“How old was he?” Emma whispered.
“Eight? Perhaps nine?” Meg swallowed hard. “As my brother bled and cried, Abernathe berated him for not being Leonard, our half-brother. The true heir, as our father always called him. HeloathedJames and that broke my brother’s heart.”
Emma covered her mouth with her hands and held back a sob of pain at the story she was being told. She could hardly imagine how much that must have hurt James.
“He hated my brother for being who he was. And James grew to hate him in return. He does not want to be like our father,” Meg continued.
Emma nodded. “I can see why he wouldn’t after what you say he endured.”
Meg let out a long, heavy sigh. “Our father only wanted him to carry on his legacy. And so James’s desire is to end that legacy once and for all. Not marrying is a punishment for the previous Abernathe, one exacted after his death. Or perhaps it is a penance, for our father, for James himself.” Meg shivered and at last a tear slid down her cheek. “So now you know the truth.”
Emma put an arm around her friend and stroked her hair as Meg rested her head on Emma’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry you both went through such an ordeal,” she said softly.
Meg nodded and let out a sigh. But as she comforted her friend, Emma found herself thinking of James. What Meg had told her made everything she knew about him, everything she saw that he didn’t want her to see, make perfect sense. And she felt for him. She cared for him.
Even though both those things were incredibly dangerous to her own well-being, she still felt them, and she still wished that there was something she could do to ease his pain.
Chapter Thirteen
Avoiding Emma didn’t help. James fisted a hand against his desk top and glared at it as if it had done something to offend him. And in truth, hewasangry at himself. After their prior encounter twenty-four hours ago, James had tried to stay away from Emma, hoping it would reduce this strange sensation in his chest. But it hadn’t.
Sitting far from her at supper the night before had only made him wonder what she was saying to the gentleman shewasseated beside. Later, when games were played, he had only watched, hating that he wanted to congratulate Emma when she won or give her advice when she was losing a hand of whist.
And when he had been asked about her—coyly, by Lady Montague, who had sidled up to him with her batting eyelashes and inviting smiles—saying glowing things about Emma was just too easy.
“Idiot,” he muttered to himself as he flexed his fist open and stretched his stiff fingers.
“What have you done now?” Graham asked as he entered James’s office and shut the door behind himself.
James shook his head. This felt like such a private topic. Too private, even for his best friend. But when he looked up at Graham, he knew he would discuss it. Graham had always been able to milk the truth from him. He never rested until he had. It was why he was more like a brother to James than just a friend.
“I have no idea what I’ve done,” James muttered. “Something entirely foolish, it seems.”
Graham’s teasing expression slipped to something more serious and he took a spot across from James and leaned forward, draping his elbows over his knees. “What’s this about? You’ve been out of sorts for days.”
James tilted his head back and stared up at the elaborately carved ceiling. He let out a long breath, but couldn’t find the words to explain what he wasn’t certain he entirely understood himself.
“Is this about that woman? Emma Liston?” Graham asked.
James stared at him, taken aback by Graham’s gentle tone. His expression was no different. Graham already seemed to know the answer to the question he’d asked. James gritted his teeth. “Yes,” he admitted softly.
Of course Graham seemed unsurprised by that answer. “I see. I thought you had that all worked out, that your ruse was perfectly planned. What’s wrong?”
James pushed to his feet and walked away. “You needn’t gloat, you know. I hear it in your tone.”
“Why would I gloat?” Graham asked. “Unless I was right and you’ve fallen in love with the girl.”
James pivoted to face him, feeling all the color drain from his face. “In love with her? No, of course not. Of course not. Of course I don’t love her.”
“Of course,” Graham repeated. “You say ‘of course’ three or four times and it makes your lack of feeling toward her infinitely clear. So you arenotin love with her, of course not. Then what is it? Her pushy mother? The strain of lying to everyone? She trods on your feet when you dance together? What is it?”
James looked down to find his foot tapping wildly and he forced himself to stop before he ground out, “She can…seeme.”
Graham wrinkled his brow. “See you?”
Now that it had been said, James wished he could take it back. Oh, Graham knew his history, as did Simon. But they never spoke of it. Heneverlet it affect what he did or what he took or how he behaved. Now he was about to lay something bare and he wasn’t pleased about it.
“She sees what is real,” he clarified. “Not just what I choose to show.”
