For a moment, true worry crossed the butler’s expression. “I-I cannot say, sir.”
Silas wasn’t certain if he meant he wasn’t allowed to share, he didn’t know, or he feared too much to repeat. Whatever the answer, it was disquieting. Silas smoothed his jacket and said, “I see. Well, if Charles will see me in the chamber, I’ll meet him there.”
“I’ll escort you,” Russell said.
Silas tilted his head. “I know where the chamber is.”
There was a moment of quiet, of memory for them both. Then the butler surprised him by executing a small bow. “Of course.”
He exited the room, freeing Silas to do as he would. He wanted to move, wanted to go up and get this over with, but his feet didn’t seem to be capable of going forward at present. He finished his drink, took a shaky breath and forced them to do so.
Just as the parlor was the same, the rest of the house also remained unchanged. He made his way down the winding halls and up the large staircase to the private chambers. The family rooms were to the left at the top. His had been to the right. A guest in the home he’d been raised in after his father dragged him from his mother. What did that room look like now? Was any remnant of him left here or had his brother erased them all in the last six years?
He blinked and made himself turn left, past the doors to his siblings’ rooms. Portia’s first, then Reggie’s and finally the room Charles had inhabited when he lived here and eventually when he came to visit after he’d reached his majority.
At the end of the hall was the big room. That was what Silas had called it as a boy. The prick’s chamber was what he’d called it later. He flinched and lifted his hand to the carved double door and finally managed to force himself to knock.
There was a hesitation and then the door opened to reveal a servant. Charles’ valet, perhaps. Like Russell, he appeared pale and worried.
“Mr. Windham,” he said softly. “The marquess is ready for you.”
He motioned to the open door on the left side of the antechamber. Silas nodded at the man and then made his way across the room where he’d received so many punishments over the years and into the bedchamber that had once been his father’s.
It also looked the same. It seemed even after all these years, Charles was too afraid or meek to change anything in the house, down to the bedclothes. But that wasn’t the main thing that Silas noticed. It was the man himself who drew all his attention.
Charles was fifteen years older than Silas. That was bound to happen when one was the bastard half-brother stolen from his mother as a child and raised amongst therealchildren. When Silas had last seen him, he’d been in his late thirties, the morning he’d become marquess.
He’d aged far more than half a decade since. He looked like he was in his sixties now, not his mid-forties. In fact, he looked just like their late father. He also was pale and frail, too thin and stretched by whatever illness plagued him.
“Silas,” he said softly, Charles’s gaze flicking over him from head to toe. It was not the same green as Silas’s. No, he’d inherited that from his mother. Charles had their father’s eyes, as did the rest of his siblings, though the result of that gaze was somehow softer. Kinder? Silas wasn’t certain. “You are here.”
Silas cleared his throat and inclined his head. “I was called here, my lord.”
Charles stiffened a little and an almost imperceptible twitch rippled across his cheek. “Is that the only reason?”
Silas bent his head. “What is it you want me to say, Charles? Should I pretend away the past for you? When we last saw each other, we had a falling out. I left as you asked me to. I now return as you ask me to. I am, apparently, your servant.” He cleared his throat. “But I’m also still not what you wish me to be. And I’m still a bastard. So here we are.”
Charles didn’t respond, but darted his gaze away. He cleared his throat and then began to cough, something raw and painful-sounding.
Silas found himself taking a step closer to this brother. “Can I do anything?”
When the fit ended, Charles shook his head.
“How are you?”
His brother spit into a handkerchief before he said, “They tell me the worst is over, but I’ve felt better a few times before and the illness returned.”
Despite his complicated feelings for this man and the title he now held, anxiety still worked through Silas at that statement. Charles had been out of the house by the time Silas had been brought in. He’d not had a relationship with him like he’d had with Reggie, who’d lived at home for a year after Silas made his appearance. Or Portia, whom he was closest to. But when his mother died, Charles had been kind about it. At least until their father ordered him to stop speaking about the topic.
Silas blinked. “I’m not certain why you wished me to come here.”
“Wasn’t it Portia who asked you?”
“Yes.” Silas gritted his teeth. “She told me it was on your behest. If you’re telling me I sailed thousands of miles for nothing, that will be of great irritation to me.”
“God forbid you be irritated,” Charles muttered.
Silas folded his arms. “If you’re about to imply thatIwas the spoiled one of the four of us, I would remind you that I never had the advantages of your name, only the disadvantage of being despised by almost everyone in this house.”
