Timothy’s shoulders drooped, and he nodded without looking up. “I wish you would ask her to stay.”
“Why, poppet?”
“Because I would like a real mama so very much.”
And there it was. If a bayonet stabbed him in the heart and twisted, it couldn’t have hurt more than his son’s quiet plea. David was bleeding out on the carpet, and no one could see. He wanted so much to be everything that Timothy needed. He would face a thousand armies to put a smile on the boy’s face. He would tear the sun from the sky and hand it to him on a platter if Timothy asked for it. And with his bare hands he would throttle anyone who made his son sad. Except this time,hewas the one disappointing the lad.
Damn you, Charles! This is all your fault!
As if summoned by his mental curse, Charles popped his head into the drawing room. “Ah, there you are! So tell me everything. How did it go with the Black Widow?”
“Who’s the Black Widow?” Timothy asked.
Charles rubbed his hands together and made himself at home on the chesterfield across from them. If Timothy hadn’t been there, David would have been sorely tempted to leap across the room and give his brother a black eye, something he hadn’t done since childhood.
“The Black Widow is a mean old lady who spins sticky webs like a spider,” said Charles, gesticulating with unnecessary drama. “And if you’re not careful, you’ll get caught, and she’ll suck your blood until you’re nothing but a husk.”
Timothy drank in every word with rapt attention, clutching his bunny. Again, his eyes rounded. “Papa, didyougo see the mean spider lady? Did she try to suck your blood?”
Damn it all! Now Timothy was going to have nightmares. Much as he loved scary tales in the daylight, he was too tenderhearted. He’d be up all night worried about spider ladies.“Don’t believe a word Uncle Charles says. Why don’t you take Mister Flopsy-tail and go find Mrs. Drake? Tell her I said she could take you to Gunter’s for a cherry ice.”
The word “Gunter’s” worked its magic, and Timothy ran from the room squealing in delight. David listened for the patter of tiny feet running up the stairs and waited until he was certain Timothy was out of earshot to round on Charles.
“You.” David rose, looming over his brother who lazed on the chesterfield.
Charles grinned up at him, his long lashes not quite disguising his bloodshot eyes. He lounged like an unrepentant Dionysus with his customary impish expression fixed on his irritating face.
“Do you have any idea the cost of your folly?” David braced his arms on either side of Charles, gripping the upholstery to keep from throttling him.
His brother only continued to smile. “I’m certain her ruffians informed me of the figure at some point, but I’m afraid I was too foxed to remember specifics.”
“You gambled away more money than I have, you ass.” He annunciated each syllable carefully.
At last, Charles’ smile faltered. “What? But that’s not possible. You said the estates were doing well.”
David pushed away from the sofa with a growl and started pacing. “It’s taken meyearsof painstaking effort to undo Father’s neglect. We are now solvent, no thanks to you. But solvent doesn’t mean a bottomless coffer.”
“But… But…” his brother sputtered. “You aren’t going to let her send me to Marshalsea me, are you?”
“I should, you know. It would serve you right.”
Charles blanched. “You wouldn’t. Youcan’t! There must be some way you can convince her to call off her hounds.”
It was so tempting to let Charles marinate in terror. David crossed his arms and watched his brother squirm, wishing it gave him more satisfaction than it did.
“She arranges marriages, doesn’t she? Couldn’t I marry some chit whose wealthy father is willing to pay to be rid of her?”
Looking down at his brother, David was glad Mrs. Dove-Lyon had the good sense not to foist Charles on some unfortunate woman. In the morning light, Charles’ boyish good looks could not hide the haunted soul that looked out of his brother’s golden-brown eyes. Where had the carefree boy of their childhood gone?
The worst part was that he could have imagined himself going the same way all too easily. After all, Charles was only following in their father’s footsteps. David was grateful he had inherited Mother’s resolute stoicism rather than Father’s feckless ways. He may have resented her coldness as a boy, but as a man, her example served him far better than Father’s dissolute selfishness.
But sympathy for the devil had cost him too much this time. “No, you can’t. You’re too wretched for even Mrs. Dove-Lyon. She has no use for you.”
Charles collapsed on himself, head in his hands. “Then I’m doomed.” A quiet noise that could have been a sob shook his back.
David unfolded his arms and sighed. “Not quite.”
“What?” Charles looked up, eyes full of a remorse that almost looked genuine.
