by Megan Bryce
A light knock on the door stopped Sebastian’s laughter and he called out hopefully, rising to meet whoever was on the other side. Had George returned? Come back to tell him it was all a joke, that of course George knew he couldn’t marry the widow.
Sebastian stomach tightened into a ball of dread when it was Flora who pushed the door in, when it was Flora who had knocked on his library door.
He looked at her wild dress that now drooped tiredly and said, horrified, “Are you just getting home?”
“Yes.”
That was all she said. Yes.
Where had she been? Who had she been with?
“Flora–”
“You’re done with me, right Sebastian? Then it doesn’t matter.”
His mouth fell open, his heart stopped beating.
He fell into his chair, speechless, and she looked at him a long, quiet minute.
When she turned around to leave, he jumped from his chair, searching for any topic that would keep her there with him. Keep him wondering who she’d been with.
“George is going to ask the widow to marry him.”
She stopped and nodded. “He loves her.”
Sebastian sighed. “He doesn’t. It’s infatuation.”
“It isn’t. If you’d only look, you could see the difference between Miss Westin and Lady Haywood. There is one, Sebastian.”
He could see a glimmer of his old Flora in her calm and rational answer even if it disagreed with his assessment and he smiled at her.
“The difference is one will give us a male heir and the other won’t.”
She didn’t smile back at him. She flinched.
“And that is everything, isn’t it?”
She turned again to leave.
“Flora.”
She didn’t stop, just said over her shoulder, “If you want your brother happy, you will let him choose.”
She closed the door behind her and Sebastian stood stock still.
Two people had walked out on him today.
Mutiny.
Perhaps you should consider that you are on the wrong course, he thought. And then slammed his fist onto his desk.
George had decided that he couldn’t see Miss Westin in rumpled and stained clothing so he’d gone home for a change of clothing, and once there had decided that he really did need his wits about him and chose to spend the rest of the day asleep.
He woke missing Elinor and headed to her townhouse. Too late to see Miss Westin anyway, he would call on her in the morning.
He wasn’t looking forward to it but a promise had been implied. And he felt he owed it to her to be the first to break the news of his engagement to Elinor. He didn’t want Miss Westin to hear it from anyone else first.
There was a skip to his step and a smile on his face when Jones let him in, and George knew he’d made the right choice.
He was greeted at the drawing room door by three happy dogs and he put Anala down among them to jump and yip excitedly.
Elinor watched him pat each dog and say hello to them and said, “I wasn’t sure to expect you tonight. When you didn’t come last night, I assumed you’d finally asked for Miss Westin.”
He shook his head. “No. And I won’t be.”
She sat down with a thump and whispered, “That’s what St. Clair told me.”
He stopped greeting the dogs to come toward her, searching her face. “He came to visit you?”
When she nodded, he said, “I’m sorry,” and she smiled.
“He came to beg me not to marry you.”
George fell to his knees in front of her and said again, “I’m sorry. He’ll come around, Elinor. My brother, too.”
She ran her fingers through his hair. “You are entirely too optimistic.”
“A man has to be optimistic when he asks a woman to marry him.”
Elinor looked into his eyes and stopped playing with his hair. “It does seem like it would help.”
“He has to think that she won’t let him suffer for very long before she gives him an answer.”
She sat back in her seat. “I said I wouldn’t marry any man unless I was breeding.”
Sinclair had to admit this was not how he thought this conversation would go.
“And I told you I couldn’t marry you unless the countess was breeding. Things change.”
She said quickly, “I think you should go ask for Miss Westin.”
That stopped him and he sat back on his heels. “What? Why?”
She looked over at the dogs playing and George said, “What did St. Clair say to you? Wait, no, let me guess.”
“It’s only partly what he said. . .because it seems likely that I may. . .never. . .”
She took a deep breath, unable to say the words. That there might never be children, and George said, “I don’t care, Elinor.”
She whispered, “You should. It hurts, George. Hurts more than you think it will.”
He stopped breathing when she said his name, didn’t move. When her eyes met his, he said softly, “Time to call the solicitors.”
“I did say that, didn’t I? Things change.”
George pushed himself from the floor to sit next to her on the sofa. He tucked her into his side and leaned back, watching Anala pick a spot between two mammoth dogs.
“Tell me what’s changed.”
He didn’t think she knew. Didn’t think she would recognize love when it knelt at her feet, but she snorted and there was disdain in her voice when she said, “You don’t think I can see? St. Clair knew.”
George laughed. “I do love you.”
“I know.”
“And?”
She turned her face to his. He felt her breath on his face, saw the wild and frightened knowledge in her eyes.
She whispered, “George.”
He put his lips against her and murmured again, “Time to call the solicitors.”
He slid his hand up her leg, around her back, and she flinched.
Sinclair froze, then pulled back slowly.
