“Ah, since you haven’t?” John shook his head. This man held no power over him. Not anymore. “It is my right and my decision to deny taking up the title. It can lay empty for all I care. There are more important things to occupy my time and pour my attentions into.”
“It’s your birthright.”
“Perhaps, but from all I’ve seen, once a man carries a title, he becomes someone else entirely besides the man he was always called to be.” John glanced at Caroline, who had ripped panels from her gown and had neatly wrapped them about Brand’s arm and shoulder to stem the bleeding. His heart skipped a beat. “I want a simple life, Father, the life I’ve built for myself that has nothing to do with the ton or the drains and stresses of society.”
“What of my debts, then? Once I pass on, they’ll become yours.”
“No, they won’t, for you are going to make something of yourself for once in your life.” He yanked the pouch from his waistband and tossed it to the ground at his father’s feet. “This is Caroline’s dowry I received from Lord Hadleigh. I’d wished to buy a cottage and setup housekeeping with it, but I feel the best use for this coin is to purchase you a ticket on the next outbound vessel bound for America.”
“What?” The baron gawked at him.
Both Brand and Caroline stared with identical expressions of shock.
John continued. “Leave England. Go start again in America. Perhaps discover truths about yourself and make a fortune. Drink yourself to death, I care not.” He shrugged. Long ago he’d lost the ability to care about his father.
“But the title…”
“You’ll escape your creditors. Perhaps when enough time has passed without a word from you, I can go through the arduous legal process of having you declared dead.” He frowned. “But then, I don’t care that much. If word reaches me of your demise, I shall refuse the title. If I have a son, he can decide what he wants to do when he’s of age.”
“It’s my legacy.”
“No.” John shook his head. “Your legacy is a drunkard, a disappointment, a missing the mark to being the man I needed when I was a boy—or even now.” For long moments, he remained silent as he stared at his sire. There was absolutely no affection left for this man. “Mother would be ashamed to see what you’ve become. I handed you the means to change that. Do her memory proud so you can eventually ask for her forgiveness.”
“But what will you do without this money?” The baron stooped to retrieve the pouch. Seconds later it vanished into a pocket of his evening jacket.
“The same thing I have always done. Work hard. Put my back into the labor. Conduct myself with honesty and integrity at the profession I’ve chosen. I already have everything of value a man could ever need—good, loyal friends, a view of the sea, and a wife who I adore to distraction.”
“And don’t forget, the power of the whole Storme family behind you, backing you up and giving you whatever reach and assistance you’ll need.”
John spun about, and his lower jaw dropped. The Earl of Hadleigh approached with a pistol drawn and trained on his father. Behind him was the countess, and Finn in his Bath chair, the Earl of Worchester, as well as Caroline’s brother William and his sister Isobel following behind. Seeing all of them decked out in formal clothing while entering this sad and sorry scene both made his chest swell in gratitude and sent tendrils of hilarity through his being.
“What are you doing here?” The statement they made by presenting such a united front humbled him.
The earl shrugged. His expression said John was a nodcock to even ask. “Rendering help to the newest member of the Storme family.” Then he stepped around John to address the baron. “Come along, Westfield.” He gestured with his pistol. “The best thing for you to do is listen to your son. Let the Americans have at you. We English have had enough.”
The baron’s expression twisted into a mask of hate. “You have no right, Hadleigh.”
“I have every right. You have threatened my family, nearly tried to kill two of them from what I can gather.” All the authority of the earl rang in Andrew’s voice. “Since you haven’t the ballocks to change for yourself, I’m stepping in.”
John shot a glance to Brand, who shrugged and then winced. When he turned to face his father once more, his resolve had strengthened. Finally, he’d been accepted into a family on nothing except his own merits. Perhaps he had a bit of the storm inside him as well. The knowledge both brought comfort and panic, but given the alternative, he’d choose them. He stepped close to his father, stared him in the eyes, caught the trace of fear there… and then released it, for his father’s fate wasn’t his concern any longer.
“Do not think to return to London until you’ve made deep inroads into turning your fortunes—both personal and financial—around. You are not welcome here.” Though his stomach muscles clenched, his father needed the tough truths he was about to find.
“Ah, if I do these things, turn my life about, will you accept me as your father?” The question was asked in a quiet voice, and suddenly the man John had hated over the years shrank, became a fragile shell of himself.
John’s heart squeezed. “If you do all of that, make yourself into a respectable member of the ton, square with your debts and your drinking, then yes. I’ll welcome you back with open arms.” He laid a hand on the baron’s shoulder. “If you want the reward, you must put in the work. There is no other way.”
His father nodded. “I’ll prove you wrong.”
“I hope you would, and I’ll be properly proud. Until then, I wish you the best of luck.” Slowly, John backed away. He fought against a wave of emotion, refused to give his father fuel to call him weak. “I can’t in good conscience have you in my life or a part of my future until you’ve changed.”
As the earl led him away with Caroline’s brother on his father’s other side, he said, “Inspector Storme will keep an eye on you until we can arrange passage. I’ll gift you with enough coin to see you modestly settled, but that’s all you’ll extort from the Storme family, and if you threaten one of us again, you shall have the whole of my wrath to reckon with. I don’t suffer fools gladly, Westfield.”
Bloody hell.
The countess laid a gentle hand on his arm. “You did what is best. Truly. Now go take care of your wife. She looks quite lost.”
“I will. Thank you.” This night had drained him, both physically and emotionally. Feeling more exhausted than he had in years, John joined the knot of his extended family with a sigh. He found Brand’s gaze. “You should let the doctor take a look at that wound.”