Pulling the dead tree from the ground had been more work than he had cared for. But the exertion was a welcomed respite from the thoughts in his head that ran in a loop one after the other. A viscount. Viscount Pemberly. What in God’s name had he done to deserve it?
But that was the point, wasn’t it?
He hadn’t done anything to deserve it.
He was a third son. Choices were limited, and he had selected the military. It wasn’t as if he had had much say in the matter. It was just what was done. He had watched countless men die in battle, but by some twist of fate, here he was in Mayfair pulling up the roots of a dead palm tree. What made him so bloody lucky?
A person could, in fact, earn a title and many did for military valor during the Napoleonic War. However, titles were awarded a little differently than seen here as the real title was not given to Jack. A title required the monarch to issue letters patent. Essentially, this served as a legal tool to say so-and-so was now the Earl of Toe Lint, or whatever such thing he would become. Maggie actually creates a reason to meet Jack by suggesting there is a problem with the letters patent for his title.