Sebastian was shaking his head before his cousin had finished speaking. “You can’t refuse it, Thad. That’s the whole point of primogeniture and such. And it would be wrong. It would be a lie. You know that.”

Thaddeus’s eyes widened. “Primogeniture? Since when do you have such an extensive vocabulary?”

Sebastian shrugged. “Since I might have to do something rather than just be something.” It was a return to his normal insouciant self, but it rang hollow.

Thaddeus’s expression drew grim.

“You know, it’s not the worst thing in the world to be told you’re actually a duke,” Sebastian pointed out drily. Thaddeus glared at him, then folded his arms over his chest.

Poor sad duke.

“So what happens now?” Sebastian asked, directing his question to the solicitor.

The man cleared his throat again, looking unhappy. Have you also been told everything you thought you were is wrong? Sebastian thought. I don’t think so. So stop making that expression.

“Well, the Duke of Hasford—that is—” and he gestured toward Thaddeus “—will assume the position immediately. That will include the estates, the ducal holdings, and everything inherited from the late duke.”

Everything, in other words. Sebastian didn’t have anything of his own, anything that belonged to—what was his name now?—Sebastian de Silva. His mother’s last name. The only thing she had been able to leave him, despite her machinations.

The yawning blank of his future widened in front of him. No money beyond what he had on hand. Likely that belonged to Thad, as well. No path forward. No privilege.

“I can’t take care of everything right away,” Thaddeus said, obviously trying to keep his tone measured. And failing spectacularly. “I command a regiment, it will take time to extricate myself.” He sounded desperate. “You can continue for the time being, can’t you?” he asked Sebastian.

The solicitor’s lips pursed. “That—” he began, before Sebastian interrupted.

“No, Thad.” He spoke in a decisive tone. “Much as I would love to help you out by overseeing one of the wealthiest titles in England,” he said understatedly, “I cannot.” He pointed at the documents. “Those say I cannot. What would it look like if you refused to do your duty? Even for a short time?” He shook his head as he leaned forward. “It would be devastating. The one thing I know in this world is that the Duke of Hasford has responsibilities to the title, to the land, to the tenants and workers, to the country. I’ve been indoctrinated with that duty since I was born. I cannot betray it.” He spoke with the ferocity he normally reserved for flattering a particularly beautiful woman.