No emotion betrayed Elinor’s face as she said, “I know it’s hard to believe but St. Clair wasn’t my worst visitor today.”
“Your brother,” he said and there was relief in his voice because he didn’t have to go murder his friend.
“Retribution bit him,” she said and this time there was emotion. Retribution lifted his head, shaking Anala off and coming to put his head in Elinor’s lap.
George said, “Good.”
She nodded like she wasn’t completely sure. “Something. . .is broken inside him. Something has always been a little broken inside him. My father was not a gentle man.”
“Did your father break you?”
She took a long time answering. Just sat and petted her dogs head. She finally looked at him, her eyes sad and shuttered, and she said, “He tried.”
“Trying isn’t succeeding.”
“Some days it felt like it. When my father died, Alan got worse. And then, Marcus. He loved Marcus.” She tipped her head to Sinclair. “The Italian Stallion.”
“Of course.”
“Everyone loved Marcus. I did, too. Eventually.”
“But not when you married him?”
She smiled at Sinclair like he was a preposterous little child. “Apparently, I don’t marry men I love.”
“You will.”
“You are entirely too optimistic.”
He’d never thought so before. But then again he’d never been in love before.
“And you are entirely too stubborn.”
She laughed. “Yes. That’s not going to change, George.”
He smiled, basking in the sound of his name on her lips. Some things could change.
“Then we’ll wait. And see what happens.”
Funny that as soon as she entertained the idea that there might never be a child, George was the one who wouldn’t give up hope. A child, a hint of a child, and he’d whisk her to Scotland. Solicitors be damned.
He pulled her onto his
lap, careful of her bruises. “Say it again.”
She said, “George,” and he could hear everything he needed to hear in that word.
“Elinor.” And then because he’d been saying her name for ages and it didn’t mean the same thing at all, said, “Love.”
“Oh, George.”
The earl knocked on the widow’s door early. He’d gone to his brother’s quarters and been told he hadn’t been home yet.
Sebastian guessed he could have gone to the club, tried to find his brother there.
He hadn’t bothered.
When the widow’s man servant opened the door, Sebastian said, “My brother is here. Tell him the earl needs him posthaste.”
Her servant was well trained at least, and merely nodded and escorted him to the drawing room before shutting the door behind him.
The earl sat, figuring his brother wouldn’t rush down no matter the message.
When the door opened ten minutes later, it wasn’t George.
Lady Haywood said, “He says he’s not coming down.”
“Go back up and tell him there is a situation at one of my estates. We will leave as soon as he has packed.”
She sat, and Sebastian wondered when his authority had become useless. Flora, George, the widow. No one listened to him.
“You will have to do better than that, my lord. A situation with tenants, sheep? A few details will help sell the story.”
“I’m an earl. I don’t have to sell a story.”
“You’re not an earl to George. You’re his brother.”
Sebastian blew out a breath. “Go get him, Lady Haywood. Or I will get him myself.”
She shook her head as if disappointed in him and that only enraged him further.
He stared into her soul and growled, “I could destroy you.”
He should have known she didn’t have a soul because all she did was blink and cock her head at him. Then she smiled.
“I think someone in your position could.”
“But not me?”
She shook her head in answer.
His nostrils flared and he thought by gad he would destroy her. Would wipe that satisfied smile off her face if it was the last thing he did.
She said, “You are too much like your brother.”
The door opened again and Sebastian turned to glare at the brother he was nothing like but it was only a servant with the tea tray.
When the woman finally left, he said, “And just how am I like him? I assure you I am not so gullible that I can be taken in by a pretty face and blond hair.”
Lady Haywood poured and stirred and handed him a cup. “Do you really think him gullible? And isn’t it so interesting that those closest to us are the ones who know us the least.”
“I know you, Lady Haywood.”
“Perhaps. And perhaps you do see me clearer than George, at least. But I see you just as clearly, and like him, you are a good man. You wouldn’t destroy someone who didn’t deserve it.”
He laughed and surprised himself. “I don’t think that argument will sway me. A widow aiming for her sixth husband with my brother.”
She cleared her throat. “Husbands are overrated.”
“You would know.”
“Yes, I would. And I assure you they are as inconvenient and irritating as they appear to be. And while I can guess that you won’t believe me, I’m not. . .I am not looking for a sixth.”
“You’re right, I don’t believe you.”
She nodded and sipped. And said nothing more.
They sat in silence until their cups were empty and then she set hers down gently and rose.
She studied him, then shook her head.
“Really, my lord, you will only make him more set upon this course than he already is. Because he is not gullible, or stupid, or happy being led where others want him to go. He came back all the way from India not because you told him to, but because you needed him. He would do anything for those he loves.”
“Do not make the mistake that this infatuation with you is love. That he would sacrifice for you like he would and should for his family.”
