“Poor Gill has no choice but to wed because he inherited,” he told the viscount, feeling the need to offer explanation on behalf of his brother, as he so oft did. “Our father was a reckless wastrel. Could not be trusted with a ha’penny. Now Gill gets to pay the price. However, he is not particularly known for his ability to woo the fairer sex.”
“You are his rearguard, as it were,” Aylesford suggested.
Yes, much to his irritation. Because all he wanted to do was romance his brother’s choice of bride himself,curse it. But he could not say this aloud.
“Precisely,” he said instead. “Brilliant, Aylesford. I am my brother’s romantic rearguard. I save his army from impending doom. Particularly, Miss Christabella Winter.”
It had not escaped Ash’s notice that his brother was doing rather a lot of speaking to and about the wrong Miss Winter. The wild one with the red hair who had begun the entire snowball affair.
“Miss Winter is assisting me,” Gill bit out, glaring at him.
Though Ash had attempted to speak with his brother yesterday following the impromptu snowball fight they had shared with Pru and Miss Christabella in the gardens, they had forever been interrupted by fellow guests. And then, Gill had gone to bed early whilst Ash had stayed awake, downing brandy and his guilt all at once. He rather suspected now that Gill had been avoiding him.
Because as much as Ash did not want Gill to marry Pru, he was also horrified at the prospect of his brother taking on such a troublesome baggage as Miss Christabella Winter as his duchess. Moreover, how could anyone—given the choice between the two sisters—not see how eminently more alluring Pru was?
“She is the wrong Miss Winter,” he snapped at Gill. “You said you wish to marry Miss Prudence, did you not? She is the eldest and the loveliest of all the Winter sisters. Miss Christabella cannot compare. If you would simply cease spending all your time being distracted by the hellion and instead woo the woman you are meant to wed, your chance of success would increase immeasurably. Before someone else takes your place.”
Before I take your place, he meant to say.
The words were there, waiting on his tongue.
Nearly suspended in the chilly air.
And yet, he could not speak them. Did not dare, for what it would mean, not only to his relationship with his brother, but also to himself. He still could not fathom how or why he could want a woman as much as his traitorous body wanted Pru’s. He did not just lust after her; rather, he wanted to possess her. He wanted to make her his and only his, to keep her forever…
“Here now,” Aylesford intervened. “I would argue Miss Grace is the loveliest of all the Winters by far. With her auburn hair and flashing green eyes, not to mention her perfect pink lips…”
Was the man mad? Or was he merely hopelessly in Miss Grace Winter’s thrall? They were engaged to be wed, after all, but Ash had rather assumed it was a marriage of convenience. Now, he could not help but to wonder.
Aylesford trailed off before clearing his throat, his cheeks darkening to an undeniably embarrassed hue of scarlet that had nothing to do with the violent December wind and everything to do with whatever thoughts were roiling in the man’s mind.
“In love, are you, Aylesford?” Ash could not resist taunting, his lips twitching.
What a relief it was to think upon the suffering of others instead of his own torment for the nonce.
“Love?” the viscount repeated, scoffing. “Such an emotion is better suited to fools and naïve women who sigh over silly novels filled with drivel. Do you not think?”
“I believe love is possible,” Gill said.
What the bloody, fucking hell?Since when had his brother ever believed in love? They had both been born into the same web of misery. Unless…by God, he refused to believe it. Nay, surely not. And still, once the notion entered his mind, it refused to go away until he did something.
“With Pru?” Ash demanded before he could think better of the query.
“Pru?” his brother repeated, raising a mocking brow at him.
Damn it all, he was showing his hand like a poor player at cards. And making a fool of himself too. He had to do something—anything—to prove he was as unmoved by Pru as ever.
“Miss Prudence Winter,” he amended, making a great show of flicking a speck of imaginary lint from the sleeve of his greatcoat as he held the reins in a loose grasp with his left hand. “You know to whom I refer.”
“I did not question whom but rather your familiarity,” Gill said pointedly.
Ash could have said the same thing to his brother about Miss Christabella Winter. But in that moment, he was filled with such a rare mixture of anger, guilt, and irritation—at himself, at Gill—that his only recourse was escape. He was riding a horse, and there was an open expanse ahead of him,curse it.
“Go to the devil,” he told Gill.
With that, he spurred his mount into a gallop, putting as much distance as he could between himself, his brother, and the mountain of guilt that wanted to bury him whole.
Pru was nothiding, she told herself as she settled into the false ruins of Abingdon Hall. There were few drawing room entertainments today as most of the company was diverting themselves with sleigh rides in the snow. She had taken the opportunity to seize some time to herself, away from everyone.
