“Good.” His brother gave his first approving nod of the morning. “Though truly, you should take care not tomake any additional alliances without first consulting me. Your heart is in the right place, but the head can be easily fooled,” he added. “And remember, first and foremost, you are needed here. Courting Lady Drucilla will take a great deal of my time and energy, andourfamily still has a business to maintain. After all, before you can get what you want, you need to see that you keep what you have.”
“I can most certainly do both,” Sol said. He squeezed his hands together under the table. “I will do both,” he vowed. “What else?” His blood thrummed a little.
“You will marry anheiress. The right sort. But not yet. Not until my marriage is secure and celebrated. We cannot have anyone detracting from Lady Drucilla. And the woman you marry will be one I select for you. Trust me—the Berabs are only looking to use you. And that Ellenberg fellow… well… there’s a reason he failed at five apprenticeships.” His brother took a sip of tea before narrowing his eyes. “They work you too hard. You need a rest.”
He snapped his fingers. “I know,” he said, “you’ve taken ill. That’s what we’ll say. After all, it isn’t far from the truth.” He nodded slowly, as if he was deciding on the best course of action. “You’ll stay out of sight when guests are in the house until the middle of December, at the earliest. A decent time for both banns and a wedding and for you to refocus on your priorities.”
Sol frowned. December? He was supposed to keep this charade up until the middle of December? Technically, that would keep him out of sight for the rest of the gentile “season,” but it was still almost a full month away. And even if he was overdoing his work at the sureties company, he still had responsibilities if hewanted to keep the position. His brother hadn’t thought it through quite clearly.
“But how can I retain my position at Lira & Berab if I’m ill for that long?” he asked.
“You won’t stop all work. You can still do plenty. There are messengers, aren’t there?” His brother stirred his tea before leaning forward, his eyes wide, imploring him. “And this is your health we’re discussing. Your life. You can do that for me, can’t you?” Frederick gave him an almost pleading smile. “It could be fun. Like that time I stayed in with you when you had that head cold and I read you a story every night. You cried if I wasn’t there and were eight, if I recall it correctly.”
“I remember,” Sol said softly. His heart squeezed. He had been scared and miserable. He’d still had night terrors of his father lying dead in his bed. And while Frederick was new to him, he’d been there. The one constant in his life. At a time when his brother should have had the world at his feet. He could have been studying, or with friends, or at an opera. But he wasn’t. Despite being far too young to play parent, he’d been there, night after night.
Giving up his youth. Giving him his youth.
Mercy, he was being selfish, wasn’t he? If Frederick needed him to spend a few weeks sitting in his room playacting an invalid, so be it. He could have his work delivered to him and eat from trays. It was a nice room, after all. With a window. And his own tub. What more could he ask for?
He glanced back up from his plate. “I can most certainly do this for you. I promise. I won’t let you down.”
“Good.” His brother gave him a bright, almost youthful grin and Sol’s chest filled with pride.
“Now, eat your food.” Frederick pointed at his plate. “You don’t actually want to become sick, do you?” He gave Sol another bemused half smile, which he returned before taking his first bite. Yes, he would do this.
For Frederick.
