Chapter Twenty-Five
Henley swirled the brandy, inhaling the sharp scent but not drinking.
He needed clarity tonight—not comfort. His mother had been speechless for once—stunned into silence by the duke’s news.
She’d offered a quiet congratulations, then poured herself a tall glass of whisky.
Henley couldn’t remember the last time she drank anything stronger than wine at dinner.
However, Henley was now looking ahead, which was now the new theme of his life.
So much of the past year had been a constant reflection of the past, of his mistakes, or mistakes he was assigned to, and now it was expectation.
It was hope. It was a woman who owned him soul-deep and the returning of her affection and the promise of her hand. And tonight, it would be made known.
The clock in the library began to chime, signaling the dinner hour.
It was time to move the final chess pieces, to call checkmate, and he just prayed that Edwin took his loss with grace rather than the arrogant nature he leaned toward.
Though brotherly affection or even comradery was not a trait Edwin exhibited, Henley still wanted good for him, even if he didn’t make those same choices for himself.
How often had he picked up his brother from the hell houses?
It wasn’t for nothing, it wasn’t to inflate his own ego, it was because he loved his brother.
Even if his brother didn’t love him back.
And this, certainly, wouldn’t endear him further.
No, this might be the final straw signaling an end to any hope for that brotherly relationship, and that sent a bone-deep ache in his heart.
But he’d swallow the ache, deal with it, survive it, because it meant that Anna would be his wife, not Edwin’s.
And he’d endure the fires of hell for her heart.
Over and over again.
The clock finished chiming, and Henley stood from his sanctuary in the library and set his untouched brandy on the table.
He strode into the hall, destiny at his heels, as he made his way toward the parlor where all the other guests were assembling before dinner was signaled by the staff.
As he walked into the room, he nodded in greeting to his family’s guests and caught the eye of the duke.
The Duke of Kinfield lifted his glass slightly, an acknowledgment, and also a reminder.
The evening stage was set.
Edwin nodded to the duke from across the room and then took account of all the people present, searching for his brother.
When he caught his eye, Edwin lifted a hand, signaling for his brother to come over.
Curious, Henley made excuses as he passed through the people waiting, and approached his brother, a tension in his shoulders he couldn’t tamp down.
“Lovely evening,” Edwin drawled, swirling his brandy. “You’ve been busy, I hear. Curious … I’ve not been told with what.”
Henley met his gaze calmly. “And yet here we are.”
Edwin stepped closer, voice dropping. “If you’ve done anything to spoil my plans—and I believe you know precisely what I mean—I’ll see you ruined. Last season’s scandal will seem a bedtime story by comparison.”
Henley studied his brother; the scent of liquor clung to his brother’s words.
His light brows arched. “Don’t believe me?”
“I … believe you,” Henley hedged, not certain how best to defuse the situation. Edwin was impulsive when not drunk; this had the potential to be a disaster. “How much brandy have you drank, dear brother?”
“It’s none of your concern.”
“I believe it is. Mother—”
“Mother is damn near drinking as much as I am, so…” Edwin shifted. “You wouldn’t happen to know why, would you? Dear brother.” He said the words with venom. “After all, the one that usually makes her distraught is you.” Edwin shot back the rest of his brandy and gave a humorless laugh.
Henley nearly rose to the bait, but it wouldn’t serve now. No, let the chips fall where they might. Edwin would now have to take his own consequences.
“I’ll see you at dinner.” Henley nodded to his brother and left, striding toward the hall as dinner was announced.
It was an appropriate beginning to the evening, Henley thought as he found his place at dinner.
How often had he protected his brother from himself?
How often had he intervened to make the consequences of Edwin’s actions less severe?
And now, after learning all the information from the duke, how often had Edwin used Henley to cover for his own misdeeds?
Certainly, the fight wasn’t the first time.
Which made his stomach churn.
He cast his gaze to his mother, who was sitting at the head of the table next to Edwin, her hand tight around a wineglass, as if afraid someone would take it from her. Good Lord, it was going to be that kind of evening.
Pere caught his eye next, and she flickered her gaze to their mother, then back to Henley, her eyebrows rising in question.
Henley merely shook his head. It wasn’t something he could communicate through sign language at dinner, that was for certain.
Pere gave him a concerned expression, then returned to the fish course set before her.
After the final course was cleared away, Henley met the gaze of the duke, who stood from his seat and tapped his wineglass with a fork, signaling for everyone to divert their attention to His Grace.
Henley swallowed; the moment was at hand, the one he’d been both anticipating with every fiber of his being and also worried over equally.
“I have an announcement, and I wish you lovely people to be the first to hear of it!”
The room went silent, then a hush of whispers trickled about the room before dying down completely. Several guests flashed glances at Edwin, who Henley noted didn’t bear an expression of confusion, rather victory.
Odd.
Henley watched and Edwin placed his napkin to the side of the plate, and eased his chair back, as if readying to stand.
