No—
DamnHadleyfor creating this farcical tragedy by bringing half of London to discover them.
Kendall sat in his private study, the one directly off his bedchamber, a fire burning low in the grate. He liked this room, partly because his father had eschewed it and partly because its placement between the bedchamber and dressing room meant that servants would struggle to listen at the lock.
In short, it allowed him to brood in privacy. To curse his Fate and Scottish earls and womankind in peace.
Allie discovered him there, three sheets to the wind.
“Lord Hadley,” Kendall said, saluting his twin with a bottle of brandy, “is a cretin.”
“Is he now?” Allie plucked the bottle from his fingers.
“Give me that!” He reached for the brandy, but misjudged the distance and nearly toppled out of his chair.
Allie pushed him back into his seat with a firm hand to the shoulder. He slumped against the leather.
“I think you have had enough, Tristan.” Setting the bottle on a sideboard, she returned to the fire, taking the seat opposite him. “And yes, Hadley behaved indiscreetly. He refused to heed my defense of you.”
“Imbecile,” Kendall belched. “Now you see why I . . . why I . . .” He frowned, his sodden brain searching for the right words. “He . . . he must pay.”
“I’ve never seen you drunk.”
He squinted at her.
“You are less morose than I would have expected,” she continued, conversationally.
“Th-thank you?” he hiccupped.
“You are going to have to offer for Lady Isolde. But I think you already reached that conclusion.” She pointed at the brandy bottle on the sideboard. “Hence, the drunkenness.”
Indeed, Kendall had come to that realization about two seconds after seeing the sea of faces outside the ice house.
Curse Hadley and his eagerness to believe the worst of a Duke of Kendall.
He ignored the tiny voice whispering uncomfortable truths in his ear. That his own attacks on Hadley had influenced the earl’s assumptions. That in the past, when at his angriest, Kendall might have entertained the thought of kidnapping Isolde as retribution.
The brandy, thankfully, had been effective at silencing that pesky voice.
“You are backed into a corner, Brother,” Allie continued. “Yes, Hadley was wrong to assume that you had abducted his daughter. However, if you do not offer for Lady Isolde, they will say you ruined her on purpose—an unsporting, vicious volley in this war you have launched against her father.”
Kendall stared morosely into the fire, head lolling against his chair. “If I don’t . . . If I don’t marry her, I will become . . .” He searched his pickled brain for the right word. “. . . no one.”
“Yes. You will bepersona non gratain theton.No longer received.”
“And even if Idomarry her, I will never become . . . become Prime Minister.” The very thought had his hand twitching for the bottle again. “Her Majesty . . . does not like Hadley’s liberal politics . . . or Lady Isolde. She is too educated, too opinionated, too . . . Lady Isolde-ish to be received at Court.”
It was one of a hundred reasons why Kendall had rejected courting the woman in the first place.
“Yes,” his twin agreed, compassion in her voice. “No matter what decision you make now, your political prospects are grim.”
“My future . . . ’twas so bright . . . so close,” he whispered. “And now it is all . . . all . . .” He gave up searching for the word and instead made an exploding motion with his hands.
“Yes. I am so sorry, Tristan.”
Silence stretched for a moment. Coals settled in the grate, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.
He turned his head where it rested on the back of his chair, eyes blearily trying to bring his sister into focus. “No . . . comfort, Allie? No,it will come to r-right”—he hiccupped again—“or,Brother, you shall c-conquer this too?”
