Chapter 27
T he morning after, Adam woke up and reached for her across the bed.
His hand met cold linen, and for one dull second, he lay still, half buried in sleep, thinking only that the room felt wrong. Then, memory came back in pieces: their argument, her face, her request for an annulment, the sound of the door closing behind her.
Right.
By the time he opened his eyes fully, the whole of it was there.
Emily was gone.
The bed looked too large, and the room, for some odd reason, looked used up. Even the morning light felt hostile, too harsh for a day like this.
He sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face. Staying where he was would kill him by inches. He knew that at once. If he stayed in this room another ten minutes, he would begin circling the same thoughts until he could not breathe under them.
He swung his legs out of bed and dressed as quickly as he could. As of now, he was nothing but a man trying to outrun his thoughts.
Soon, he put on his shirt, boots, coat, and gloves. He did not wait for his valet. He did not want company. He wanted speed, cold air, and a horse beneath him before the house fully woke.
Plus, he didn’t want to have to deal with Harriet so early.
The hallway was quiet when he stepped out, and somewhere further down, he could hear the clatter of a maid moving with a coal scuttle. Another door closed softly.
The house had already begun the ordinary business of the morning, and that offended him more than it should have.
He went straight to the stables.
The yard smelled of hay, damp earth, and horses. A groom looked up the instant he walked in and nearly dropped the brush in his hand.
“Your Grace.”
“Sadler,” Adam greeted. “Saddle Orion. I need a ride down to the village.”
The groom froze and went pale.
Adam stopped, his eyes narrowing on him.“What?”
Sadler swallowed. “He’s sick, Your Grace.”
Adam stared at him. “Since when?”
“Since early this morning. He would not take his feed, and Mr. Henshaw says his stomach is bad. We’ve sent for the farrier as well, just in case.”
Adam looked toward Orion’s stall, as if the horse might be standing there, prepared to apologize for the poor timing.
“But he was fine before I left for the country house.”
Sadler nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Adam released a harsh breath through his nose. “Of course, he was.”
Sadler hovered, caught between pity and self-preservation. “Shall I have Bramble brought out instead, Your Grace?”
Adam turned back. “Yes.”
Sadler hurried off, and Adam stood in the yard with his gloves half on and his temper already rising.
He had come here for one thing. One simple thing. Movement .And somehow, fate itself had denied him before he had even left the grounds.
Bramble, a stallion just as old as Orion, was led out saddled and restless. Adam knew the gelding. Solid enough, though too opinionated for his size. He took the reins without a word.
Sadler opened his mouth. “He’s fresh, Your Grace.”
“Then he may enjoy the ride.”
Adam set his foot in the stirrup and was about to swing up when Bramble objected at once.
What the ? —
The stallion jolted sideways, jerked his head, and hopped back hard enough to throw him off balance. Adam caught himself for one ugly second, almost recovered, then the horse kicked out with a violent twist that sent him straight back to the ground in a burst of dust, leather, and fury.
Sadler rushed forward. “Your Grace, are you all right?”
Adam sat in the dirt for one stunned heartbeat, every inch of him humming with rage and humiliation. Then, he pushed to his feet.
“I am fine,” he said, his voice sharp. “Completely.”
Sadler still looked alarmed. “Perhaps another horse would suit better.”
Adam yanked his gloves fully on and glared at Bramble, who looked like he had no idea of the damage he could have caused.
“No,” he said. “I’ve had enough judgment for one morning.”
He turned on his heel and walked out before the groom could decide whether that required a response.
By the time he crossed the yard, the whole event had curdled into something beyond irritation. First the bed, then the room, then Orion sick and Bramble throwing him like a green boy trying to impress a widow.
The morning felt personal.
He went back inside dusty, angry, and feeling more trapped than he had upstairs. A footman saw him in the lower hall and wisely chose silence.
Adam went to the morning room, poured coffee he did not want, and stood at the window, trying to settle the storm inside him into something he could bear. It was either that, or he would throw a giant hammer at these walls.
He was still seething when a knock sounded at the half-open door.
He did not turn. “What?”
Theodore stepped inside, his footsteps now more recognizable than ever. “I saw the whole thing from my window.”
Adam closed his eyes for one second, then turned to face him. “Did you, now?”
“Yes.”
“Then I hope you enjoyed it.”
Theodore stepped further inside, still at the awkward age where his limbs had not entirely agreed on their final length. He looked tired and sharper than any boy should have looked before noon.
“It was a little funny,” he admitted.
Adam eyed him narrowly. “I’m glad one of us got some pleasure from it.”
Theodore’s mouth twitched. “If I did not know any better, I would say the horses were punishing you for letting Emily go.”
Adam barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. It had no joy in it, but it was a laugh all the same. “Very kind of them.”
Theodore hesitated, cleared his throat, “What really happened?”
Adam took a sip of coffee and then set the cup down. “With the horse?”
Theodore gave him a knowing look, one that seemed to say, That is not what I am talking about, and you know it.
Adam exhaled. There was little use pretending Theodore would be put off by vagueness now.
“She asked for an annulment.”
Theodore went still.
“I have already spoken to the Archbishop,” Adam added.
The words made the whole thing sound official in a way that sat heavily in his gut.
Theodore’s brow furrowed. “So that’s it, then?”
Adam looked back out the window. “If she wants it, yes.”
Theodore was quiet for a beat. “You make it sound sensible.”
“It is sensible.”
“For whom?”
Adam did not answer.
Theodore pushed off the doorframe. “You know, Father also didn’t care about the women in his life.”
Adam’s nostrils flared. “I am not Father.”
Theodore shrugged. “Never said you were.”
Adam exhaled as silence settled over the room. For a minute, he thought of reaching for the coffee cup again, but he knew there was no use. He needed to settle into this silence and let the awkwardness of it all sink in. It was the least he deserved anyway.
Theodore continued, his voice steady now. “Everyone here cares about Emily. Harriet does. I do. You do. Even Gilbert does, and he barely has a mind.”
Despite himself, Adam almost smiled.
Theodore saw it and pressed harder. “That is already different.”
Adam’s expression shuttered again. “Different does not mean safe.”
Theodore frowned. “You really think you are going to become Father, do you not?”
Adam’s mouth hardened. “But what if I’m just like him when I’m angry? Or worse?”
Theodore took that without flinching.
“We have the same father,” he reminded him. “I still get to choose who I become.”
“You are a boy.”
“Well, I will not always be. In a year, I will become a man.”
Adam raised an eyebrow. “In a year, you will become fifteen.”
“And what is the difference?” Theodore asked, raising both hands, half in defense and half in confrontation.
Adam looked away and exhaled once again.
Theodore came nearer. “You keep talking as if this is only about your future. It isn’t.”
“It’s about Emily’s.”
“Well, it is also about you, Brother,” Theodore argued. “And you know it.”
Adam dragged a hand over his jaw. “Her future matters more than my happiness.”
“Well, maybe your future is hers. Do you know that?”
The blow landed somewhere in Adam’s gut as he turned back to Theodore. “Who are you, and what have you done with my little brother?”
Theodore gave a short laugh. “Emily made me see what matters.”
“And what is that?”
“Family.” Theodore held his gaze. “It is the most important thing in the world.”
He left before Adam could answer, and the room went quiet again.
Adam stood where he was, coffee cooling beside him, stable dust still on his boots. Somewhere in the stale air, Theodore’s words sat with a weight he simply couldn’t push aside, no matter how hard he tried.
Was his brother right?
Was his future dependent on Emily’s happiness?