Chapter 4
“Get up, Malcolm. The sun has been up for hours, and you are dripping spirits onto my Persian rug.”
Kenneth Spruce, the Duke of Huntington, stood in the doorway of his private study, his jaw clenched as he regarded the sorry state of his younger brother, who was sprawled across the floor like a discarded coat.
The collapse had begun when Malcolm’s wife left him two years ago, and it showed no signs of stopping. If anything, it was getting worse.
Kenneth nudged him with the toe of his boot. The latter let out a loud groan.
“What the hell, Kenneth?” he rasped, rolling to his side with agonizing slowness.
He squinted his eyes open. Even with barely any whites showing, Kenneth could tell that Malcolm’s eyes were bloodshot.
His cravat was missing, possibly strewn on the stairs, even before he reached the study.
“Do you need to speak with me at such volume early in the morning? My bloody skull feels like it is being drilled into by blunt objects, but with absolute force.”
“Of course it feels that way. It shows you that you have managed to misplace your common sense elsewhere,” Kenneth snapped, even as he tried to maintain a leveled voice.
Anyone who saw the two brothers at this very moment would see the opposites they were.
“You know I have no opposition about where you choose to sleep, but why, precisely, must you use my study? You have your room and even an entire wing you can use for your debaucheries. This place is not for drying one of London’s disreputable inebriates.”
“I... it was the closest,” Malcolm admitted, as he raised himself into a sitting position.
He looked like an infant learning to sit with the coordination of a shaking foal.
His eyes scanned the room as if it were his first time there—it was not, to Kenneth’s consternation.
“Everything felt stable here, too, until you came to stomp on the floor and yell at me with your loud voice.”
“You know that you are a complete disgrace, Malcolm,” the Duke chided his younger brother.
“I would have long left you to rot in one of London’s smelliest gutters.
However, I always tell the footmen to assist you whenever you are in this state, unless you fight back; then it would best suit them to avoid any altercation.
But do I need to remind you that you are a father?
Emily and Alexander are wandering the halls with no guidance, and do not follow instructions to stay where they should be.
Do you know that I found them lost in the park? ”
“Ugh. The little terrors,” Malcolm groaned, half-fondly. A smile ghosted his lips. He took a shuddering breath and rubbed his temples. “They are fine, Kenneth. They have the Spruce fire.”
The Spruce fire?
Kenneth’s and Malcolm’s ideas of fire differed from each other. Kenneth liked being in control. Malcolm liked wallowing in despair.
“Fire? Your children have no guidance or discipline,” Kenneth retorted.
“They have a father who aimlessly ventures into my study as if it were an extension of vice. What example do you think you are giving them? Now, stand up and clean yourself before they find you. If you are not afraid to show yourself like this to your children, the stable boys will hose you down.”
“Mercy, I am in no mood for a lecture this early in the day, Kenneth.”
“And I am in no mood to see your ugly bare feet on my carpet either, but you just had to invade my private space.”
Malcolm groaned once more, but Kenneth could hear the bits of theatrics there. His younger brother was suffering, but he also liked showing everyone just how much. Finally, Malcolm reached for his discarded boots.
“Huh? I cannot recall removing my shoes last night,” he ruefully admitted. “Fine, give me a moment. I will put them on now.”
So, he grabbed his right boot. His movements were more coordinated, but not by much. It took him a lot of effort to shove his foot in, and his face was scrunched in agony, as if he was stabbing his toes instead of simply putting on a boot.
Squelch.
Kenneth’s eyebrows raised at the wet, viscous sound. Something was in that boot. Malcolm’s eyes widened, showing their reddish hue. He froze, hesitating to push his foot fully into the shoe.
“What in the name of...” he exclaimed, his nose scrunched in disgust.
He pulled his foot back out, and again both brothers heard a wet, sucking sound.
His sock was no longer white, but more yellow, with heavy slime dripping on the rug he had just been warned not to destroy earlier.
He reached out and tipped the shoe upside down to see what was going on.
Two yolks slid out onto the rug, looking completely preserved.
“Eggs?” Malcolm muttered, his voice rising a little. He was sobering up, and Kenneth knew that it was not the way he wanted to wake up. “In my best leather boots?”
