Now the thought of Owen filled Ethan with emotions too volatile and painful to bear. At their last meeting, the tension between him and his youngest brother had erupted into a scene so ugly that they had avoided each other since. That had been over a year ago. All the while, the rest of the family continued the futile campaign of pretending things were as they once were, refusing to give up on anyone.
Ad Finem Fidelis.
Faithful to the End…that was the family motto.
Ethan had tried to live up to those ideals and look at where he was now at one and thirty: angry, aimless, and living in the manor he’d bought because he lost a bet.
“Areyou fine, Ethan?”
James looked around the study, and Ethan knew what the other saw. Paper of an indeterminate hue was peeling from the walls and plaster crumbling from the ceiling. Woodworms had punctured the bookshelves. The rug was moss green, likely due to the clumps of moss growing upon it. Moth-eaten drapes framed the dirty windows that looked out into the garden, where a vine-covered gazebo looked like an ancient temple rising from a jungle.
The place was a dump. Yet it was still better than the glittering salons where polite society smothered him with pity and spitefully shredded Constance’s reputation—yes, that was his ex-fiancée’s name and the irony of it did not escape him. Although Constance had brought the situation upon herself, hearing the cruelty aimed at her and Armand Blake—his former friend and the fellow Constance had jilted him for—depressed him further.
Ethan didn’t know whose betrayal angered him more. Then again, he didn’t have to choose, did he? Being enraged with the world was becoming a habit.
“I am perfectly well.” He picked up a pen, tapping out an irritable ditty. “I have been meaning to check up on this place and set it to rights.”
“As I recall, you bought this manor because you lost a wager,” James replied. “You and your cronies were three sheets to the wind and decided that whoever cast his accounts first would have to buy the most ridiculous property the lot of you could find. You lost—no surprise there, little brother, as you could never hold your liquor—and that is how you became the proud owner of the Bottoms House of Chudleigh Bottoms. Or, as your friends dubbed it in a fit of infantile inspiration,Double Arse Manor.”
As lamentable as the tale was, Ethan almost missed those days. When he and his cronies, Parkhurst, Canning, and Blake, had been young and carefree. As second sons, they’d reveled in the unique freedom of being the spare. The fact that they all had artistic inclinations had strengthened their bond, and when Ethan’s star had risen as a piano virtuoso, Blake, Parkhurst, and Canning had been there to cheer him on.
Until it had all fallen apart.
You despise pity, remember? So stop heaping it upon yourself.
“The manner in which this house came into my possession is irrelevant.” Ethan tossed the pen onto a tray. “It is mine, and it’s high time that I did something with it.”
“You don’t have to do this, you know.” James’s gaze was steady. “If you don’t want to be in London—and God knows no one can blame you for that—you could stay at Grove Hall. No one would disturb you there…except Evie. But the two of you have always rubbed along, and she values privacy as much as you do.”
Grove Hall was James’s country estate, but he seldom stayed there, leaving it to his wife Evie. In truth, if Ethan had wanted company, he wouldn’t have minded staying with his sister-in-law, who was one of the few people who didn’t act as if he were broken and held together by glue and spittle. She was also pretty and intelligent, and for the life of him he couldn’t understand the bloodless arrangement between her and James.
However, Ethan was no hypocrite. If he didn’t want James nosing around in his business, then he owed the other the same courtesy. He would leave the meddling up to their parents, who had a singular talent for it.
“I am undisturbed here,” he said. “Since I moved in, no one has come around.”
James arched a brow. “The local folk think this place is haunted by a ghost, you know. When I was in Chuddums, I heard them talking about some curse. They say the new owner had better watch his back.”
Ethan nearly laughed. Truly, what further misfortune could befall him? He’d lost his ability to play piano—his one passion and purpose in life. He couldn’t stand being in the same room as his youngest brother, and his relationships with his other family members were strained. Oh, and he’d been betrayed by his betrothed and his best friend.
Go ahead, ghost. Do your bloody worst.
“As the villagers also read fortunes from cherry pits,” Ethan said, “I’ll take my chances.”
“You are going to need these cherry-pit-reading townsfolk to help you run this place. Do you have any staff? If memory serves, it was you who opened the door when I arrived.”
And don’t I regret it.
“My butler Brunswick recently hurt his hand,” Ethan said tetchily. “And I am looking for help. The process cannot be rushed.”
Although ithadbeen two weeks, and he was getting nowhere. He’d found a cook, but she hadn’t lasted long after supposedly spotting “Bloody Thom”—yes, the resident phantom came with a name—roaming the servants’ quarters. Neither Ethan’s reasoning that she’d had a nightmare, nor his bribe of higher wages could assuage her. She’d taken off, her wagging tongue scaring off potential candidates. The other staff member he’d hired, a footman by the name of Dobson Gill, had shown promise…until Brunswick had caught Gill with his hand in the silver cabinet. Gill had had the gall to become belligerent, threatening retribution when Ethan had tossed him out on his arse without pay.
As a result, Ethan’s current staff consisted of his valet Mr. Valentine, his groom Spencer, and Brunswick. None of them had any talent in the kitchen; Brunswick had tried to cook…and promptly scalded himself. Ethan’s diet consisted of burnt toast and rubbery boiled eggs, and he would do almost anything for a properly cooked meal. Anything but admit his desperation to his brother, that was.
“Lucky for you, I have come to help,” James said.
“You?” Ethan scoffed.
Growing up, James had assumed the role of leader among their siblings. He’d commanded everyone and delegated everything. Ethan had been the artist and rebel who largely ignored him.
