Harry frowned. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
“He told me the whole story,” she insisted, lifting her chin. “You had him press-ganged. He was put on a ship and sent to war, and had to survive for years in the most appalling conditions. And then, to make matters worse, you sent some assassin after him while he was struggling to survive, to ensure that he would not return home.”
“Are you in jest?” Harry said, his voice catching. “You are jesting with me, aren’t you? None of that is true. None of it.”
“How dare you deny it?”
“I don’t deny we were press-ganged, of course not! We were set upon by ruffians in an alley. They knocked me unconscious, and when I woke, Stephen was gone. I guessed what had happened, but Stephen’s father and my own father told me to stay quiet and swallow the shame while they searched for him. I did not arrange it. What a notion.”
She stared at him, her brow furrowing. “That can’t be true. I don’t believe you.”
“I thought you might not. Here, feel this.”
Before she could say a word, he hurried over and settled on the damp stone bench beside her. He seized her hand and pressed it against his brow.
“You feel that?” he asked, holding her gaze. “The raised scar just above my eyebrow? One of the men struck me, cut me there. I got that injury while trying to reach Stephen. I was drunk, like a fool, but would I have struggled so hard if I had arranged for him to be abducted?”
He let go of her hand, and she let it fall, drawing it back to her chest. She didn’t think she’d ever touched her brother before, not even in a handshake.
“So you think that Stephen is lying?” she scoffed. “Why would he do that? And don’t say that he would be ashamed to be press-ganged.”
“I wasn’t going to say that. I did not say that he was lying, I am only saying…” Harry wavered, shaking his head. “Perhaps he truly believes it.”
“Oh, so now you say that he’s mad?”
“No, Amelia, you are not being fair. You are putting words in my mouth. Stephen had endured a great many terrible things and so many injustices.” He shuddered, shaking his head. “Perhaps he needed that anger to survive. Don’t you agree? I’m fairly sure that your anger at me carried you through the worst of times after Father died, just as my anger at our father carried me through the difficult times after his funeral.”
“But Stephen said?—”
“You shouldn’t believe everything Stephen says,” Harry interrupted. “He always did play fast and loose with the truth. He could fool himself, too. For example, he used to talk about himself and me going on a Grand Tour together, even though he knew full well I could never afford it. Father was never good with money, and he spent a great deal on your mother and sisters. There was nothing left for me.”
Amelia bit her lip hard. “I didn’t know that.”
He shrugged. “I suspect Stephen nurtured his anger to survive. Through all the horrors he endured and the hardships he faced, he held on to the thought of returning home to bring me to justice, to punish me. I have no doubt that he blames me. After all, why shouldn’t he? It was my fault we were in that alley at all. Without me and my overindulgence in alcohol, we would have gone home. Life would have continued as normal. For you and me, that is.
“For Stephen, he would have continued to grow and thrive with his father. Perhaps the old Duke would have lived a little longer without the stress of missing his son chipping away at his health. No doubt Stephen would have married some fine woman with a huge fortune and impeccable breeding. Please, don’t take offence, but it’s a sad thing when a duke must stoop to marrying a seamstress.”
Amelia flinched, sucking in a breath. She was on her feet before she knew it, scrambling to face him. Harry stayed sitting, looking up at her mournfully.
“That is cruel, Harry,” she hissed. “Youare cruel. None of this can be true. Stephen can’t possibly?—”
“You’re saying that he was abducted as the result of a ploy made by his best friend?” Harry sounded exhausted. “What on earth would make me do such a thing? And then to hide it for so many years? I would have to be a mad fool. Don’t you think it’s much more likely that Stephen was simply unlucky? He stepped into the wrong alley at the wrong time, when our country was just going to war. It was such an abominable piece of bad luck that I do not blame him for seeking to make somebody a villain. If blaming me enables him to sleep at night and not lie awake thinking of the things he has done, then so be it.”
He paused, letting her think over what he’d said.
It made sense. Somehow, it all made sense.
“I don’t know if I should believe you,” she muttered.
Harry sighed. “I understand. I have not been a friend to you, Amelia. The truth is that it was too painful to learn of your existence. To learn that Father betrayed my mother so cruelly, and kept the existence of my three half-sisters from me. It was not easy.”
She bit her lip, glancing away. She thought again of the Viscountess St. Louis and felt a pang of guilt. That woman had done nothing wrong.
“Did your mother know? About us?” she ventured.
Harry stared at his feet, tapping his long fingers against the stone bench.
“She was never told explicitly,” he answered. “But I believe she guessed. She was always in a terrible mood whenever Father left for any length of time. It took me a long time to realize he was visiting you, and when I finally did, I felt a great deal of rage. Not at you, you understand, but at your mother. She should never have thrown herself at another woman’s husband. But at the end of it all, the one we should truly blame is our father, don’t you agree?”
