Grace let out the choked sound that Thomas would have made—in any other circumstances. No, he would have laughed aloud, truly. But not now. Not with a potential usurper standing in his godforsaken drawing room.

“Your grace,” Grace said hesitantly, but he just didn’t want to hear it right now. He didn’t want to hear anything—no one’s opinions, no one’s suggestions, nothing.

Good God, they were all looking at him, waiting for him to make a decision, as if he were in charge. Oh, now, that was rich. He didn’t even know who the bloody hell he was any longer. No one, possibly. No one at all. Certainly not the head of the family.

“Wyndham—” his grandmother began.

“Shut up,” he snapped. He grit his teeth, trying not to show weakness. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He turned to Audley—Jack, he supposed he ought start thinking of him, since he couldn’t quite manage to think of him as Cavendish, or God help him, Wyndham. “You should remain,” he said, hating the weary sound in his voice. “We will need—” Good Lord, he could hardly believe he was saying this. “We will need to get this sorted out.”

Audley did not answer immediately, and when he did, he sounded every bit as exhausted as Thomas felt. “Could someone please explain…” He paused, pressing his fingers into his temples. Thomas knew that motion well. His own head was pounding like the devil.

“Could someone explain the family tree?” Audley finally asked.

“I had three sons,” the dowager said crisply. “Charles was the eldest, John the middle, and Reginald the last. Your father left for Ireland just after Reginald married”—her face took on a visible expression of distaste, and Thomas almost rolled his eyes as she jerked her head in his direction—“his mother.”

“She was a cit,” Thomas said, because hell, it wasn’t a secret. “Her father owned factories. Piles and piles of them.” Ah, the irony. “We own them now.”

The dowager did not acknowledge him, instead keeping her attention firmly on Audley. “We were notified of your father’s death in July of 1790. One year after that, my husband and my eldest son died of a fever. I did not contract the ailment. My youngest son was no longer living at Belgrave, so he, too, was spared. Charles had not yet married, and we believed John to have died without issue. Thus Reginald became duke.” There was a brief pause, followed by: “It was not expected.”

And then everyone turned and looked at him. Wonderful. Thomas said nothing, refusing to give any indication that she deserved a reply.