“It seems you are failing your classes,” he said.
Oliver shifted, a mutinous expression on his face. “That letter was meant for Father, not you.”
“Better someone read the letter rather than have it languishing on Father’s desk for three months before he consigns it to the fire,” Henry said shortly. “The Dean also writes that you are the orchestrator of many pranks against your fellow students and tutors. Most recently, you defiled the statue of Queen Mary II.”
Oliver paled a little, his sandy hair falling over his forehead as he ducked his head. No doubt he had been hoping no one would have discovered he was behind that particular act. Henry sighed as he lowered the letter back onto the desk. His brother had always been impulsive; at nine, that had been an endearing trait. As a man, it was considerably less endearing. Oliver was becoming precisely the sort of degenerate their father was known for being, and Henry felt near powerless to stop it.
“I did not send you to Oxford so you could fail to attend your classes,” he said, trying and failing to keep the irritation from his voice.
Oliver scowled. “You did not send me to Oxford. Nathanial did.”
“Does that give you the right to deface university property?”
“You don’t have the right to lecture me about it.”
“I do when the bill is sent to my door.” Another bill when they were drowning in them. At this rate, even Miss Winton’s dowry would not be enough to repair the damage to the estate. “Neither Nathanial nor I sent you to Oxford so you could cultivate a drinking problem.”
His younger brother flushed. “I don’t have a drinking problem.”
“So this act of defiance was committed sober?”
There was a notable pause. “It was not,” Oliver muttered. “But if you expect me to do nothing but stay inside and study when—”
“That is all I did.”
“You,” Oliver said, his lip curling. “And because you were staid before your time, you expect me to be, too?”
“At the very least, I expect you not to cause havoc. Your education will be instrumental in finding you an occupation. When you graduate, our father will not be able to support you.”
“How is it I can know more about the world than you?” A scowl marred Oliver’s boyish face. “I am ten years your junior and yet you still do not understand that it is not the quality of my education that matters, merely that I have one.”
“You may not have one if you continue to fail your classes.” Henry planted his hands against the desk and rose. Above all else, he longed to be free of a destitute estate and a family that wished, at all turns, to further sink his hopes of inheriting anything at all. “If all you had wanted to learn was how to be a degenerate, you may as well have stayed home.” The instant the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. It was all very well for him to disapprove of his father’s actions, but heshould not have voiced them to Oliver. “Is there anything else you wished to say?”
A mulish expression crossed Oliver’s face. “I wish you had never returned to England.”
“Do you?” Henry said dryly, shuffling through the papers on his desk. Most belonged to his father, but someone should address them. “Well, then, that makes two of us.”
Commotion beyond the door put a stop to any further conversation. Their mother gave a shriek of delight from the hallway, and Henry opened the door to chaos. Oliver slipped away, taking the opportunity to end the interview, but Henry’s attention was arrested by his oldest sister, Theodosia, standing in the hall with a babe in her arms and her husband, the Duke of Norfolk, standing protectively behind her.
“What are you doing in London?” their mother demanded, kissing Theo on the cheek. “What if dearest Charles catches a cold?”
In Henry’s opinion, ‘dearest Charles’, who was a chubby, red-faced child with disconcertingly plump hands, looked like the picture of health.
“Henry!” Theo said, approaching him with a wide smile. “I was hoping to catch you. Nate had business in London and I thought I would visit. Mama said you’re getting married?”
“I expect so,” he said, and was immediately horrified when Theo unceremoniously deposited Charles in his arms. “What are you doing?”
“He should know his uncle. And if you’re readying to marry, you should become more accustomed to holding infants.”
Charles was heavy. He also squirmed, and his red face twisted alarmingly, mouth opening. Henry knew by the way the women had cooed over him that he was commonly considered ‘sweet’ and ‘a darling’, but as far as he was concerned, the baby couldhave been a different species. With tiny, square teeth in his mouth.
“Don’t let him suck on your finger,” Theo advised. “He’s teething and he will think nothing of chewing on you.”
“Take him back before I drop him on his head.”
She sighed in exasperation. “You won’t drop him. Just hold him.”
“I am holding him.” And he would rather not be. The fact his marriage would likely result in children of his own was a fact he tried to think of as little as possible. The expectation was that he would have, at least, a spare and an heir. If he was lucky, he might achieve that with just two, but he would likely have more.
