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misheard
Finley? Beau would only be next in line if his brothers were all dead.
    “Are my brothers...?” Beau couldn’t bring himself to say the
word dead out loud.
    Danvers nodded glumly. “Lord William passed in the fall of
’88 from a sudden illness and Lord Arrington passed in the summer of ’90 after a
horse kicked him in the head.”
    Beau wobbled, and Mazi caught his elbow, holding him
upright. His brothers were both gone? His joy at being home curled into ashes.
“Where is everyone?” He swallowed hard against the dry spot forming in the back
of his throat. Had anyone else passed? “My mother?”
    “Your mother is with Lady Julia in Devonshire for her latest
confinement.”
    “My other sisters?” Beau held his breath. At least if little
Julie was giving birth, she must be grown...and married.
    “All well in their own residences about the country.”
    So much for a loving family to welcome him home. Of course
his sisters were married and producing families of their own. Just because his
life had become one endless grind for survival didn’t mean their lives had
stopped. They were women now.
    “I never could find your body to bring back,” muttered
Danvers. “Your casket was empty. I thought grave robbers...”
    “Remember when I was in my casket and you thought I was
looking at you?” asked Beau.
    Danvers ceased his muttering and looked up revealing the
creases in his face. Damn, the man had aged.
    “I was.”
    Danvers covered his mouth and looked as stricken as a man
could look.
    “I was poisoned to appear dead.”
    The color drained from Danvers face.
    “They couldn’t let you take my body home because I would
have been pounding on the lid to be let out in a few hours.”
    “You had no pulse.”
    “I wasn’t dead. I heard everything that was said.” He
softened his tone. “I know you tried.”
    “Your father will be so relieved to see you alive.”
    Yes, he’d been so relieved he’d flown from the dinner table
to see his Lazarus son. No, he’d sent servants to verify Beau’s identity. Beau
shook his head and turned toward the staircase. As he passed the life-size
Greek statue of an ancient maiden that vaguely reminded him of Yvette, he
thought how sorry she’d be to find she’d missed out on becoming a duchess and
the mistress of all this. But no, if not for her grasping nature, he’d be whole
and hardy and he wouldn’t have missed his brothers’ last years.
    *~*~*
    None of his old clothes fit. The slender jackets and the too
tight breeches surprised Beau. Working from sunup to midnight in the sugar
fields had built ropey muscles all over his body. He finally found a pair of
knit pantaloons that stretched enough to go over his thighs and a shirt that
strained through the shoulders and cut under his arms.
    Although his boots fit, his feet were no longer used to
being confined and felt jailed. But as winter came, bare feet would no longer
be an option. While he clumped awkwardly down stairs he used to race up and
down, the meal he’d looked forward to curdled in his stomach. Would his father
be happy to see him? Would his change in status to the heir make a difference?
Beau was no longer anticipating a joyful reunion. He just wanted to get this
interview over with.
    He would have preferred to be properly attired when meeting
his sire, but until a tailor was summoned, Beau would have to do with what he
had. He knocked into the footman who had rushed to open the door.
    “Begging your pardon, my lord,” mumbled the footman.
    “My fault entirely,” said Beau. Getting used to servants
jumping to attention and doing everything for him would take time.
    The footman opened the door then scooted through to announce
Beau’s arrival. “Your grace, Lord Arrington.”
    “As soon as Lady B—Lady Arrington returns from her
engagement, have her shown in.” The duke’s familiar voice boomed from inside
the room.
    The footman nodded and backed out the door.
    What his brother’s widow had