Chapter Two
One year ago, on the day Adam’s father’s testament was read to him when Adam became duke…
The study still hummed with the clipped, precise tones of the solicitor’s voice, the title “His Grace, the Duke of Rotheworth” ringing out with the gravity of a church bell.
The will had been read aloud, every word a decree that carved Adam’s future into stone.
No invitations for questions, no pauses for grief.
Only a litany of duties, each more sobering than the last. Across the table sat his brother, David, a shadow of insolence darkening the room like dusk creeping toward night—especially after what he’d done to Charlene the previous night.
And as Adam sat there, the weight of honor and expectation pressed heavy on his shoulders, his resolve bracing against David’s presence, an unwelcome reminder of the chaos that loomed at the edges of his newly defined world.
“This is all too hard to believe.”
His fists curled against his thighs, the fabric of his breeches straining as David’s voice carried across the room, rich with that easy charm Adam had come to resent, a grating reminder of everything broken that David would never care to mend.
“It is, it is.” The solicitor’s voice droned in crisp, formal tones, moving onto words of duty and legacy, spoken without pause or sentiment. Adam sat stiffly in his chair at the head of the long oak table, the official language naming him duke sinking into his chest like a stone.
Next to his brother, his mother sat shrouded in black lace, her veil concealing all but the pale oval of her face.
Her trembling hand moved periodically to her eyes, dabbing at them with a white handkerchief spotted with damp grief.
The room, big yet suffocating, bespoke of heavy silences that followed each deliberate word—a burden Adam bore with the same fortitude that had sustained him through their father’s funeral the day before.
But that resolve threatened to splinter as David shifted lazily in his seat, his boot scuffing the floor in a grating rhythm before he uttered another low insolent remark that sent a ripple of tension through the room like a stone dropped into still water.
“Quite the magnanimous speech for a dead man.” David’s voice cut through the room, sharp-edged and entirely unwelcome.
Adam’s jaw clenched further. He met his brother’s gaze briefly, noting the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, a smirk made all the more damning in the presence of their grieving mother.
“David. A word.” Adam’s voice was low, each syllable hard as stone. He pushed back his chair with deliberate calm, standing before fixing his brother with a look that demanded obedience.
David arched a brow as though considering defiance but then, with a bored sigh, rose. “Oh, by all means, Your Grace,” he drawled, the last two words laced with mockery.
Adam turned, leading the way out of the study. He didn’t stop until they were in the hallway, its shallow light heightening the undercurrent that hummed between them like a taut string. Once alone, Adam swung to face David, leveling his brother with a glare that carried years of frustration.
“You will not behave like that in front of Mother again,” Adam said, his voice sharp but low. “You should have the decency to show some respect. For Father. For her.”
David shrugged, utterly unfazed. “I don’t see what you’re so angry about.
He’s gone. No amount of solemn faces or stiff collars will change that.
And she”—he flapped a hand toward the closed study door dismissively, as if their mother were some distant acquaintance rather than the woman who had given them life and now sat drowning in sorrow behind that door—“shouldn’t expect us to wallow along with her.
What I need is a distraction, not another sermon about what’s proper. ”
Adam’s composure cracked. His hand shot out, grabbing David by the lapel of his coat, and in one swift motion, shoved his twin back against the paneled wall with a force that made David grunt. Adam kept his grip firm, his face close, every feature hardened with fury.
“You think this is about a sermon?” Adam’s words were harsh and pointed. “Do you even hear yourself? Distraction, you said. Is that what Lady Charlene was to you? A distraction when father was on his deathbed?”
Laughter spilled from David’s lips, wild and derisive, his head tilting back briefly against the wood before his eyes locked on Adam’s.
“Since when do you care so much about a distraction?” he sneered.
Then, with deliberate slowness, he bared his teeth in a twisted smile, tapping the chipped corner of his second incisor with his tongue.
Adam froze, though his grip on David’s coat tightened.
The sight of that broken tooth hit him harder than words.
Charlene. “She’s not a wench,” Adam ground out, his voice trembling with restrained fury.
“She deserved better than you. Better than anything you could ever offer. You had her fooled, David, but not me. She could have given us something precious, aligned our families, united two great houses. She would have given us her heart, and you tossed it aside like rubbish.”
“She was willing enough most of the time,” David tsked and arched a brow, implying what Adam didn’t believe for a moment about Charlene.
“She’d never… not with you!” Adam snarled.
“Maybe not, but you interrupted us last night!” David gave a laugh that was so sour, it could curdle milk.
“You are rotten to the core,” Adam growled.
David shoved against him, breaking his grip and stepping to the side.
He smoothed his rumpled coat, throwing a sidelong glance filled with amusement at Adam, but something darker lurked beneath it.
“What would you have done, dear perfect brother of mine? Married her yourself? Be honest.” He leaned closer, tilting his head.
“You never saw her as an alliance, did you? You want her completely, don’t you?
You’re envious of the fun I had testing her temperament. ”
Adam’s fist clenched at his side, but he stayed rooted to the floor, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “More than anything, I want her to be free of men like you,” he said, his voice low, raw with the truth.
David smirked again. “And what makes you think you’re any better than me? We’re brothers. Cross brothers. Two sides of the same coin, duke or not. The same blood that flows through me, flows through you. There’s nothing you can do to get rid of me.”
Adam forced himself not to react, brushing against the signet ring on his finger, the symbol of his new station.
When he finally spoke, his tone was ice.
“I’m the duke now,” he said, each word measured, deliberate, bearing the weight of his title, his name, his anger.
He stepped closer, his eyes locked on David.
“Cross brother or not, don’t you dare cross me.
In fact, it’s over. You are over. Before the end of the day, I want you gone from England or else I’ll freeze your stipends.
