Courtney was right. He could build a new life, not like his life before his memory loss, or like his life in Ireland. Some combination of the two.
This time he’d build a world that he wanted. No more lies. No more making compromises. This would be on his terms.
He ran a weary hand over his face.
Damn it to hell. He just didn’t know what those terms were.
Lucien ignored his father’s loud snores.
“You could marry. I’m sure Courtney would look favorably on a marriage to you. She still loves you.”
“And your family would welcome that?”
Tarquin shrugged. “I saw an honorable man I recognized tonight. Courtney could do much worse.”
He closed his eyes, ashamed of what his family had become. “I know you mean well, Tarquin. However, I’d prefer to handle my affairs my way.” The carriage arrived outside his home. “Thank you for coming to me tonight. I am in your debt.” As he was indebted to everyone, it would seem.
As he helped his father inside, a thought sprung up in the back of his mind that Courtney could do much better than him.
And she probably knew it.
Chapter Four
Courtney had barelyfinished breaking her fast when a note from Farah arrived. She was inviting her to walk in the park with her and Caitria and Ava-Marie. They would call for her at midday. That was kind of her. Farah had traveled back from Ireland with Ava-Marie and the little girl knew her more than anyone other than Caitria. Farah’s presence would help the little girl fit into her new life easier.
“Good morning, dearest,” Tarquin said, striding into the breakfast room just as Courtney was finishing her tea. His cravat was slightly askew, and dark circles shadowed his eyes, suggesting he’d had a late night.
“You look exhausted,” she observed, gesturing for him to join her. “I didn’t hear you come in last night.”
“I was with Lucien.” He helped himself to coffee, watching his sister’s face carefully. “At Crockford’s.”
Courtney’s hand stilled on her teacup. “What happened?”
“His father was gambling again. With Lockwood.” Tarquin’s lip curled in disgust. “That vulture had already taken the earl for five hundred pounds by the time we arrived.”
“Dear God.” Courtney set down her cup, her appetite gone. “Was Lucien able to—”
“He won it all back.” A hint of admiration crept into Tarquin’s voice. “You should have seen him, Court. He’s…different from before. Harder somehow. The way he handledLockwood…” He shook his head. “The old Lucien was all charm and wit. This one has steel in his spine.”
“Ireland changed him,” Courtney said softly.
“Five years of working the land with his own hands would change any man.” Tarquin studied his sister’s face. “But there’s something compelling about him now. He’s lost that aristocratic polish but gained something else. A sort of…raw authenticity. He sees through society’s masks more clearly than before.”
Courtney’s heart squeezed. “Did he seem…happy? When you knew him before, was he truly happy in our world?”
Tarquin considered this. “He played his part well—the charming heir, the devoted son. But looking back, I wonder if he ever felt truly at home in it all. Perhaps that’s why he volunteered to go to Ireland—to fight. You never cared for society’s superficial games either.”
Courtney knew why he’d volunteered. Lucien had felt caught between his Irish and English heritage and had wanted to try and bring an end to the conflict.
“And now?”
“Now he moves through our world like a wolf among lapdogs—aware of the rules but not bound by them. When he confronted Lockwood…” Tarquin smiled grimly. “He didn’t threaten violence or call him out. He simply promised to tell society exactly what kind of man Lockwood is. The farmer’s practicality combined with the peer’s understanding of reputation. Quite effective.”
Courtney absorbed this, trying to reconcile her memories of the polished viscount with this new version her brother described. “Do you think he can save his family?”
“If anyone can, it’s him.” Tarquin’s expression grew serious. “Court, I know you still love him—”
“Tarquin—”