She whispered, “Don’t make the mistake that he doesn’t. That he cares one jot that I am the widow or who my relations are or whether I can give him an heir.”
Sebastian all but jumped from his chair. “You do not know him!”
She stood her ground. “He is an open book. I suggest you take the next opportunity to look. At your countess, too, although she is not nearly so easy to see through.”
A red rage filled his vision and he balled his fists. George had always been a mystery to Sebastian but he’d thought he’d known who his wife was. Having the widow confirm that he didn’t made him want to smash everything in this room, the blasted woman included.
And then she was across the room, her hand on the knob and saying, “I will send George down. Perhaps you can have a realistic emergency manufactured by the time he’s ready.”
“Stay away from the countess.”
She stopped, not turning around.
“She loves you, you know?”
“How do you know?”
“I’m her friend.”
“No. You don’t have friends. You have victims and marks.”
She laughed, still facing the door. “You must have known my father.”
“Knew him and didn’t like him.”
She nodded. “No one did. He didn’t care.”
“The apple does not fall far from the tree.”
“I agree it is a worrisome thought. Not many do like me, and I don’t care too much about it. Still, I do hope that I am not like him.”
She opened the door and was halfway through it when she paused. “You won’t ask for my advice, won’t welcome when I give it to you.”
How dare she. Give advice to an earl of the realm?
Sebastian growled, “Go get my brother.”
“Go home and hug her. Don’t say a word. Just hold her and listen to her. She wants you to know who she is, but you need to be quiet and let her tell you.”
Sebastian didn’t say a word and she smiled. “Yes, just like that. It is so difficult for men to listen when a woman talks, to hear the meaning behind the words. I assure you, there is always a meaning.”
“Stay away from her. Stay away from George.”
“You underestimate your brother. I have given up all hope of trying to stay away from him,” she said and Sebastian jerked. Remembered Flora saying the same thing about George.
What did they see that he did not?
“Make yourself comfortable, my lord. George will be down. . .eventually.”
George sat on the other side of the coach, his arms folded tight. He didn’t look at Sebastian, didn’t say a word.
Sebastian closed his eyes and sighed at the silence.
It had been four hours and George hadn’t said one word. Not when he’d come into the widow’s drawing room and given Sebastian a long look. He’d only turned back around and gone out the front door.
Hadn’t said anything to Sebastian while he’d directed his valet on what to pack.
Not a word through the streets of London. Nothing even when the town began to turn to fields.
Sebastian broke first, all the while thinking George’s years in India had changed him somehow.
“You are my heir. It is not inconceivable that I need you to accompany me when there are problems on an estate.”
George grunted. Sebastian kept his eyes closed.
Another mile later. “You are acting like a child.”
“I am being treated like one.”
Sebastian opened his eyes but George was still looking out the window.
“You are being treated like a man whose brain has lodged permanently in his bollocks.”
“You don’t think I can tell the difference between lust and love?”
Sebastian’s reply got caught in his throat and he expelled it forcefully. “How can you possibly be in love with that woman–
”
“Lady Haywood. Or Elinor.”
“I will not call that–” George turned his head, a slow controlled motion, and Sebastian stopped.
He lowered his voice to a conversational tone. “She is conniving. A gold-digger. Has reached far above her station.”
“The same could be said for a few of our forebears. I expect her children’s children will conveniently forget just as well as we have.”
Sebastian leaned forward. “She doesn’t love you in return. All a woman like her can see is what you can do for her.”
“Then why did she refuse me?”
Sebastian had nothing to say, nothing even to think past blank horror.
George said, “I’ve already asked her. She said no.”
“It must not have been a very forceful no since you are still welcome in her bed.”
“She’s trying to save me from myself. It’s very tiresome. And not at all the actions of a conniving gold-digger.”
Sebastian opened his mouth to refute and George interrupted him. “Although I’m sure you can think of some way this works to her benefit.”
Sebastian closed his mouth. He could think of something and George wouldn’t believe it, no matter what it was.
George looked out the window and grimaced at the bucolic view. “Sheep. I simply can not imagine why men get old and gray in this country.”
“Men get old and gray in every country.”
George let out a long, sad sigh. “Yes.”
“It’s inevitable.”
“Some things are.”
“You’re not going to listen to me, are you? Not going to listen to St. Clair. Not going to listen to reason and duty. Just going to do what you want no matter what. No matter who it hurts and disappoints.”
George continued to look out the window. “Some things are inevitable.”
Thirteen
Sheep.
George hated sheep. He left the sheep and land to Sebastian once they arrived at the troubled estate.
Tenants.
George had to admit he was good with tenants. Much better than his brother, who wanted the facts without the pesky emotions. Who cared little for squabbles between people who’d known each other their whole lives and whose history was more important than facts. People who had to live and work together in the future.