” It was the very least he could do for Charlene.
That and break off any whisper of an engagement that might have existed between them.
“You can’t do that,” David growled.
Adam took a threatening step forward. “Test me. I dare you.”
“Where would I even go?”
How like his twin. He only cared about himself. Never about anyone else, especially not Charlene. She truly deserved better.
“Anywhere but near us or Charlene. Pack your trunks by the end of the day, brother. You are leaving or I will haul you onto that ship myself. And I will do just that.”
A flicker of something passed over David’s face for the first time. Surprise, perhaps even uncertainty. But he masked it quickly, offering a mocking bow before turning and leaving the hallway.
Adam stayed where he was, his breathing steadying, though the tightness in his chest remained.
His fingers curled once more into a fist before finally releasing the tension, staring down the empty hall where his brother had disappeared.
The battle between them was far from over.
But for now, Adam would do what he’d always done.
Carry the weight.
Stand firm.
And protect what mattered.
*
Present day…
Charlene’s fingers worked delicately, the small scissors in her hand snipping at the vine of the climbing jasmine as she tilted her head to inspect its stubborn curve.
The greenhouse was perfectly damp and just hot enough for the new buds to hopefully open in a day or two.
Fortunately, the glass overhead misted faintly despite the late hour and shielded the delicate new leaves from direct sunlight.
Every breath tasted faintly of soil and petals, a sweetness that clung to her senses.
She often found solace here amid the neat rows of calming greens and the riot of colorful blooms. But today, even the soft scent of roses failed to soothe the ache lodged deep in her chest.
Her hands paused over a cluster of pale pink blossoms.
Adam’s name had drifted through her mind too many times these past weeks, like a song half-heard but unshakable.
It was only natural to wonder on an anniversary of death if one had done the right thing.
Should she have gone to the funeral? Were David’s horrid deeds enough to warrant an excuse to stay away?
Would she forever feel this discomfort in her breast like a pebble in her shoe, which no amount of shifting could dislodge?
What’s done is done; you can’t think like that.
The glass-framed door creaked, breaking her reverie. A gust of cooler air swept in, the movement setting the leaves trembling around her. Ashley appeared, her dark curls gathered loosely, though she fussed with them the moment she stepped through the door.
“It’s beastly damp in here,” Ashley said, wrinkling her nose as she stepped carefully down the tiled path between the planters. “My hair shall puff like a hedgehog before I’ve even reached home.”
Charlene offered a glance over her shoulder, faintly amused. “You shouldn’t have come in, then.”
“And leave you brooding alone among your flowers? No, no, I couldn’t allow it,” Ashley retorted with mock severity, though her tone softened as she produced a folded sheet of newsprint from the ribbon at her waist. “You ought to read this.”
Charlene straightened, clipping one last stem before placing the scissors aside. She wiped her hands absently on the apron tied over her gown. “I don’t make a habit of reading such things; you know that.”
“Perhaps,” Ashley said lightly, stepping closer, “but I think you’ll want to read this one.
Or has avoiding mention of the Crosses become your newest strategy?
You decide, you’re at a crossroads, so to say.
” Ashley wrinkled her nose and bit her lip.
“Or do you not want to cross any of the Crosses again? Lest you be—”
“All right, let me see,” Charlene said as she took the paper.
Charlene’s teeth clenched, a small but telling movement. She unfolded the paper and shook her head, resolutely ignoring her thudding pulse. “It is not avoidance of these matters. I simply have better uses for my time.” And I fear being the subject of…
Ashley’s brow lifted, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Charlene sighed, holding out her hand at last. The rustle of paper was louder in the greenhouse’s hush, and though her fingers hesitated only a fraction, it was enough for Ashley to notice.
“I’ll just admire the begonias while you read,” Ashley chirped, retreating with a sweep of her skirts.
“Orchids,” Charlene corrected her. But it didn’t matter anymore.
Charlene tried to suppress the faint tremor in her grip.
Her eyes had skimmed past the advertisements for soaps and gossip about Lady Hartford’s ill-fated hat before falling on the column Ashley must have meant.
The ink smudged faintly beneath her thumb as she read, the words forming with deliberate clarity in her mind.
Sources as reliable as the very soil we stand on say that the brother of the new Duke of Rotheworth, Adam Cross, has left the country without further explanation of why he didn’t pursue the woman he seemed to have chosen.
Waylon Fielding, Lady Charlene’s brother, denies all allegations that David Cross had ever asked for Lady Charlene’s hand.
We are left with a true mystery, and the Ton shall remain unsatisfied with the scandal snatched away from their very grasp.
A year, dear Readers, as the mourning period is over, and it’s most assuredly too long to wait to find out the truth, isn’t it?
Her breath hitched, but she said nothing, only letting the paper fall to her side.
David.
Always David.
The evil Cross brother.
The name now felt more like a thorn than a balm. And Adam? He had become duke while David was gone. Without a word, without anything to indicate why?
I’m the reason.
Her heart gave an unwanted throb, a reminder of all the words unspoken, all the glances avoided in the weeks since he’d vanished.
“You’ve gone terribly pale,” Ashley remarked gently, moving closer once more. “Surely it’s not the worst thing you’ve read. It was only a matter of time until the sharp tongues would come looking for the scandal.”
What she hadn’t read was the truth of what happened. The scandal that had never quite bloomed.
And Charlene had the sinking feeling that it would come to a late bloom thanks to one of the Cross brothers.
The question remained, which one?
Charlene managed a shaky smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “No, not the worst. Only… unexpected.” She folded the paper carefully, handing it back. The weight in her chest grew heavier, a silent testimony to the things she could never undo.