of a few formalities. I have just sent the papers on this minute. No doubt we must wait a few weeks, but Parliament will not refuse to recognize you. You are Peter Watterly, Duke of Kerstone.”

“I am. I am also the father of three daughters. No sons.” There was a flicker of shame in Peter’s eyes for a moment. Simon was sure he saw it, even as the chill of his mother’s long-kept secret coursed through him. “You, as my brother will be my heir.”

Simon was prepared. “Then you must marry and father a son.”

“I cannot.”

He looked at Peter in surprise. “You are still a young man. You can marry and father enough sons to fill this house.”

A sad smile lit Peter’s face. “Indeed. But I will never marry again.” He seemed to regret it, but there was no doubt he felt he would never change his mind.