Page 4 of Match Made in Heaven (The Cricket Club #5)

Two days later

T his day should have gone differently.

Lord John Sutton clenched his fists in his lap, holding himself back from punching a hole in the carriage floor. He bobbed along like a cork in the waves as the driver remained vigilant in hitting every divot along the narrow London road.

They’d say he wanted this, wished for it, even prayed for it.

They’d say he wasted little time, moving into his brother’s townhome, spending his precious money, drinking his even more precious wine.

But the ton didn’t know Jack. And he doubted very much that they knew Oliver. Jack was the only one who did, and they hadn’t had a true conversation in… how long?

Jack waded through the grief and muck in his mind, grateful to focus on something other than the odds of his brother surviving the crash.

The answer remained elusive. Surely, they talked each time Jack made port?

It was true that Jack never stayed in London for longer than a few days before heading out to the open sea again, but he usually made time to visit his mother, kiss her on the cheek, and prove that he hadn’t been shipwrecked or eaten by cannibals.

He must have seen his older brother in passing.

Jack relaxed his fists long enough to fill his hands with his throbbing head.

The brothers had been thick as thieves for the majority of their lives.

With only the two of them, their parents had doted on them equally, despite one being a future duke.

Oliver had never been singled out, paraded in front of others, or given a greater share of anything, whether it be toys or space.

Jack could only assume his parents had known that those accoutrements would come later anyway.

And yet that knowing had never scarred their family like Jack had seen it scar others who were held by the yoke of primogeniture. Oliver was always going to be the duke. And Jack wasn’t. And neither of them had cared a fig one way or the other.

So where had it all gone wrong? Could Jack pinpoint a time, a second when their casual, fruitful relationship had gone sour?

Finally, a conversation came to him. It wasn’t their last, but Jack clung to it regardless. Could it possibly have been fifteen years ago?

Instead of filling him with anger and regret, the amorphous memory only infused Jack with contentment, and not a small amount of the kind of sadness that only homesickness could deliver.

It had started in this very carriage as it carried him to the docks that pivotal day.

Jack recalled the sun hitting him in the eyes like a hammer as he’d opened the door and stepped out into the busy thoroughfare.

Then he’d closed his eyes—yes, in an effort to block out the vibrant rays, but also so that he could inflate his lungs with the sea air.

It smelled like freedom. It smelled like a different, more deserving home.

An adventure in the way that most sixteen-year-old boys expected new beginnings to be.

If anyone had felt the cloying tug of jealousy that day, it was the eighteen-year-old boy Jack had left behind in the carriage.

“Tell Father and Mother that I’ll miss them,” Jack shouted to Oliver while he looked side to side, taking in all the bustling sights flowing past him.

His brother laughed, dragging Jack’s attention back to the carriage. Oliver lifted an imperious brow, stretching his neck out the window. “You already hugged them over a hundred times this morning. They already know you’ll miss them.”

Jack’s rueful frown was good-natured. He ripped his new sailor’s hat off his head, twirling it around in his trembling fingers. “Just tell them again, will you?”

Oliver nodded in that debonair, noblesse oblige way that he’d taken up ever since he’d started Oxford that fall. His eyes lifted from his younger brother and widened at the noise and commotion as a returning ship—a lean and sharp clipper—nearly collided with a shabby tugboat on its way to mooring.

“I’m not jealous of you, you know.”

Jack’s mouth split into a wide smile. It was something they said to each other. The statement almost served as an embrace. Something familiar. Like touching the person next to you in the dark just to make sure they were still there.

He hitched his hat back on his head, standing taller. “I’m not jealous of you either.”

Confidence settled back into Oliver’s broad shoulders.

“Good. Because I’m going to be a duke someday.

” The haughtiness in his voice was belied by the crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.

“The last thing I would want to do is travel the world with a bunch of stinking men I don’t know, exploring ancient worlds, eating spicy foods, savoring exotic women.

No thank you. Not the life for me. Sounds awfully boring, actually. ”

Jack nodded, feigning seriousness. “You make a good point,” he conceded.

