Chapter 3
The journey home passed more quietly than usual.
Rain tapped steadily against the carriage roof, the rhythmic sound filling the stretches between conversation. Outside, London's streets blurred into muted shades of gray beyond the rain-speckled glass. Gentlemen hurried beneath umbrellas.
Ladies gathered their skirts clear of puddles. Life continued with remarkable indifference while one family waited for news that refused to come.
Gabriel spoke of paintings for perhaps the first two streets, speculating whether a recently discovered landscape truly belonged to Constable or whether an ambitious dealer had merely attached the master's name to an ordinary canvas.
William heard scarcely half of it.
Every few moments his thoughts drifted back to Hyde Park tomorrow. To Lady Rosalind's eyes as she had accused him of knowing more than he admitted. They had burned with equal measures of suspicion and desperation.
He could not resent her for either.
“You are thinking about Lady Rosalind.”
William kept his attention fixed upon the rain-speckled window. “I am thinking about Lord Eastmere.”
Gabriel's quiet chuckle suggested he found little distinction between the two. “You can think about both.”
William offered no denial as the silence stretched comfortably between them.
At last Gabriel released an exaggerated sigh. “I shall spare you my wisdom, then.”
William glanced sideways. “That would be a welcome change.”
Gabriel pressed a hand dramatically against his heart. “It would also be unprecedented.”
Despite himself, William smiled. The expression surprised him almost as much as it did Gabriel.
“There he is,” Gabriel declared. “I was beginning to fear Lady Rosalind had frightened away your sense of humor.”
William looked back toward the window, though this time the corners of his mouth lingered upward. “She has done nothing of the sort.”
Though she had managed something else entirely.
She had unsettled him.
Not merely because she had accused him. But because, beneath every sharp question and every flash of temper, he had seen unmistakable fear.
Fear for a father William himself had admired since boyhood.
By the time the carriage stopped outside Gabriel's townhouse, the rain had dwindled to a fine mist that hung in the evening air. The wet cobblestones gleamed beneath the gas lamps, reflecting ribbons of pale gold across the street.
Gabriel climbed down first before pausing beside the open carriage door. “Hyde Park tomorrow?”
William nodded. “Hyde Park.”
“I imagine Lady Rosalind will either apologize or shoot you.”
William gave a thoughtful hum. “She struck me as more likely to choose the latter.”
Gabriel laughed as he stepped backward onto the pavement. “Yes, I rather agree.”
William watched him disappear through his front door before rapping lightly against the carriage roof.
The coach lurched forward once more.
Only a few streets separated Gabriel's residence from his own family townhouse, yet the remainder of the journey passed in thoughtful silence.
William found himself watching the city slide past instead of seeing it.
Somewhere in London, Lady Rosalind was likely enduring the same restless evening, searching for answers that neither of them possessed.
He disliked how powerless that thought made him feel.
By the time the carriage drew to a halt before Aldermere House, a servant was already descending the steps with an umbrella.
The familiar warmth of the entrance hall met him almost immediately, another footman relieving him of his hat and damp coat before he had fully crossed the threshold.
“My lord,” the butler said with a bow. “His Grace is in the drawing room.”
William thanked the butler and continued through the familiar corridors of Aldermere House. The scent of beeswax and polished oak lingered in the air, softened by the warmth drifting from the fireplaces that had been lit against the damp afternoon.
The drawing room overlooked Berkeley Square, where rain streaked the tall windows and turned the streets beyond into a blur of gray and gold.
Algernon stood alone before the hearth, one hand resting upon the mantelpiece, a crystal glass of brandy balanced loosely between his fingers. Firelight caught the amber liquid as he turned the glass once, watching it with quiet concentration.
He did everything with deliberate precision.
Even drinking.
William had once mistaken that restraint for strength. As boys, he had followed his elder brother with the unquestioning admiration reserved for older siblings who seemed capable of everything.
Somewhere over the years, admiration had given way to obligation. Respect had become considerably harder to muster.
Without turning, Algernon said, “I trust White's proved profitable.”
William shrugged out of his gloves and laid them on a nearby table. “I did not lose.”
“You seldom do.”
It was not praise. Merely an observation. Their conversations rarely amounted to much more.
William stepped nearer the fire, though the warmth did little to chase away the lingering damp in his coat.
