“She seems to have a knack for medicine. She told me just what to put on a bruise I have from my last go in the club.” Charlie had taken to spinning the book now, two of its corners pressed against his middle fingers while he spun it with his thumb.
Lucas set down his pen entirely. “Charlie, can you not see how ridiculous this is?”
“I don’t know what you could possibly mean.”
“This courting scheme. Do you or do you not enjoy the company of Miss Faraday?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then just court the woman, dash it.”
Charlie lifted his eyebrows. “It sounds likeyoudo not enjoy the company of Miss Faraday,” Charlie said. The book slipped fromhis fingers in his inattention and smacked him in the face. He grimaced, setting it aside and sitting up.
Quite the opposite, in fact. Lucas was beginning to feeltooinvested in each moment spent with the woman, and as such, it would be wonderful if Charlie would just give up the scheme altogether. But at the same time, Lucas would worry over his brother’s intelligence if he did just that. Miss Faraday seemed to have a quiet wit, a care for Tarrington’s tenants, and enough social graces to include both him and Charlie in the conversation when possible. Lucas did not wish his investment to grow any deeper. Maybe it would help if he focused more on her faults? She could not pour tea. And there was the incident with Charlie’s pants, and...
Dash it, was that really all there was?
His hand flexed. “It does not matter whether I enjoy the company of Miss Faraday;youare the one courting her. Or not courting her. Or—agh!” He came to his feet, his body itching with the need to move. He paced the length of the room twice before he realized that Charlie had yet to respond. Lucas turned back to him.
His younger brother’s face was a mask of surprise.
“What?” Lucas demanded.
“Nothing. It is only...” Charlie blinked twice, as if reorienting himself. “It has been quite some time since I have seen you lose your temper like that.”
“What do you—” Lucas stopped, realizing the extent of the situation. Charlie was right. He had lost control, had yelled, even. When was the last time he’d done that?
The night Marietta had died, that was when. He’d yelled at the men attacking them just before they’d knocked him unconscious. And then, when he’d come to and seen their ransacked carriage and his sister on the ground with a blowto her head, he’d yelled into the pouring heavens for letting it happen. He’d yelled and yelled until his voice had grown hoarse.
He didn’t yell anymore after that. He didn’t feel anymore after that.
At least, he tried not to.
Lucas pressed a fist to his forehead. “Forgive me, Charlie.”
Charlie’s eyes narrowed, watching him with far too much scrutiny. “Nothing to forgive.” He stood, making for the door. “But you still owe me three outings with Miss Faraday. I was thinking of taking her down the river to Richmond Park next week.”
Lucas blew out a breath then nodded. “Of course.”
The door closed behind Charlie, and Lucas paced back to his abandoned desk. Instead of sitting down, he stared absently out the window. The surge of emotion from earlier brought a flood of recollection. For a moment, the sunny day seemed to dissolve into rain. Lightning flashing against the sky. Marietta pushing from their carriage to see what was the matter. He pressed his eyes closed.
Would it never be enough? Could he never atone for what he’d been incapable of stopping? Could he not school himself into perfection so that he never caused such terrible things to happen again? Here he’d thought he was improving—learning to box, helping London’s poor as best he could, funding Colin’s club as a place to not only draw in men needing help but also to shelter them in the back rooms if needed, maintaining complete control over himself and his actions. But all of that had fractured in an instance of frustration.
What else could he do?
The door behind him opened again. Lucas erased any anguish from his expression before turning. His father was standing inside the room, eyes on him.
“Your brother told me I would find you here,” he said as he crossed to a plush armchair.
“Did you need something?”
“Yes, in fact. Sit down, would you?”
Lucas moved stiffly, wary of what the conversation might bring. Their family was quite close, often spending long hours together in conversation or companionship, but his parents did not generally seek him out for a personal conversation, especially not one that included the serious expression on his father’s face. Father tended more toward joviality, as Charlie did—though he managed it with far more responsibility.
Lucas sat in the armchair opposite his father’s. “What is it?”
Father looked down at his hands for a moment before answering. “I think it high time you take on more duties as marquess.”
