though? At a knock on the door, he looked up. “Yes?”
His father entered. “Will you come down to the library for a bit?”
Randolph rose and put the instrument aside. “Am I in trouble?”
“Of course not.”
He joined his father, and they walked together down the stairs. “When we were called to the library as boys, it usually meant a scold.”
“Not in this case” was the reply, accompanied by a rueful smile.
“I usually deserved it,” Randolph added. “Or some brother or other did.”
In the library, they sat in facing armchairs. The duke poured glasses of wine and handed one to Randolph. “I thought we might discuss the recent…development.”
Irrationally, Randolph felt as he had after some youthful transgression. “I suppose I ought to have expected Mr. Sinclair’s objection,” he said.
“It’s difficult to anticipate idiotic behavior.” The duke sipped his wine, deep red in the candlelight. “Unless one is an idiot. Which of course you are not.”
Randolph smiled, as he was meant to. But he couldn’t agree. “He’s right about my position, Papa. My chances of advancement in the church are poor. And Verity doesn’t want to spend her life buried in a country parish. It was the very first thing she said to me.” Despite everything, he remembered the encounter fondly.
“Her wishes are important to you,” the duke said.
“Yes. Naturally.” An odd question from a man so devoted to his wife’s happiness, Randolph thought.
“I ask only because…if someone wanted an excuse to end an engagement—”
Randolph nearly leaped to his feet. “I do not!”
“Good.” His father nodded. “That’s settled then. What do you intend to do?”
The fog of exhaustion rolled back in after Randolph’s momentary bolt of rebellion. “Call on Mr. Sinclair, I suppose. Perhaps I can talk him ’round. I must say he seemed immoveable—like a type I’ve met before.”
“Rather fond of his own opinions?” put in the duke. “Not susceptible to persuasion?”
Randolph nodded. “But I’ll think of something. Whatever I have to do to keep Verity.” His mind offered up a flash of memory—clanging saber blades as he beat at Rochford. So gratifying, and impossible.
“I wonder if I might be of help?” asked his father.
An old longing for Papa to make things right warred with Randolph’s need for independence. He knew all his brothers felt the conflict. They’d discussed it. At the root was a fierce desire to make their parents proud. “We’ve always wanted to stand on our own feet.”
“You rarely ask me to put my oar in,” the older man agreed.
“And I would be the one who does,” answered Randolph, humiliated. “The one who takes things too hard, who has to be coddled, who can’t succeed on his own.”
The duke sat up straighter. “My dear boy.” He put down his glass and leaned forward to place a light hand on Randolph’s knee. “Don’t be daft.”
“You always told us to take responsibility for our actions,” Randolph pointed out.
His father sat back. “I did. When you were children, forming your characters. And look how well you’ve all done. But that never meant you had to stand alone. What more could I ask than to help my sons?”
Randolph’s throat tightened. He swallowed to clear it.
“And I’ve aided your brothers on a number of occasions.”
“Really? Which? How?”
The duke smiled appreciatively. “My lips are sealed in that regard. As they will be about your affairs.”
“Of course.” Still, Randolph’s mind bubbled with surmise. Who had it been? James, before he sailed off across the world? Alan had had some dealings with the Prince Regent last year and might well have needed Papa’s counsel. Surely not Robert. Or Nathaniel; the heir to the duke was a paragon.
“Shall we take stock?” said his father. His amused look suggested that he knew exactly what Randolph was thinking. “How shall we show Miss Sinclair’s father that he’s wrong?”
Randolph came back down to Earth with a metaphorical bump. “That’s the trouble. He isn’t.”
“I might argue, but never mind. If you were…reconciled with the archbishop, Mr. Sinclair could have no further objections.” The duke’s expression grew haughty on the final word, as if he still couldn’t quite believe any man would object to a son of his. “What have you done so far, on that front?”
Trying not to feel discouraged, Randolph said, “I apologized, of course. At the time and in a letter afterward.”
“This had no effect?”
“I received a chilly response, from the archbishop’s secretary.”
“A snub then.”
Randolph nodded. “I worked very hard to do a good job in my parish.”