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twenty Rand had mistakenly opened correspondence meant for his father and discovered that William had sired a number of bastard children. Eleven in fact, though not all had been discovered at that time. William was not particularly generous to the children and the letter Rand had opened was from his father’s solicitor detailing the monthly expenses incurred for their upkeep. The solicitor had urged William to increase his provisions as several of the children were sickly. This revelation was enough to send Rand to the stables where he had his horse saddled and he immediately left for Bryony Hall to confront his father.
    It had only been six months since he had last seen him, but when Rand caught first glimpse of his father, he was stunned by William’s appearance. Not yet fifty, his years of indulgence had turned him into an old man. Slumped shoulders and a bloated belly had replaced the once athletic build. He was moon faced and jaundiced, the area around his dark eyes swollen until they resembled little more than black slits. His hands trembled and his gait was unsteady. Drunk or not, it was easy to see that he was not a well man. But Rand hadn’t cared. Hours on the road had not diminished his anger and he reacted rather than thought as he charged into the library, grabbed his father by his lapel and planted his fist in his face. The man went heavily to the floor. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth, but he seemed more surprised than hurt.
    “What in the devil did you do that for?” he bellowed.
    Rand tossed a handkerchief at him but didn’t offer to help him up. He simply stood there looking down on the man he had once loved and admired. Struggling to control his anger he asked quietly, “How many children do you have?”
    A look of uneasiness passed over his father’s face. “That’s a dim-witted question, lad. You know as well as I that you have one sister.”
    “Other than Julia.”
    “Your mother gave birth to you and Julia. If there are others, it isn’t your affair.”
    His anger resurfaced and boiled over. “The hell they aren’t!” he shouted. “If I’ve brothers and sisters, I’ve the right to know about it. You can’t just pretend they don’t exist! How many?”
    William wiped his mouth with the handkerchief. “Four or five. I think.”
    “Four or five?” Rand’s voice was incredulous. “I counted six names on the report Mansfield left. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were others. Are there?”
    His father shrugged and looked away. “I’m not certain.”
    “You’re not certain,” he repeated. “You don’t know how many children you have. Do you even know what their names are?”
    “What difference does it make? They’re bastards! I send money. I’m not leaving them in the streets to starve. Despite what you think, I’m not completely heartless. Mansfield takes care of everything for me. I don’t get involved. Why the hell he sends me that report every month I’ve no idea. I never look at it.”
    “What about Mother? Does she know?”
    He shrugged again. “I don’t know. It’s possible.”
    “You don’t know. Do you have any idea of the pain you’ve caused her? The humiliation? You’ve whored around as if she mattered not a whit, yet she’s born it all with a dignity beyond belief. Julia and I would be social outcasts if Mother weren’t so loved by the ton.”
    “The Danfield empire has guaranteed your acceptance,” William spit out bitterly. “Not your mother. You wouldn’t be received at all if you were paupers. Half of those goddamned aristocrats who thumb their noses at me are so deep in dun territory they’d be out on their arses if all their notes were called in. If I wished, I could buy their bloody vowels in a heartbeat. Then where would they be? And don’t think I haven’t thought of doing it.” He curled his lips into a