It was no matter, Thomas decided. It was a small parish. There were not many weddings.

Patrick Colville and Emily Kendrick, 20 March, 1790 William Figley and Margaret Plowright, 22 May, 1790

He moved his fingers along the page, sliding them around the edge. Breath held, he turned the page.

And there they were.

John Augustus Cavendish and Louise Henrietta Galbraith, married 12 June, 1790, witnessed by one Henry Wickham and Philip Galbraith.

Thomas closed his eyes.

So this was it. It was gone. Everything that had defined him, everything he possessed…

Gone. All of it.

And what was left?

He opened his eyes, looking down at his hands. His body. His skin and his blood and his muscle and bone.

Was it enough?

Even Amelia was lost to him. She’d marry Jack or some other, similarly titled fellow, and live out her days as some other man’s bride.

It stung. It burned. Thomas could not believe how much it burned.

“Who is Philip?” he whispered, looking down at the register. Because Galbraith—it was Jack’s mother’s name.

“What?”

Thomas looked over. Jack had his face in his hands.

“Philip Galbraith. He was a witness.”

Jack looked up. And then down. At the register. “My mother’s brother.”

“Does he still live?” Thomas didn’t know why he was asking. The proof of the marriage was right there in his hands, and he would not contest it.

“I don’t know. He did the last I knew. It has been five years.”

Thomas swallowed and looked up, staring off into space. His body felt strange, almost weightless, as if his blood had changed into something thinner. His skin was tingling and—

“Tear it out.”

Thomas turned to Jack in shock. He could not have heard correctly. “What did you say?”

“Tear it out.”

“Are you mad?”

Jack shook his head. “You are the duke.”

Thomas looked down at the register, and it was then, with great sadness, that he truly accepted his fate. “No,” he said softly, “I’m not.”

“No.” Jack grabbed him by the shoulders. His eyes were wild, panicked. “You are what Wyndham needs. What everyone needs.”

“Stop, you—”

“Listen to me,” Jack implored. “You are born and bred to the job. I will ruin everything. Do you understand? I cannot do it. I cannot do it.”

Jack was scared. It was a good sign, Thomas told himself. Only a stupid man—or an exceedingly shallow one—would see nothing but the riches and prestige. If Jack saw enough to be terrified, then he was man enough for the position.

And so he just shook his head, holding Jack’s gaze with his own. “I may be bred to it, but you were born to it. And I cannot take what is yours.”

“I don’t want it!” Jack burst out.

“It is not yours to accept or deny,” Thomas said. “Don’t you understand? It is not a possession. It is who you are.”