High-pitched titters erupted from behind the velvet curtains. Kenneth immediately knew who was responsible for this sabotage. He himself had not noticed that the curtains were bulkier than usual. He was too focused on his drunken brother.
“Show yourselves. Yes, you two, Emily and Alexander,” Kenneth commanded, conveying authority without even raising his voice.
The curtains parted. There was a little hesitation before two familiar figures emerged.
Emily, aged ten, and Alexander, eight, emerged from their hiding place.
They were shaking. However, they were not shaking from fear, but from hilarity.
They were trying to repress their laughter, and the boy was failing considerably.
“Your boots looked thirsty, Papa!” he exclaimed.
“Perhaps hungry, Alex!” Emily corrected.
“Well, their mouths were wide open on the floor. So, we gave them a good snack!”
“Thirsty? Hungry?” Malcolm roared. He would have been completely terrifying if not for the fact that he looked silly hopping on one foot in an effort to avoid stepping on a puddle of eggs.
“You two little rascals! Do you have any idea how much these shoes cost? What kind of punishment will actually work on the two of you? I will have you both sent to the country where you will be locked in an attic, eating only dry bread. There will not be any blasted and bloody eggs for the two of you!”
“Blasted and bloody eggs!” Emily repeated in a melodic tone, but combining it with her father’s growl. Alexander chimed in with her.
“Blasted and bloody—”
“Silence!” Kenneth bellowed, for once raising his voice that day.
The children stopped immediately, straightening their backs as if they were little soldiers.
Alexander stepped closer to Kenneth, not quite looking frightened, more like contrite.
His lips wobbled, but the Duke recognized it as a strategic move to avoid punishment.
Meanwhile, his brother was wiping his foot with the now-found gin-soaked cravat.
It was not quite what he would have imagined his brother doing with his life, but terrible things did happen.
Still, how he reacted to what happened was his responsibility.
“When did you two start speaking like sailors? Your governess should teach you better manners,” Malcolm grumbled, after he had managed to clean his shoes. He then fell back onto the couch, exhausted.
“Five governesses have already quit,” Kenneth reminded his brother. “I am afraid we have not gotten any applications as of late.”
The duke thought of his other advertisement, the one that he had placed in the Morning Post regarding his search for a wife.
That one had drawn more results. He could see why women would be eager to apply for the position of his duchess.
The benefits were considerable. But for something so final, he had expected fewer takers, not more.
“Emily, take Alexander to the nursery. Tell Mrs. Gaines to keep you there until I say otherwise,” Kenneth said, resorting to having his housekeeper take over the two little heathens.
“But, Uncle Kenneth, it was just a game,” Emily protested.
“As the older of the two of you, I expect better behavior from you, Emily,” Kenneth scolded, but with a gentler voice. “You must go to the nursery now before I agree with your father and send you off to some awful place that is better at disciplining children like you two.”
“You would not really do that, would you?” Emily asked, her voice shaking a little even though her eyes widened to challenge her uncle’s decisions.
“I would not test my limits if I were you, Emily.”
Emily grunted before she grabbed her brother’s hand and marched out of the study.
Kenneth watched them go, the ghost of a smile crossing his face before it disappeared entirely.
He had been strict with the children, only because he believed the state of anarchy they were in should not continue.
However, he had never given them a real reason to fear him.
He still felt guilty about what happened to Malcolm, and the children were a constant reminder of it.
A memory sneaked into the corner of his mind.
‘You want me, Kenneth. I know you do.’
He had done the right thing. He told himself this every single day. Every time he looked at his brother. Every time he watched Emily and Alexander run wild through his halls with no mother to guide them and no father sober enough to care. And yet, Malcolm was still paying for it.
He shook the memory away. For now, he had matters to tend to. Malcolm was still watching the puddle as if he could contemplate his whole life on the very sight of it.
“Do you see what you are doing?” Kenneth asked, his voice lowering.
His voice was not unkind, but he knew his brother would still consider it an admonishment.
“This is the result of your love for spirits. Your children are becoming savages. They mimic all your bad behaviors. They are disrespectful, mocking you whenever they can find a reason. Stop giving them a reason to lose all their respect for you.”
“They are still young,” Malcolm murmured, lowering his head.