“There is news of Lord Eastmere.”
That finally drew Algernon's attention.
His gaze lifted, cool and expectant.
“He has been missing ten days.”
Algernon regarded him for a moment before taking another measured sip of brandy. “So I hear.”
William frowned. “The magistrate has found nothing.”
“He will turn up.”
The quiet certainty in his brother's voice gave William pause. “You think so?”
Algernon took an unhurried sip before answering. “If a man wishes not to be found, there is remarkably little anyone can do about it.”
William studied him over the rim of his own untouched glass.
There had been no flicker of surprise. No curiosity. No concern for a man they had both known for years.
Merely a calm observation, delivered with the same detached certainty he might have used to predict tomorrow's weather.
For reasons William could not quite explain, the response left him faintly unsettled.
Before he could press the matter further, footsteps sounded in the corridor beyond.
A moment later, the drawing room door opened once more.
Honoria Sinclair, the Dowager Duchess of Aldermere, entered with the effortless grace that seemed to follow her wherever she went.
The years had silvered the auburn hair at her temples, but they had done nothing to diminish the warmth in her green eyes.
If Algernon carried Father's reserve, William often thought, then their mother possessed enough kindness for the entire family.
“There you are,” she said, crossing the room toward him. “I began to wonder whether White's had finally decided to keep you.”
William bent to kiss her cheek. “I returned with my purse a little heavier than when I left.”
“I never doubted it.” His mother smiled. “You were always infuriatingly fortunate with cards.”
“It is skill, Mama.”
“Is that what we're calling it now?”
Her attention shifted toward Algernon, who remained before the fire, slowly turning the brandy in his glass. “And you are still attempting to convince yourself that brandy improves your disposition.”
Without so much as glancing in her direction, Algernon replied, “It has yet to succeed.”
“No,” she agreed lightly. “Though I admire your persistence.”
William couldn't suppress the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. His mother had been teasing Algernon for years with remarkably little effect.
She settled into the armchair nearest the hearth with a quiet sigh. “I have spent the better part of the afternoon listening to dreadful stories about poor Lady Eastmere.”
William's attention sharpened immediately. “The gossip has grown worse?”
“Far worse.” His mother folded her hands in her lap, her expression clouding.
“Apparently everyone has suddenly discovered a cousin or family friend who knows precisely where Lord Eastmere has gone.” She shook her head in quiet disgust. “It is astonishing how inventive people become when they possess no facts.”
“The poor woman,” she murmured.
“And Lady Rosalind,” William said.
Her eyes lifted to his, a flicker of curiosity passing through them before she nodded.
“Yes. Her too.” Her voice softened. “I also heard that the directors of the British Institution have withdrawn their invitation to tomorrow's private viewing.”
William frowned. “They have?”
“This afternoon.”
“That is shameful.”
His mother inclined her head in agreement.
William turned toward his brother. “Algernon.”
Algernon met his gaze over the rim of his glass but said nothing.
“You donated several of the paintings to the exhibition.”
“A handful.”
“Enough that the directors value your opinion.”
“Perhaps.”
William hesitated for only a moment. “Then use it.”
One dark eyebrow lifted almost imperceptibly. “To what end?”
William chose his words with care.
He had no intention of repeating Lady Rosalind's accusations. Whatever she believed, he would not give them voice inside his own home.
“Our families have known one another for years,” he said instead. “When we were children, Lady Rosalind and I spent half our summers chasing frogs around the ponds at Aldermere. Whatever society chooses to believe, she should not be made to answer for rumors surrounding her father.”
The room fell quiet.
Algernon regarded him for several long moments, his expression betraying nothing.
At last he said, “Very well.” He set his glass upon the mantelpiece. “The Institution reserves several guest invitations for my use each Season.”
William looked at him expectantly.
“Take one,” Algernon said. “Lady Eastmere and Lady Rosalind may have it.”
William released a breath he had not realized he was holding. “Thank you.”
His mother smiled with quiet approval. “I am glad someone in this family still remembers what kindness costs.”
Algernon offered no reply. He merely rested one hand against the mantel, his gaze settling on the flames as though the conversation no longer concerned him.
She watched him for a moment before abandoning the effort altogether. Reaching Algernon had always required patience. Lately, even that no longer seemed enough.