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Twenty-Two

GRAYSON HOUSE, LONDON - JULY 5, 1816

TOM

I was too frantic to wait for a hack. It wasn’t until I was halfway to Grayson House that I began to lament my choice to run through the streets of London at full speed and recognized that my efforts might be—not necessarily overly dramatic—but fruitless. If one of the maids had taken the letter with the intention of posting it on my behalf as I suspected, then the five minutes I saved by sprinting, shouting my pardons over my shoulder as I brushed past lamplighters, servants, and gentlemen alike, would not be the five minutes they posted the letter.

By the time I reached the black double doors under the sharp archway and Grecian columns, I was breathless, sweat-soaked, and disheveled. That was the moment I recognized I hadn’t bothered to grab my coat or retie my cravat but raced through London half undressed. I could only pray Mother was not in residence as that lecture may actually kill me.

One hand braced on my waist, panting, I banged on the door. Weston’s face shifted from irritation to astonishment at the sight of me and he ushered me inside. If he said anything, I couldn’t hear it over the rushing of my ears and my harsh breaths.

Kate’s soft soprano successfully cut through the panic. “Tom, good Lord! Are you well?”

She reached my side, her tiny hands grasped my shoulders, soothing down them before turning me around. It took me a moment to understand she was searching for injury.

“Letter,” I wheezed.

“Pardon?”

“Letter—”

“You received a letter? Good lord, is it Michael? Juliet? Did something happen to the babe?”

I could only manage a continuous headshake through heaving breaths at her frantically peppered questions. She did stop fondling me so at least I’d convinced her of my physical health.

“I,” gasp, “wrote,” gasp, “it?—”

“You wrote a letter?”

Irritation finally overwhelmed the lack of air. “Would you let me finish?”

She nodded, eyes still frantically casting over my form.

“I had a letter on my writing desk. It’s gone. Do you know if one of the maids took it to post?”

“All this over a letter posted? I’ve no idea. It is that important?”

“Kate, look at me. Do you suppose I would look like this if it wasn’t important?”

Her gaze flicked over me. “Right. I’ll go ask—shall I?”

“Please.”

“Kate?” Damn . “Tom? What on earth happened?”

I turned to face my brother for the first time in days. “Hugh.”

“Are you well?”

“I believe he’s physically unharmed. He said something about a letter, I’ll go check with the maids,” Kate supplied.

“Letter? Is it Michael?”

Unwilling to repeat the entire conversation a second time, I added, “I wrote it. I’m physically fine. As far as I am aware, Michael, Juliet, and the babe are all perfectly well.”

“Good, then you and I have a few moments to speak.” Neither his expression, somewhere in the vicinity of his usual frown, nor his tone, indicated his mood.

I could have chosen to be difficult, avoided the conversation as I wished, but frankly, avoiding my brother was exhausting. I trailed after him, dragging my feet all the way to his study.

Inside, he gestured toward the chair across the desk from his own while he filled two glasses with a generous pour of the scotch he favored.

The leather was cool against my overheated back and thighs—so much so that it would have been a relief were I not faced with the stony visage of my father. Something about his portraits, which still hung in the studies of both the London home and the Kent estate, never failed to leave me weary and on edge.

Whether either of my brothers or I matched my father’s precise coloring would forever remain a mystery, but there were pieces of him to be found in each of us. The way he stared down, however, his haughty expression cast in oil—an insect in amber—was entirely his own.

“I was considering commissioning something new,” Hugh said conversationally, nodding toward the painting.

“Yes?”

“I thought, if you were willing—and Michael, of course—the three of us.” That was enough to rip my gaze from the painting.

“You want to include Michael?”

“He is our brother.”

“ I know that. You refused to admit it for years.”

Hugh shrugged. “He belongs up there, beside us.”

I took a moment to consider my brother, truly observe him, as I hadn’t in years. The Hugh I once knew never would have included Michael in our ranks—our baseborn brother, in spite of everything he’d done for the family, hadn’t been considered worthy of the name. Now, Hugh wanted a portrait of the man.

“You’ve changed.”

He held the glass of scotch up to the candlelight, turning it first one way, then the next, considering it. For an impossibly long moment, I wondered if he would dignify my observation with a reply. At last, he settled on. “For the better, I hope.”

