Roses and Flames

Chapter 24

When the requisite time had passed, Patrick made his way up the stairs to find Thorne.

And here was the Duke as well, waiting in the office of his mentor, looking almost like an errant schoolboy, although he had no reason to. The self deprecation was all the more annoying in its effectiveness. Had he been any other man, that would have been instantly in sympathy with him. But he was just not any man. And Patrick could manage nothing more than expected courtesies. He smiled and bowed to his peers. And also to Thorne.

“My Lord. Your grace.”

“Pat. There was that old familiarity from Thorne again. Patrick greeted it with a cynical smile. Now that Ambrosia’s fate was sealed, he was to be a favored son again? Not bloody likely.

“I suppose you’re wondering… You are both wondering… why have I asked you here,” Thorne said, unsure which man to look at first. “It is at Ambrosia’s behest,” he said. There was another four pause, which was quite awkward.

“She realized the truth, you see. And has convinced me that, if it was obvious to her, it might be to others. She thinks that perhaps it would be kinder to settle the matter, before there was any speculation. And since you would be here, tonight…”

Then he paused again, as do the previous statements might mean something and need no new addition.

The Duke was looking back with a crooked grin, as though he could not contain his amusement. “As it has stands,, the only speculation occurring is between the two of us. It is clear that you wish to share some information and that it is coming difficult for you. Please, speak. Doctor Hastings and I are quite in the dark.”

Thorne looked back and forth between the two of them now, like a rabbit caught between two fox is. “I must first say that I mean no respect to you, your grace, or to your father, who was a dear friend of mine. Nor was it ever my wish to betray his confidence.”

“Since he has nearly been dead for 10 years, he is unlikely to call you out on it,” St. Aldric said, with an encouraging smile. “But I take it that he sold you to some secret or other that is weighing on you heavily now?”

“It is nothing so very serious,” Thorne said, encouragingly. “Nothing that many other men have not done. There was no real disgrace in it. And you must know that your father was always the very best of men.”

“It pleases me to think so,” the Duke said with a nod.

“It is only because the truth is likely to come forth with or without my help, that I’m speaking now,” Thorne said.

“Then out with it, man,” St aldric said, with another smile. “The good doctor can attest that, when pulling a splinter, there is no point in drawing slowly. It only prolongs the pain, as this prolongs the suspense. What is this not so terribly dark truth that you have been concealing from the world?”

“This happened when you were just an infant, obviously. And your mother was still quite fragile. There was…” another dramatic pause”… an indiscretion.”

 Patrick’s attention had begun to wonder. It was clear that whatever the problem might be it was the Duke’s concern and not his. Perhaps he was here in case the shock proved too great and a physician was needed. If that was the case, he would have done better to bring his bag. But there was nothing about the Duke made him think that the man would be prone to fits at receiving bad news. His color was high, of course. But considering the reason for the evening, it was only natural.

“Since both my father and my mother are gone from this planet, I see no reason that such information should be concealed any longer. Speak with my blessings. Immediately, in fact.” Even a saint had limited patient. It appeared that the Duke had reached the end of his.

“There was an issue, from this indiscretion,” Thorne said hurriedly. “The child survived. A boy.”

“But that would mean…” The Duke gave a surprise shake of his head. “I have a brother?”

“Half brother,” Thorne said hurriedly. The Duke was forwards in an instant, gripping the man’s arm for. And for the first time since meeting him, Patrick saw what he must look like when he was angry.

“You knew of this? And he did not tell me? Damn it, man, I must know all.” He can’t express himself just as quickly. But it was clear that he was eager for more news. “Did my father reveal anything about him? But I would like to know him. No. I must.”

“It will not affect the succession,” Thorne said hurriedly. “You are the elder. And he’s a bastard.”

“I do not care,” the duke insisted. “He is my blood, whoever he is. He is both kin and responsibility to me. He will not want. I shall be sure of it. I have a brother.”

 His face split into a grin of amazement. As usual, the Duke was proving himself to be the most admirable of men, showing not an ounce of jealousy or outrage at this revolution. There was no sign that he viewed it to be an embarrassment. To be gifted with a bastard brother was not an inconvenience to him. On the contrary, he seemed to think it a marvel. Despite his charmed life, the Duke had lagged one thing that is a family. And, of course, God had granted him that. Now he was complete. It was just one more depressing sign that he was perfect made for Ambrose. The man was as kind as generous in private as he was in public. Patrick supposed that it was just another sign of his debased character that he still wanted to choke the life from the fellow.

“He has not wanted. Not for a moment,” Thorne said hurriedly. “Your father put him in my care from the first and swore me to secrecy.” Now he looked past the Duke, to Patrick. “I raised him as my own. I told him nothing of his actual parentage. I misled him…” and now both the men in the room were looking at Patrick, Thorne giving a shrug of apology.

“I do not understand.” But, of course, he did. This meeting had been about him, all along.

“I did not get you from a foundling home,” Thorne said. “Your mother was a seamstress named Polly Hastings, who lived in the village of the Duke. She was struck with childbed fever and could not care for you. I took you away, shortly before she died.”

“My mother.” He had known that he had one, of course. But he had not thought of her in years. And his father…. “You told me…” he could not manage to finish the sentence, for the implications of it, though they had been horrible before, were becoming all too clear. “But I told you before does not matter,” Thorne said in warning, as though he would be likely to blurt out the story he had been told, in its all resplendent detail.

“This is the truth, the old Duke was your father.”

And that changed everything. In one sentence, he had gone from monster to man. His desires were neither beast nor sinful. They were perfectly natural affection towards the most beautiful of women. There was no impediment to realizing them.

The room was spinning. Or perhaps he was. The sudden lightness of spirit might have set him turning like a windmill. It had certainly unsettled his brain. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He could not seem to call for brother Brandy he so desperately needed. Or the air, which he could not manage to suck into his lungs.

When Patrick opened his eyes again, he was staring at the ceiling. Thank God, Ambrose had not been in the room to witness this or she would have teased him till his dying day. It was bad enough to have fainted in the presence of the Duke and thorn. There was no point in arguing that he had weathered battle without incident. He had been ankle deep in blood and severed limbs, the screams of the wounded and the smell of the death close about him, and had never such a reaction like this.

They must think that he was weak, sensitive, easily overwrought and too emotional.