“Itis because I come to you with the study of the spiritual, isn’t it?If it were an investment or a charity, you would have no concern.”He held his breath.
“That is not true, Stephen. You—”
His brother hadnot noticed the seed. “These funds are mine. They have beeninvested on my behalf. I am entitled to them.”
Oliver exhaled.“I am the trustee and I would be remiss in my duty if I did notquestion what you will do with these funds. You have announced thisinterest out of the blue and you give no basis for the release offunds. You have not given any evidence you have done even a cursoryexam.”
“Youare being unreasonable.”
“Itis unfortunate, then, that you must seek the permission of anunreasonable man,” his brother barked. “Demonstrate when you firstdisplayed this interest.”
“AsI’ve said. Always. I cannot remember when it began.”
“Then what am I to think, brother? Or is this like the timeyou wanted to run Excott Manor?”
Stephen lookedto the side, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Excott Manor had beenturned into a facility for the rehabilitation of injured persons,but as the treatments Dr. Griffiths employed were radical andcontroversial, the facility was run under the guise of a ramshacklecountry manor. Stephen knew the treatments to be successful. Dr.Griffiths had, after all, treated him, when he was broken andruined and convinced he would never walk again. After his recovery,he’d sunk what little was left of his inheritance into supportingDr. Griffiths’s and his methods and, when that had run out, he’dapplied to his brother...who had assumed he wanted funds for someunspecified debauchery. And thus, his litany of lies to sourcefunds had been born.
“Orwhen you wished to oversee the shipping concern. Or when youstudied botany. Or when you thought a life of academia would suit.You tried all these things, and none of them suited. There isnothing about this latest endeavour that makes me believe it willbe any different. You have approached me with an idea, not aproposal. I have nothing against ideas, Stephen, but substance isrequired. Reports. Evidence. Christ, the reason you are eveninterested. You have offered none of these.”
Staring to theside, Stephen tensed his jaw and recited in his head what he’dactually used the funds for. More funds for Dr. Griffiths.Assisting various parishes with purchasing school books andsupplies. Establishment of a charity to provide clothing andessentials to unfortunates in London’s slums. But Oliver had neverseen any of those ventures and, clearly, had no desire to look.“Then, there is nothing more to say.”
“There is more. Bring me the evidence. A plan. Show thesefunds will not be wasted. I do not wish to keep you from pursuingyour interests, but there has to be some basis.”
Stephen’s lipstwisted. “And there it is. You believe me frivolous.” Funny, hewould have thought that observation had long since lost the powerto hurt.
Oliver cursed.“Stephen…”
There was nopoint steering the conversation to the charity today. Oliverclearly believed he would use the funds ill and would not bleed asingle penny. “I shall bother you no longer. Good afternoon,Roxwaithe.” Shooting to his feet, he stormed to thedoor.
“Brother, do not—” The words faded as Stephen wrenched thedoor shut behind him, stomping down the hall for good measure. LetOliver stew on their argument. Let him feel guilt and castigatehimself for his harshness. His brother deserved to feel all thatand more. Then, in a few days or a week, Stephen would return thepenitent and agree that yes, Oliver was correct, the spiritualstudy was a terrible idea. However, he did have this new desire tohelp with a charity for the education of young persons using thelure of football...
Heading backdown the servant stairs, he made his way again to the kitchen. MrsParsons still worked with dough, her cheek decorated with a streakof flour. Her expression turned worried. “Oh, Lord, you and yourbrother have upset each other, haven’t you?”
Abruptly, thetension he hadn’t realised he’d been carrying crashed over him.Shoulders slumping, he ran a hand over his face. “When do wenot?”
Mrs Parsonsshook her head. “I don’t understand. You were so close as boys. Youand him and...Lord Maxim.” At the mention of his younger brother,her voice broke.
He watched hersniff and wipe at her eyes. “We grew into men who dislike eachother, I suppose.” Although Maxim didn’t have a chance to grow tomanhood. His eyes burned, but ruthlessly he forced the emotionaside.
A breathshuddered through Mrs Parsons. “Well, be sure to inform that man atyour rooms Simon will be by with another baskettomorrow.”
Grateful for thechange of subject, he smiled wanly. “You’re too good to me, MrsParsons.”
Her already pinkcheeks darkened. “Cor, be away with you, boy. And mind yourbrother. You’re as bad as each other.”
Stephen salutedher as he walked out the servant’s entrance. Perhaps they were asbad as each other, but it was obvious things were never going tochange. Oliver would always think him unworthy. The amusing thingwas, he was rather certain Oliver was right.
***
HEART RACING,STEPHEN WOKE with a start. Gulping air, he vaulted upright, runninghis hands over his chest, his hips, his legs. There were nosplints, no bandages, and agony didn’t scream through his body withevery movement. He was in his own bed, not lying in a broken,upturned carriage somewhere in France. It was dark, as it had beenthat night, but there was no rain, no mud.
Leaning forward,he placed his head in his hands. Christ. He didn’t have thosenightmares often anymore, but when he did, they terrified him. Andthey weren’t really nightmares, were they?
He felt againthe weight of the broken seat pinning his leg and hips, the dullthrob of pain that he’d later discovered had been a bad break inboth legs and a fractured hip. Again, he saw Harbor opposite,half-obscured by the planks jutting from the broken carriage floor.He’d been covered in blood and still. So still. Hours they’dremained so, Stephen pinned while Harbor remained still, and he’dkept talking, kept repeating they were going to be found and theywould laugh about it over a snifter of brandy even as he washorribly afraid he was talking to himself. That Harbor wasgone.
Well, he wasgone, wasn’t he?
Swiping at thewetness on his cheeks, he hauled himself out of bed. He knew fromexperience he would not sleep again that night. Might as well getsome work done.
