She blanched but didn’t protest. He realized she’d considered that even though she didn’t want to believe the worst of her brother.
“As for Appertan,” he began.
“No.” She pushed back her chair and threw down her napkin. “Don’t you dare say you believe my own brother would try to harm me.”
“Drink does terrible things to people,” he said quietly. “I have seen it ruin a good man more than once.”
“Not Oliver!” she cried.
He could see her eyes swimming in tears, and the hurt cut him unexpectedly deep. “Until we can definitely rule him out, Cecilia, it makes sense to be wary.”
“I’m ruling him out! You promised to help him—is this your way of neglecting that promise?”
“Of course not. I was going to suggest that after Doddridge leaves, you invite Appertan to look over the books with us and discuss investment strategies.”
“That is a good idea,” she said stiffly.
“You can tell him about our guests as well, so he’s not surprised.”
“You mean surprised when he’s expected to remain home this evening and entertain?”
Michael raised both hands. “That is your decision, not mine.” He wanted to keep the mood light between them, especially since his family was coming, but he could not sit back while she ignored the danger her brother might be putting her in. “Cecilia, sometimes I think you blame yourself for your brother’s selfish behavior, and that’s a mistake.”
Her eyes flashed at him.
“He’s an adult, who must take responsibility for his own behavior.”
“His twin brother died!” she cried softly. “That would hurt anyone.”
“Ten years ago, Cecilia,” he pointed out.
“You don’t get over something like that.” A tear slid from her eye, and she impatiently brushed it away. “I’ve never gotten over it.”
“But you became successful, regardless.”
“But it was my fault, Michael!” she cried. “Gabriel was under my care, and I didn’t see the crocodile! I was reading, for God’s sake, absorbed in what I wanted to do, not the responsibilities my parents had asked of me.”
“If you blame your thirteen-year-old self, then you must really blame Gabriel for saving you.”
She bit her lip, and more tears fell.
“You would have saved him in a heartbeat. He simply beat you to it. Deep inside, Appertan knows he’s failing his brother’s memory. But he doesn’t seem to care. You can’t blame yourself.”
“Even if you say I didn’t fail Gabriel,” she said slowly, “I still feel that way. And I won’t fail Oliver. You’re wrong about him.”
“Then begin to let go of the reins you’ve attached to him. I challenge you to spend a day like a normal young lady instead of an earl. Let me walk Appertan through his duties.”
Still, she hesitated, and he ached for the torment she inflicted on herself, the guilt she should not be feeling. She’d done nothing wrong—whereas he himself had made terrible decisions in his own life, and men had suffered and died. The pang of sorrow took him by surprise, and he put it away until the night, when the dreams would come to him.
“I don’t believe that’s a good idea,” she said at last. “Your mother will be arriving.”
“Not today, then. When they’ve gone.”
“That could be at least a week.”
“No, you don’t know my mother. She’ll want us to be alone with each other.”
She rolled her eyes.