I nodded. Hugh wasn’t perfect, no one was. But he tried in a way he hadn’t before. Something about that realization made me want to be brave, vulnerable—honest.

“Do you have questions?” I asked.

Hugh gave me the honor of responding truthfully himself, offering no confusion as to my meaning in his shrug.

“I assume this letter has something to do with Rosehill?”

I nodded again, overgrown curls brushing against the rumpled collar of my shirt.

“I am trying to understand, Tom. Truly, I am. I need you to know that above all else.”

There was a truth to his words that I felt in my bones. Hugh had two methods of managing circumstances that made him uncomfortable. Kate had encouraged him to face those situations head-on with generous assumptions. But Hugh’s natural inclination, born of years in our mother’s company, was suspicion and avoidance.

“Michael tried to explain it. Well, Rosehill made the first attempt, then Michael.

“You spoke with Michael about this?”

“At first, I spoke with him hypothetically. When it became clear that we were both trying and failing to discuss you without actually discussing you, we dropped the pretense.”

“Lovely, I’m ever so glad I was able to provide entertainment.”

“Tom,” he sighed. “You know that is not what I meant. And besides, you were gone to the wind—I haven’t seen you in days. When, and how, was I meant to gather my answers?”

I hadn’t the slightest notion of what to say to that. I took a heavy sip of my drink instead, buying time.

Hugh took the bait and continued, “I used to believe I knew nearly everything, and everything I didn’t know could be readily discerned using my impeccable judgment. But I’ve learned I know almost nothing. And regardless, Michael has accidentally become the person I go to with such questions.”

“Often have questions about such things?”

“More often of late—but he proved to be quite the artist when I had questions about pleasing Kate.”

“Artist?”

“He drew me a diagram—there were instructions. It was… illuminating.”

“May I see it?”

“Do you suppose you’ll have need of a diagram with instructions on how to please a woman—a wife?”

“No, but I still think it would be amusing.”

“You think everything is amusing.”

“And I’m usually right.”

“You are,” he agreed quietly. “So, Rosehill?”

“What about him? He seduced me, remember?” My tone had shifted, the memory sparking something petulant and unkind.

“Oh yes, you were well and truly seduced by the time I happened upon you.”

An irritated huff of laughter escaped.

“Will you tell me about it? What you feel? How it happened?”

A second laugh escaped, still under my breath and restrained, but genuine. “We met at your wedding.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Mother introduced us, in point of fact.”

“I… do not…”

“I believe she intended for me to wed Lady Davina, in truth. Make amends for your failure to secure a suitable wife.” That comment earned me a growl in spite of the jest in my voice. “I looked at him and suddenly… everything made sense. The world that never seemed quite right, always a little chaotic, a little unwieldy, was ordered and tidy and everything that I was told you’re supposed to feel when faced with a beautiful lady—I felt it the second I looked at him. The butterflies, the heart palpitations, damp palms—all of it.”

“And you’ve never felt that? For a young lady, I mean.”

“No. There are beautiful ladies, but it’s an abstract beauty.”

“And Rosehill felt the same?”

“Christ, no.” At his glare, I corrected. Kate was still a vicar’s daughter. “Lord, no. He doesn’t recall our meeting at all. Which is almost certainly a positive thing, I was a bit of a mumbling dolt. I did steal a snuffbox from your wife’s aunt, though.”

He sighed, thumb and forefinger pinching his nose. “Do I wish to know?”

“No.”

“Very well then. What you feel for Rosehill… It is love?”

“I’ve never been in love before.”

“Sometimes when Kate smiles at me, I forget to breathe.”

A little chuckle escaped me. “I don’t think Xander knows how to smile. But when he speaks—you know the way he does with his hands—my heart forgets to beat.”

Something in my brother’s expression was wistful, his lip quirked at one corner. “Do you wish to do anything with those feelings?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want to be with him? If there were no obstacles, and your feelings were reciprocated—do you wish to build a life with him?”

I nodded, swallowing the harsh knot in my throat at the thought.

Hugh’s tongue darted out between his lips, moistening them before downing the entirety of his glass in one swallow. “You understand the consequences? It’s not done often, but the law—you could be hanged, Tom.”

