He might have been a forlorn suitor in a romantic tale, one with no hope of gaining the admiration of the lady in question but destined to serve her willingly for all his days and nights.
Perhaps he was the fool.
When the sound of Specter’s hoofbeats had faded, he pivoted and continued into the forest. Sufficient time had passed that the villain could be safely away, even on foot, but Joshua saw him as soon as the clearing came into view. He stood, leaning against the folly, the insouciance in his stance so very familiar. He wore Joshua’s cloak, cast over one shoulder and the hood back. Joshua studied him as he approached, his footsteps as unwavering as the other man’s gaze. Gerald. It was Gerald. His hair was longer; his features were more haggard; there was a bitterness in his smile and a hardness in his eyes that Joshua did not recall. He was more wiry than he had been and dirtier than once he would have preferred. His garments were worn and his boots were dull.
Joshua stopped when half a dozen steps remained between them. “It is you,” he said, hearing his own relief.
“And you are not surprised,” Gerald replied. “How did you guess?”
“I did not.”
“Ah, did she do the guessing?”
“She saw the resemblance between us, yes.” Joshua shook his head. Something was amiss. He could feel the animosity coming from his younger brother but could not explain it. “We had a letter that you were killed at Waterloo.”
Gerald lifted his hands and stepped closer. “And yet, here I am.”
“Why did you not write? Father and I would have been glad of such happy tidings.”
Gerald’s eyes narrowed. “Are you so certain of that?”
“Of course!” Even as he said the words, Joshua wondered.
“Are you truly so trusting, Joshua? Did you believe everything he told you?” Gerald began to stroll around Joshua, menace in every step. “Do you not think I tired of hearing how you were the favored one, how you were the better to assume the title, how relieved Father was that I had not been born first?”
“The praise I heard was all for you, your skill at dancing, your charm and easy manner.”
Gerald laughed. “Perhaps he secretly despised both of us.”
“I do not think so.”
“Perhaps he blamed Mother for only bearing two sons, both so very unsuitable.”
“Gerald! You cannot speak thus of the dead…”
“And how did he speak of me?” Gerald asked abruptly. His eyes were bright, his very manner unpredictable, and Joshua realized the peril of his situation. He had trusted that his brother would not do him injury, but in this moment, he was not so certain.
“He did not,” Joshua had to admit.
“Never?”
“Never. He told me only that he had bought your commission and that you were gone.” Joshua held his brother’s gaze. “I never knew why you were dispatched, and still I do not. We never had the opportunity to say farewell, and I regretted that.”
Gerald scoffed at that. “After what happened with Charlotte? I cannot believe even you to be so bloodless as that, Joshua.”
“She died by her own error,” Joshua said carefully.
“She died because she loved me. She died because I courted her and I won her heart, because I wanted her for myself. No one would arrange such a match for me, the younger son, and I wanted what you were given so readily.”
“You should have told me that you loved Miss Havilland.”
“But I did not. She was yours, so I took her and made her mine. It was that simple.”
“Gerald!”
His brother pointed toward Bramble Cottage. “Just as that one is yours, so I will take her and make her mine.”
“Miss Emerson has declined my proposal.”
