“Of course, it can’t be.” Snowdon strode forward and jerked his father's hand from Juliana's grip. “You know me, Father. You know I could never do anything like this. All I've ever wanted to be was a good man, be as good an earl as you are when the time comes. I’ve worked my whole life towards that end.”
Withington staggered back. “You've never cared about being earl, good or otherwise.” He clawed at the knot of his cravat. “Whenever I tried to instruct you in your duties, you never paid me mind.”
Snowdon’s hand twitched, and he shoved it into his pocket. “You can't listen to her. She's a liar. She's never wanted what was best for me. She's always tried to hold me back.”
Withington shook his head, blinking rapidly. “No. I know that's not true. Juliana always tried to encourage you in your duties. I've seen it.” He swayed. “Why would you lie? Is this true, Snow? Do you hate me so much?”
“Of course, it's not true.” Miss Lynn hurried to Withington’s side and grasped his arm. “Your son has been a true friend, a good man. I know he could never do anything so…” She trailed off.
Brogan turned his head to follow her gaze.
His blood iced his veins when he saw the pistol in Snowdon’s hand.
Pointed straight at Juliana.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Son, what are you doing?” Her father’s voice was broken, worse even than when he’d told her and Snow that their mother had died. “Put down the weapon.”
Snow's hand shook. “You had to get in my way. You couldn't let me have this one thing.”
A burble of laughter escaped Juliana's throat. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “Let you kill father? You think you’re entitled to that?” She shook her head. “You're mad.” She almost wished he truly was mad. That his eyes were wild and he had the disease of mind that Miss Lynn had accused her of.
Then this would make sense. Then she could have sympathy, and still love her brother.
“Is it mad to want to fix this broken world? Mad to see the oppression rife in England and want to fix it?” He jerked his index finger at his face. “I could have been the one to fix it. Father does nothing in the House of Lords, but if I were earl, I would make changes. People would listen to me.”
“I’m already tired of listening to you,” Rose grumped. “This is insufferable, young man.”
Aside from a twitch in Lord Dunkeld’s lips, everyone ignored the poet.
Juliana stepped forward, then stopped short when Snow waggled the gun at her.
Brogan growled.
Snowdon’s aim wavered between Brogan and herself. Panic clogged her chest. Everything was wrong. Her life was torn apart. But Brogan was still whole, healthy, and wonderful, and there was no way she was going to let her brother hurt him.
It wasn't Brogan’s fault he’d become mixed up with the likes of her. That his first case entangled him with a woman who came from such a broken family.
She wanted to make a difference in the world? Keeping Brogan safe was the best thing she could do.
“People would listen to you?” She huffed. “You think you would walk into the House, one of nearly seven hundred members, and people will trip over themselves to hear what you have to say?” She shook her head. “I know you've always been spoiled.”
Her father stiffened at those words, but she pressed forward. There would be time to comfort her father, hopefully. First, they had to survive.
“You're never told no,” she said. “All our nannies would praise you, the future earl, for the smallest accomplishment. But praise without merit is a toxic combination. Even you can't be so deranged as to think that with no skills, no discernable talents, that you can change the world.”
Snowdon looked to Miss Lynn. “It only takes a very small group of determined people to make change.” The words came as if by rote, as though they’d been spoken by Snow a hundred times over.
Or heard by him.
Miss Lynn pressed her fist to her mouth, her eyes flying wide. “What have you done, Snowdon?” She gasped dramatically.
Juliana pressed her lips together. The woman’s acting was a bit overwrought in her opinion, but it seemed to work on many people. What did Juliana know about the effectiveness of a woman’s wiles? She’d rarely tried to employ them.
“Violence is never the way,” Miss Lynn continued.
Snowdon’s forehead wrinkled. “But… you know that action needs to be taken. That eggs need to be broken in order to make an omelet, as the French say. I’m only doing what you want.”