I mirrored his actions with my glass. The fortification was necessary for the rest of this. “Wouldn’t you? If it were Kate?”

He sighed, his head falling to the desk with a soft thump. “I wish everyone would stop mentioning wretched things happening to my wife by way of explanation. I am capable of comprehending the feelings and sentiments of love without the demonstration.”

The chair creaked as I leaned forward to offer a conspiratorial whisper. “Did you not say a few moments ago that you required a diagram?”

My ear rang for a moment after Hugh clipped me round it.

“I need you to be serious for once in your life, you ingrate,” he muttered. At my sobering nod, he continued. “There are very, very few things I would not do for you. You know that, I hope. But this, if it goes poorly, I very much doubt there would be anything I could do for you. And if there were things I could do, I’m nearly certain that doing them would imperil Kate and little Henry—and those, alone, are the things I will not do. Rosehill will be shielded, his title all but ensures it. If you’re discovered and they wish to make an example of someone… I couldn’t bear it.”

“There is nothing to discover. Xander is gone to Scotland.”

“An impassable distance, so I understand your willingness to forsake the love you spoke so passionately about. Orpheus went to hell for Eurydice, but no one could expect a man to go to Scotland.”

“What are you saying?”

“You know what I’m saying.”

“You…”

“I do not wish for you to go, to be clear. And I will absolutely fret over you in a manner that will surely be embarrassing. Mother will certainly have my head if she finds out I encouraged you. But as you said… if it were Kate…”

My heart comprehended his meaning before my head, swelling in my chest, leaving no space for anything else, not even air. “Hugh…”

“Be safe about it? Please?”

“You’re really suggesting this? You understand?”

“Not the mechanics of it—and please do not explain. But if there’s one thing I know, you cannot help who you fall in love with. If I could have, it never would have been Katie and that would be the greatest loss of my life.”

“Hugh…” My voice was thick and overwrought. That would not do. My brothers and I did not share sentiment. I shook off the emotion. “Thank Kate for me?”

“For what?”

“Everything. You were unbearable before her.”

“I’d cuff you around the ear again if I didn’t agree with you. You will write? And come back when you can?”

“Of course. You’ll let me borrow the carriage?”

“For weeks? Absolutely not. You’ll take a coach.”

“But they’re so uncomfortable.”

“Orpheus never complained.”

“Orpheus never had to ride in a post coach for days.”

“You are not having the carriage. Bother Michael.”

A soft knock interrupted our lazy debate. Kate popped her head in. “Tom? It seems as though your letter was posted. Sara said it was already addressed.”

“I thought as much. Thank you for confirming.”

“You seem… more relaxed.”

“I am. Say, Kate, do you suppose I might borrow your carriage?”

“Of course!” she replied at the same time that Hugh interjected with, “Absolutely not.”

At his wife’s confused expression, he added, “He wishes to take it to Scotland.”

Her head tipped to one side, considering me, before she seemingly made a decision. “The weather is fine, we can use the curricle. And if the weather turns, I’m sure Michael and Juliet will have no concerns with us borrowing theirs.”

When I turned back to him with a smirk, Hugh had thrown his hands up in exasperation. “No one mind me. I’m only the viscount, it’s only my carriage.”

“Oh, good. We shan’t,” I retorted, knocking back the last dregs of scotch. “If you’ll both excuse me, I have packing to do.”

“When will you be back?” Kate asked. “Before it snows?”

“Perhaps,” I murmured, rising to stand.

“He’s in love,” Hugh singsonged in a tone I’d never heard from him and hoped never to hear again. “He’s off to win hearts.” I shuddered, rounding the desk to cuff him around the ear before making for the door. His laugh followed me until I reached his wife’s side.

“Oh Tom,” she whispered, reaching up to cup my cheek. Once I recognized her intent, I had to dip at the knees so she could reach. “Supper, tomorrow. I’ll invite everyone—well, do you wish for your mother to attend?”

“Not particularly.”

She gnawed on her lower lip, wavering. “Oh, you should see her before you leave.”

I dropped a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll take tea with her. Spare everyone else the pleasantness.”

“My favorite brother,” she called after me as I made my way down the hall, much calmer than before.

“I’m certain you say that to all your brothers.”

“I do!”