Henley turned back to the duke as he continued.
“It is a great honor to announce that my daughter, the Lady Anna of Kinfield, is betrothed this evening!”
The guests clapped politely, some patting Edwin on the back as he warmly accepted their congratulations. A few guests began to murmur. A lady in pink faltered mid-toast, glancing between Edwin and the duke. Lord Catterleigh frowned and leaned toward his wife, whispering behind a napkin.
Lord Hawthorne’s expression shot to Henley, his hands moving mechanically in a clap but his facial expression bespoke amusement, and he winked at Henley.
He knew. How he’d figured it out, Henley would have to ask later, but he’d figured it out. Henley gave a nod of affirmation to his new ally, who merely chuckled and then stifled the sound with his hand and a well-placed cough.
The duke raised his hands signaling for silence once more.
Edwin moved to stand.
“Lord Henley Allendale,” the duke said, clearly and without pause, “it is a pleasure to welcome you into our family. Please, everyone, join me in a toast!” The duke raised his glass, ignoring the gasps from the dinner party.
The room froze.
Edwin remained half-risen, eyes wide. His hand gripped the back of his chair as if anchoring himself to something real.
Across the table, Lord Hawthorne smothered another laugh in a cough.
Henley heard his name whispered a hundred times in a few seconds, but ignored it as well, and stood lifting his own glass.
“The honor is all mine, Your Grace. I will strive to be worthy of such a gift as your daughter’s hand.
” He owned the moment, standing tall and then giving a deferring bow to his soon-to-be family.
To everyone watching, it looked expected, as if this had been the plan all along, which it had been, for Henley. As the whispers died down and people lowered their toast, Henley caught Edwin’s expression—blank, unreadable. Not confusion. Not outrage. Something closer to fear.
Henley took his seat and nodded to the duke, whose gaze flickered to Edwin as well. They were both watching, because while this was certainly the end to one thing, it was the beginning of another.
The truth.
Henley nodded as Lady Chamberland gave him a disbelieving smile, then returned to her wine.
The room started to hum with polite conversation, and Henley took a breath; perhaps it was over.
In truth, the damage was done from last year’s events.
As much as a clearing of the air would polish his own reputation, it would damage his brother’s irrevocably, at least for a time.
And what was done was done. They’d already waded through the scandal as a family, why dig up what was dead and buried?
Henley twisted his wineglass stem, and as he moved to lift it, he noted Edwin from the corner of his eye, standing.
Or perhaps not.
Henley watched as Edwin lifted his glass in the air, his gaze spearing Henley.
The hum of conversation halted abruptly as Edwin held everyone’s attention as he spoke. “A toast,” he started, displaying one of his most charming smiles. “To my brother, who has surprised us all, I dare say.”
Henley studied his brother, watching as he continued. The room crackled with expectancy, as if sensing the tension between the brothers.
“Henley, you’ve always been a fighter, never backing down from a challenge, regardless of how honorable or … not.” Edwin tipped his chin, almost scoldingly. “Win at any cost, so noble.”
Henley’s hands dropped to his lap as he waited, knowing his brother would continue and in doing so, destroy his own reputation, not Henley’s. He should have just let it go, but he couldn’t. Henley should have expected as much.
Edwin’s eyes sharpened, as if he was emboldened by Henley’s lack of response. “You all may remember last year’s unfortunate incident. A life lost…” Edwin speared Henley with a dark gaze. “A victory given … and so many unanswered questions.”
“Not by me,” the duke replied coolly, disinterested, as if Edwin’s damning words were nothing but hot air.
“I’d not allow such a man as you’ve described to marry my daughter, as I’m sure you’re aware, Lord Devon.
But that is a separate story, is it not?
We can answer those lingering questions, if you wish?
” The duke studied his wineglass, then set it down firmly, his gaze piercing through Edwin.
Henley arched a brow as he turned toward his brother, waiting for him to make the choice.
“Pardon?” Edwin hedged, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was uncertain how to play his next hand.
“I have looked into the events of last year myself. What I found was … instructive. A last-minute change of opponents. Misinformation. Reckless manipulation, and an assumption that one brother was actually another…”
Another pause. Not a breath was wasted.
“And silence. Chosen not out of guilt—but to protect a family’s reputation. A choice I consider deeply honorable.” He looked to Henley. “That is the man to whom I’ve entrusted my daughter.”
Edwin’s jaw tightened. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
A beat passed.
Lord Hawthorne muttered, “Well said,” into the stillness, and set down his glass with a deliberate clink.
And just like that, the mood shifted. Quiet but undeniable.
Edwin sat slowly, his fingers tightening around the stem of his glass as if he was unsure whether to hold it or shatter it, as if realizing—far too late—that he had been the only man standing on a battlefield that had already chosen its side.
This time, he hadn’t needed to fight. The truth had risen on its own. And it had chosen its casualty.