“But, then again, I would hate to be welcomed into the poshest clubs, be fawned over by scandalous and talented opera singers, all while hunting and fishing to my heart’s desire.

Nor would I want to be shackled to the most beautiful girl in London. Sounds absolutely horrid.”

Oliver’s aloof expression vanished. The sun glinted off every one of his white teeth. “She is beautiful, isn’t she?”

There was a part of Jack that yearned to keep teasing his brother, but it proved impossible in this instance. “She is. I can’t believe she actually likes you.”

“Not just likes me. She loves me, brother.”

An uncomfortable feeling stole over Jack, like someone had thrown a wet wool blanket over his shoulders.

Love was all well and good in books and plays, but to his young self, it seemed to come with too many limitations.

Now, lust, on the other hand… Jack approved of lust. He understood that. Lust made perfect sense.

Oliver continued to beam. “And Father loves her just as much as Mother does. How is that possible? Those two never agree on anything! She’s absolutely perfect.

” His chin lowered along with his voice, but nothing could tarnish the glint in his eyes.

“I’m going to look for a ring after I drop you off. One as big as your head!”

Jack snorted, all his biased notions about love being confirmed right before him. Love turned men into milquetoasts—even future dukes. “I hate to tell you this, Ollie, but dukes don’t get married before they turn twenty. It’s hardly the done thing.”

“Well, I hate to tell you this, Jackie, but duke’s sons don’t run off to work on merchant vessels. Speaking of not-done things.”

Ouch. That was a joust to the stomach. Jack caressed his solar plexus, right where he was sure the imaginary blow had hit. He’d deserved it. He’d only meant to tease his brother, but he must have forgotten that milquetoasts weren’t usually known for their sense of humor.

However, it was nothing Jack hadn’t heard before.

His father and uncles had spent the last year begging him to go to university and become a member of the clergy, or—if his blood truly pumped for the sea—to join the Royal Navy.

He’d considered it, only because they’d asked him to, but those options never fueled his ambitions like running his own company did.

Jack craved money and success. Even though his family always prided itself on regurgitating the saying “Money is the root of all evil,” it was only because they could afford to. Jack, as a second son, could not.

His hand dropped to his side. “You know why I’m leaving.”

Oliver’s fierce countenance matched his brother’s. “And you know why I’m proposing. There’s only one Jo. I could live to be one hundred and never meet another girl that is made for me like she is.”

The wind kicked up, almost beckoning Jack away, and he had to hold on to his hat before it was blown off his head.

“I know that,” he said. Not even begrudgingly.

Because it was true. Seeing his brother fall in love with Lady Josephine had made the past year exciting, and a little maddening.

The sweet girl hadn’t taken Oliver away from him so much as she’d opened Jack’s eyes to the future.

Sharing Oliver with the dukedom has always been easy—he’d grown up doing it.

But sharing him with a wife would be infinitely harder.

And realizing that had sharpened Jack’s dreams of leaving home and learning the ropes on a merchant ship, hoping one day he’d be smart enough, savvy enough, courageous enough, to run his own.

So, he supposed the next time he saw Lady Jo, he should thank her. She’d lit the fire. And now he was standing at the docks saying goodbye to the person he loved most in the world, hoping that it wouldn’t be their last moment together.

Jack glanced over his shoulder. Like ants, the shipman and cargo haulers, the passengers and warehouse directors, moved in a frightening way that seemed second nature to all but him.

“You’ll get the hang of it in no time,” Oliver stated, surprising Jack with his observant take. He patted the side of the carriage, like putting a period on a sentence. “Promise that you’ll be back for the wedding?”

Jack nodded. He didn’t dare talk. A tidal wave of tears and bumbling was building, and his resistance was fading quickly. He wasn’t sure how to board a ship as a crew member for the first time, but teary-eyed wasn’t it.

Oliver shrugged his great, wide shoulders, reminding Jack so much of their father. “So… I’ll be seeing you, then?”

Jack nodded once more.

Oliver cocked his head and tried for a close-mouthed smile. “Try not to wind up dead.”

Jack had to reach all the way down to his stomach to spit out the words. “I will,” he replied gruffly.