TWO WEEKS LATER
The evening light slanted low across the study, gilding the edges of the tall windows and stretching long shadows over the walnut paneling. The scent of burning wood lingered from the hearth, mingling with the sharper tang of ink and old parchment. The house was quiet, the hush pressing heavier tonight.
Edward stepped inside his study, fatigue pressing against his bones after the length of the day. He worked the buttons of his waistcoat free with a sigh, his mind drifting as he shrugged off his jacket. The ache behind his eyes had little to do with Parliament's endless quarrels. The afternoon had seen him pacing the edges of Hyde Park, his boots scuffing the gravel paths with no real direction—except perhaps hoping, foolishly, thatshemight be there. She wasn’t.
And he’d returned home cursing his own absurdity. It had been over two weeks now without even as little as the sight of her. And he was beginning to crave it, unnaturally so. Was there a truth to her words when she said her final goodbye?
The jacket slid from his shoulders, and as he turned, he nearly started.
Benedict was there, behind his table, but instead of the ledgers and folios Edward would have in front of him, Benedict had a pile of books.
“Is there a reason you are in the one place I feel is truly mine?” he asked while placing his jacket on the hatstand.
“I felt it imperative to start familiarizing myself with my future surroundings,” Benedict said with a shrug. “In three months, you'll be off gallivanting across Europe, and someone must be ready to manage the lands. Sooner or later, Valhaven will fall to me, after all. How was Parliament??”
“Aggravating,” Edward went to the sideboard and poured himself some brandy. “But that is what you get for sticking a bunch of Whigs passionate for reform and cynical Tories into a room, then praying that neither of them sets the place on fire.”
“Or cross the floor and bludgeon the speaker into a pulp,” Benedict chuckled. “But I mean, how did they take the proposal to disenfranchise the East India Company?”
“They jumped on that proposal like fleas on a mongrel,” Edward replied dryly. “Any scheme promising to fatten their purses is one neither party would dare refuse. But back to your earlier remark—are you planning to step into my ducal role with a wife in tow?”
Benedict rubbed the back of his head, “About that… I plan on courting Miss Penelope.”
Edward ground his molars as he poured out another glass of brandy. As unseemly as it was, he knew he had to tell his brother the truth about the young lady, no matter how much of an invasion of the young woman’s privacy it was.
“Benedict—”
“I know what you are going to say,” Benedict hastened to reply. “That it is rather unseemly to be jumping from one lady to another, no less when they are sisters—how it will look like I have no head on my shoulders and all that. You might go so far as to warn me that the scandal will cling to my name for years. But, Edward… I simply cannot bring myself to care.”
Taking his glass, Edward circled the desk and gestured for Benedict to join him on the chaise.
Once his brother settled, Edward chose his next words with deliberate care. “I hope you will keep everything I am about to say to you in strict confidence…”
What followed was a carefully curated confession—an account of Penelope’s entanglement with Rutledge. He spoke of the poor girl’s insidious seduction and the result of their ill-fatedrendezvous. The attempt to have Rutledge own up to his part in it all, culminating in the confrontation Benedict himself had been involved in. Edward shielded the most delicate truths,omitting Alice’s involvement entirely, for some secrets were not his to share.
Silence hung thick in the air when he finished.
Benedict stared at him, the color draining from his face. His voice, when it came, was a whisper laced with disbelief.
“She is carrying his child...” he concluded on his own.
“It is more than likely,” Edward said sympathetically. He waited a while as Benedict internalized the unsettling news. Leaning back, he rubbed his tired eyes, “I need you to know that if you decide to step away, no one will blame you. It is a very difficult burden to come to terms with.”
“…Not as burdening as she must be feeling,” Benedict mused.
Edward took a bracing mouthful of his drink.
“No wonder Rutledge was such a jackanapes when I met him,” Benedict sneered. “I wish I’d given him more facers.”
“I doubt he would have liked that,” Edward replied. “His good looks are how he gets his conquests…” Pausing, he tilted his head. “Actually, dash that. I do think his face needs a substantial rearranging. It would stop these unfortunate situations from arising again.”
Setting his glass down, Edward crossed his legs, “I’d advise you to think about the situation, Benedict. I know you are one to run in headstrong and all, but this is a ton of responsibility, especially considering the responsibilities you will already be taking over from me.”
Sobering, Benedict asked, “How long did it take you to finally settle into the ducal role?”
“Over three years,” Edward replied, “And that was touch and go, try and error. But I settled into it eventually.”
Shaking his head slowly, Benedict asked, “Why are you so fixated on not marrying, Edward? I know you despised the way Father handled business, and I know you abhor our finicky cousins, but why spite yourself when they are living free of all this concern?”
