Alistair grinned wider. “We thought so, too, for in the last years of his life Father made many changes to his documents to ensure you and your mother would be protected. But Keaton’s digging uncovered a bit of wording tied to the inheritance that had not been changed, buried in a document from years ago. You see, Father originally wrote it that the allowance would be continued at the earl’s pleasure.Iam the earl now. It is at mypleasure, Rowan.”
Rowan’s stomach turned. “That isn’t possible.”
“But it is,” Keaton said with a smirk. “Feel free to take what we’ve found to a solicitor. I’ll provide you with a copy of the will if you’d like. Itiswritten that way, Rowan.”
“And mypleasureis to cut you off,” Alistair continued, rising from his seat with a great deal of drama. “Today.”
Rowan swung a little on his feet as the words sank in. Perhaps he could take this to court, but he knew his brothers. They were meticulous men and likely would not have come to this moment if they weren’t entirely certain of their position. Which meant Alistair had every right to cut him off.
And destroy his world.
“How could you?” he said softly. “Whywould you do that? It isn’t as if it’s some great amount.”
Alistair’s smug smile faltered and there was a flash of anger that replaced it. “You think you’re owed something by the estate? You are not. You and your mother are interlopers who have suckled at the teat of this family for decades. I may not be able to keep her from collecting her inheritance, but by God, I will not support a man who does nothing and expects to be paid for the privilege. You may be my father’s son, but I see you as little more than a by-blow, only barely made legitimate by an imprudent marriage.”
Rage rose in Rowan, rage he fought desperately to tamp down. “I doubt Father would have seen it that way. He loved my mother and he loved me, and that has always rubbed under your skin. So your punishment is to ignore the earl’s wishes. Good show, Alistair. You do him proud.”
Keaton had the decency to flinch, but Alistair merely shrugged. “Unlike you, Rowan, I never gave a damn about Father’s love or good graces. If the bastard rolls in his grave over what I’ve done, then that’s merely a bonus.”
He shook his head as he came around the large desk that had once been their father’s. It was loaded with ridiculous trinkets now. A little gold statue of a ram, a ridiculously oversized mother-of-pearl tea caddy, a tortoiseshell snuffbox. Disjointed and ill-matched proof that Alistair held the power and would use it to his own ends.
Alistair sank into the leather seat and flicked his hand toward Rowan. “Youare dismissed.”
Rowan stared from one brother to the other, ignoring the pain that rose up in his chest. The hate that burned as brightly for them as theirs did for him. Slowly, he turned and walked from the room, closing the door with barely a click so they wouldn’t have the satisfaction of his emotional response.
But oh, there was a response. Rowan knew what his financial situation was. Without his father’s support, he had very little funds. His art had not quite taken off, though he did have a few patrons who purchased his pieces. Still, it wasn’t enough to live on, especially if he were to carry on the lifestyle he had been leading. The one that led him to those patrons.
“Shit,” he muttered as he strode down the hallway and out into the foyer. He had every intention of leaving, but before he could, the sound of his name came from the hallway.
“There you are, Sinclair. Christ, you were in there an age. How did it go?”
He turned, trying to keep a bright expression to his face, and smiled at his longtime friend, Percival Clement. They’d gone to school together, and Percy knew a little about his strained relationship with his brothers. That was the reason he’d asked his friend to accompany him to this ridiculous party tonight. Something he’d all but forgotten in his upset.
“It was fine,” he managed through clenched teeth.
Percy’s eyebrows lifted. “That bad, eh? What did old Alistair want then?”
“It’s a long story,” Rowan sighed. “And not one I care to discuss at the moment. Let’s just go.”
Percy caught his arm and all but dragged him toward the ballroom instead of the bliss of escape that Rowan desired. “Oh no we aren’t. What better way to get back at those pricks than to eat their food and drink their wine and have a good time at their expense?”
Normally Percy’s suggestion would have made Rowan laugh, but he had none of that left in him tonight. “I may have to pretend a good time,” he said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to endure my poor company.”
Percy slung an arm around him as they entered the ballroom. “I always do, friend,” he teased. “Now stand there looking mysterious so that the ladies all titter behind their fans, and I’ll go get us drinks.”
As he slipped into the crowd, Rowan backed up against the wall. Right now the last thing he wanted was to be spoken to or approached. Still, he wasn’t about to just abandon his friend. Percy was trying his best to lift his spirits.
As he waited Percy’s return, he scanned the room. It was a crush, of course. Alistair would have accepted nothing less. He was going to show off his new position and the money that came with it to as many people as he could. Society’s favorite gentlemen and ladies milled about in the ballroom, dressed in their finery, enjoying the music. And none of them even thought of Rowan’s father anymore.
He sighed as that maudlin thought entered his mind. His grief still felt so very real and alive.
“Oh, great God,” Percy said as he weaved his way back through the crowd. “You look so very depressed. Come, we must find someone who is having a worse time than you are so that you might feel better by comparison.”
Rowan took the drink his friend offered him with a laugh. “After tonight, I’m not certain anyone could be having a worse time than I am, Percy. This may be an impossible task you embark upon.”
Percy turned on him with lit-up eyes. “A challenge! Well, you know I never turn them down. I shall find another desperate soul, let me see. Let me see…”
Percy scanned the ballroom and Rowan followed his gaze as it darted from person to person. Percy faced him at last. “What about Lady Biddenguard? She is always terribly morose.”
