Jackson chuckled at his brother’s teasing. “Such affection she’s elicited in so short a time.” Why was he not surprised?
Figaro held his gaze.
Jackson’s smile faltered. “You’re serious.”
Figaro stood and buttoned his coat. “I’m not one to wear my heart on my sleeve—the mess, as you can imagine, would be unsavory—but I will say this, brother; when you ran off to London six years ago, Anna wasn’t the only one you left behind.”
Jackson could only stare at the man who looked so much like his preposterous younger brother. But who sounded infinitely mature. There was no teasing now.
“I won’t presume to know all you’ve gone through, but do not take me for a fool,” Figaro said. “Youhave never truly come back, not without this harsh mask you wear now. For what purpose”—he held up a hand when Jackson would have spoken—“I will not ask.” Figaro’s gaze turned direct. “Buther...Not for one moment has your duchess been anything or anyone besides unapologetically herself. And though I may be an actual fool to admit, the young boy in me has latched on to the hope I’ve at lastfound a sibling who will never turn her heart to stone where I am concerned.”
His walk to the door was slow, grave, but when he glanced over his shoulder, the same shallow smile played about his mouth—an expression Jackson finally saw as false as his own. “Don’t worry yourself writing. I know you are a busy man.”
Jackson’s heart lurched, the muscle like two-ton granite dropping to his stomach. “Fig—”
The door clicked shut, cutting off his words.
Jackson stood staring at the oak, the swirling grain filled with condemning faces.
Figaro had been a boy when Jackson had left, a lad not yet able to tipple without a sideways glance from a tavern keeper. Six years ago—Lord above—his newly Eton graduated brother must have been crushed to be left behind.
And he’d never noticed.
Hadn’t thought to notice.
Now, at age ten and nine to his eight and twenty, Jackson questioned which of them was the elder brother.
Married, properly scolded, and about to return to a life of dangerous intrigue. And it was only noon.
Good thing London was but a mind-numbing three-hour carriage ride where Jackson could subject himself to replaying his brother’s disappointment over and over... and any other important relationships he’d managed to bungle.
In minute detail.
Most grooms would have their wedding night to preoccupy their thoughts, but he wasn’t foolish enough to believe a thawing of icy civility was the same as warm regards when it came to his bride.
Chapter Sixteen
“You are quiet,”Anna said as the buggy rumbled along the dirt road beneath them.
Jackson stared out at the landscape, seeing little of the grassy plain. The only thing keeping him in the present was the horses’ reins in his hand. Not even his love of the expertly bred horseflesh pulling the conveyance could lighten his gray thoughts. “I thought you’d welcome the silence where my company was concerned.”
“Now what kind of truce would we have if one side wasn’t permitted to speak their mind?”
“With a master debater like you?” Jackson said. “A bloodless one.”
She gave him a look. “If you’re willingly admitting you are second fiddle, then I know something is wrong.”
Jackson smiled despite his mood. How could he not? Only creatures with stone hearts, like his mother, wouldn’t be charmed. Calling him a liar so shamelessly... while wearing a canary-yellow dress that perfectly brought out the cunning in her eyes. “My brother is fond of you,” he said, attempting a safer topic.
“Your brother is a delightful young man.”
Jackson nodded. “He’ll be glad to hear your complimentary opinion.”
“Oh, whatiswrong?”
Jackson turned away from the hills blurring past to see a wrinkle between her brows. “I am pensively reflecting on my past behavior.”
She made a sound in her throat. “If you must, do so elsewhere. You are ruining the mood.”
