It was two evenings later when Sol finally strode into his—no, his brother’s, it had always been his brother’s—town house, armed only with the information given to him by the Viscount Penrose. And surprisingly, Roger Berab.
He sighed as he entered the house in which he’d been born for probably the last time. The swelling on his face was better, though not completely gone; thankfully, the blotches weren’t as noticeable. And while he was wearing a borrowed waistcoat and cravat, they were a rather welcome change from his sick clothes.
And fitted enough to give him the confidence he needed now.
Aaron walked behind him. He’d wanted to go alone, but his friend had been convinced that he needed at least a little assistance, especially as he was still a touch shaky on his feet, despite drinking more of Doc and Rebecca’s concoctions than he thought his stomach could hold.
“Hello, Martin,” he said to the butler, who had most likely known of, if not outright assisted in, what now was apparent had been many attempts on his life, “Is my brother home?” Without waiting for an answer, he strode into the front parlor. “Tell him I’ve arrived, andwe need to meet straightaway.” Sol turned to Aaron. “Why don’t you wait for me here?”
His friend gave a quick nod. “Call for me if you need anything.”
With a nod of his own, Sol hobbled down the corridor and into his brother’s office, settling himself down on a wide chaise across from one of the more ornate gilded mirrors. He glanced at himself and grimaced. Blast, his jaw had always been a touch large, but with the continued swelling, it was gigantic.
Actually, this gave him a pugnacious appearance, which wasn’t the worst look, all things considered.
“Sol.” His brother’s voice from the door startled him.
“Surprised to see me alive, Frederick?” Sol rose in greeting.
“No—I mean, yes, I mean, I was so worried about you. Are you all right?” Frederick asked, brushing into the room and taking a seat on the other side of his desk, not even making an attempt to touch him. Sol worked to keep at bay the rage and hurt and, well, disappointment that pumped through his veins.
“I’m fine. A bit worse for the wear.” He gestured up and down his body. “But nothing time won’t heal. Luckily, I did manage to secure a new client for the surety company. Apparently, despite my absence, they are still rather pleased with my work and want to keep me in their employ.”
Something David and Isabelle had taken care to assure him of, despite the actions he would be taking starting today.
“Well, I wish you could have done more for our bank.” Frederick glared from behind his spectacles. “Your focus has been, let’s say, lacking as of late.”
You don’t say.Sol sighed to himself, for once rather tired of the thinly veiled criticism even as its now obvious falseness amused him. He coughed to cover a harsh laugh, jabbing his own fist into his chest. “I apologize, but I’m sure the bank will be much more stable in the future.” He crossed his legs. “Congratulations are in order, I hear.”
“Yes, Lady Drucilla and I were married this morning.” This time when Frederick smiled, it was a real one.
Sol’s heart squeezed, not just because he’d missed the event, but because the love there was genuine. And the idea that he’d not be able to share in the joy, when he would have done anything and everything in his power to help bring it about…
“Mazel tov,” he managed as brightly and sincerely as he could because, despite everything, a part of him was glad for Frederick. His brother had worked so hard and had sacrificed so much to be with Lady Drucilla and a part of her world that he deserved at least congratulations.
His brother’s smile fell. “I hope you haven’t been using that language outside the house. I would have thought I had taught you better.”
Sol winced. Well, that was his cue. It was time to end the polite conversation.
“Or maybe you taught me just enough.” Sol tented his hands. “I had another look at the books for the bank, which made a great deal more sense after I visited Father’s solicitor thanks to Roger Berab’s suggestion.”
“My, my, you’ve been busy,” his brother said, his voice calm—but his right eye twitched.
“Busier than you think,” Sol told him. “I’m now privy to quite a bit of information, including LadyDrucilla’s debt and that trust you’ve been skimming from.” His fists clenched. “Why didn’t you just ask me for the money? I would’ve given it to you, plus my share of the bank, if only you had asked.”
“I highly doubt it.” Frederick sniffed. “I know how you’d have viewed her and the situation.”
No—that was only how Frederick would have viewed the situation, had it been Sol coming to him.
“Do you? Do you truly think I would’ve judged her—for what her first husband did? Or more, denied you the help because of it? That I’m so greedy, I would have allowed you to suffer to, what, indulge my own material tastes?” He adjusted the lapel of the borrowed jacket. “Did you believe that I love you so little?”
Frederick waved a hand at him. “Stop being melodramatic, Sol.”
“I wish I was.” He sighed. He wished that so very much.
“It’s admirable. How much you love Lady Drucilla. How much you were willing to do for her. You’d worked so hard—spent nearly half your life paying off our father’s debts, only to start paying them for someone else anew.” He leveled his best disappointed gaze at Frederick—after all, he’d learned from the finest—and added, “I know, Frederick. I know.”
For a moment, he believed his brother would continue to deny it, but instead, his shoulders slumped.
