To Have and to Hoax(102)

He paced the length of the room instead, his head a jumble of thoughts. He wondered if West would keep him waiting, would turn ducal on him, but the thought had scarcely formed when the door behind him opened, and his brother’s voice filled the room.

“James.”

James turned; West stood in the doorway, dressed impeccably as always in coat and breeches and cravat, not a single hair out of place. He looked tired, James noted—there were dark circles under his eyes, and his forehead was more deeply etched than usual. West was thirty, but today he looked older.

“West,” he said, finding himself more nervous to confront his brother than his father. Their father might have been a duke, but he was an unpleasant bastard on top of that, and one whose acceptance James no longer desired. West, however, was different.

“I apologize for dropping by unannounced like this,” James added a bit hesitantly, and his brother’s face softened slightly.

“You’re always welcome here, James,” West said, his voice quiet and sincere. He took several unhurried steps into the room. He gave every appearance of the English lord, relaxed and comfortable in his natural habitat, but James could tell he was curious.

“I came to apologize,” James said without preamble.

West raised an eyebrow, then wandered toward the fireplace, where he turned to stare into the flames that flickered there, leaning on his cane a bit. “Is this about . . . her?”

James knew that by her his brother meant Lady Fitzwilliam—whose name West had avoided uttering at all costs over the past six years. His brother’s voice was calm, carefully modulated, and with his face turned toward the flames, James couldn’t read West’s expression.

“In part,” he said. “But I think I’ve much else to apologize for as well.”

At this, West turned, not even bothering to disguise his curiosity anymore. “Had some sort of revelation, have you? A moment of divine inspiration?”

“Don’t be an ass,” James said without heat. “I merely had a rather interesting conversation with my wife this afternoon. She made me realize a few things.”

“Did she?” West murmured.

“I’m giving Audley House back to Father.”

West’s face went blank with surprise for a moment, and James relished the feeling of having caused this, the sight all the more enjoyable for its rarity. “You can’t be serious.”

“As the grave,” James said cheerfully. “I told Father he could have the stables back, and the house along with it. I then informed him I’d be amenable to a future discussion of us working together to run the stables as partners, but that I’d no wish to be solely responsible anymore.”

“What the hell did Violet say to you?” West asked, sounding somewhere between impressed and alarmed. “I must ask her to teach me her tricks.”

“Ha.”

“What did Father say?” James didn’t think he was imagining the note of barely contained eagerness in his brother’s voice.

“Not much of anything,” James said with a shrug. “I imagine he’s still sitting in his chair at White’s, gawking at the spot on the rug where I was standing when I told him. I’m sure he has some choice thoughts about me at the moment—likely thinks I’m an incompetent fool, at best. But I find myself unable to care overmuch. I know what I’m capable of—I’m not much bothered anymore whether Father does.”

“Where will you and Violet live?” West asked, more serious now.

James shrugged again, unbothered. “We still have the house in Curzon Street—and I bought that with my inheritance from Mother. I suppose I shall see if Violet misses the country house—if she does, I expect I can find us a cottage of some sort.”

“You seem remarkably unconcerned about all of this.” West crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his shoulder against the mantel.

James sighed, raking his hands through his hair. “The stables are lucrative, but I’ve no head for withers and which filly breeds winners and all that rot. I accepted the stables as a gift from Father because I was so damned infatuated with Violet that I wanted to lay the world at her feet—I didn’t trust her to continue wanting me otherwise. And I also wanted to prove to Father that I could run them. It felt like a test, one that I had to keep taking over and over again every day of my life. There was little joy in it anymore.”

West was silent for a moment, and James became conscious of the fact that this was the most personal information he had shared with his brother since they were boys. And yet, it didn’t feel odd. It felt . . . right.

“You said you came here to apologize?” West’s voice was quiet, but his gaze—an identical shade of burning green to James’s own—was fixed on James’s face, unblinking.

“I’ve never trusted you.” James paused for a moment, almost regretting his bluntness. West, however, had not offered much of a reaction; he was silent, waiting patiently for James to continue.

So he did.

“I—when we were boys . . .” He paused, took a breath, gathered himself. “Father favored you because you were the firstborn, the heir. I was always left behind.” West opened his mouth, and James raised a hand, forestalling any objection. “I know it wasn’t your fault, that you didn’t ask for it, but it’s what happened. Now I understand that growing up under Father’s constant gaze wasn’t a delight, either—I think I might have even had the better end of the deal. But it’s hard for a boy to comprehend this.