The Countess Conspiracy (Brothers Sinister #3)(41)
Benedict waved this off. “I wanted you to learn responsibility. I wanted you to learn about organization, about how things worked. I didn’t want you to treat business like a game, one which you could win by garnering the maximum number of points in the smallest amount of time. This is precisely the opposite of what I was looking for.”
His brother was acting like Sebastian was a child to be scolded because he’d done something forbidden. But he was an adult, and Sebastian still couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong. It had seemed a good idea at the time: He’d create a common interest and he’d have a little fun in the process.
“I see.” His voice sounded cold. “So…”
He’d been sure that he could present Benedict with the results, that his brother would pay attention, that he would begin to feel maybe just a little pride. A little kinship, something to replace the years that lay between them. So he’d thought.
“I’m not angry at you, Sebastian,” Benedict said. “But sometimes I think we inhabit completely different countries, use entirely separate languages. It’s like having a dog. You tell it, ‘No chasing rabbits!’ and what it hears is ‘Rabbit!’ Next thing you know, there’s a big, dumb, slobbering beast tossing a hare at your feet.”
Sebastian looked away.
“Not that you’re a dog,” his brother put in quickly. “Or that you’re dumb or slobbering. It’s just…you’re loyal to a fault, you’re enthusiastic, and yet somehow, you always manage to do precisely the wrong thing. Speculation is gambling—a form of gambling just as pernicious as the sort with cards and dice.”
“Right,” Sebastian said, jumping on this. “But let’s talk of gambling as a business.”
“Gambling is never a business.”
“Not for the gambler, no,” Sebastian pointed out. “But it’s excellent business for the house. The house wins and loses, but it wins more than it loses. So long as it has the means to keep on playing, it will always come out ahead. This works the same way. It is like gambling—but as the gaming house, not as a gamester, and with far fewer operational outlays. I had a good idea as to the expected return—”
Benedict looked up at him and shook his head. “Only you, Sebastian. Only you would think that ‘my scheme is like running a gaming house’ counts as an exculpatory analogy. It doesn’t.”
Sebastian flushed. He always managed to do precisely the wrong thing whenever his brother was peering over his shoulder.
It had always been like that with them. Sebastian had tried to earn words of praise from his brother when he was younger. He’d jumped fifteen feet out of a tree into a lake to try and get Benedict’s attention once. That hadn’t worked so well; Benedict had scolded him and forbidden him from swimming. Showing his stamina by running naked through a blizzard had won him a lecture. And winning top honors in his classes had won him a scolding, because near the end he’d tried to stay up all night to memorize his Latin conjugations. It had been his fault he’d knocked over a candle, but he’d only burned a carpet. The scorch marks on the floor had been scarcely noticeable.
He’d kept on trying, year after year, because he wasn’t the kind to give up. And now that his brother seemed farther away than ever… Maybe they did speak different languages, but Sebastian wasn’t going to quit simply because he’d run into a difficulty.
“Look at me,” Benedict was saying, “and think of what I’ve done. I’m respected, yes, but I didn’t go out and gamble in hopes that the dice would turn up my numbers. I worked for this.”
Benedict stood. For a second, the light from the window behind him caught his profile, made it seem like the kind of patrician silhouette that one found on old Roman coins.
“I’m a County Captain for the Society for the Betterment of Respectable Trade,” Benedict told him. “It’s the most honored organization of its sort in the entire country—almost two centuries old and dedicated to the notion that tradesmen can and should be treated with respect. Our father was a member before me. Did I get my position by jumping up and down and tossing my money around like a fool?” He turned back to Sebastian. “Of course I didn’t. I was dependable. I was accountable. I was responsible. I worked for years and years, and now look at me.”
Now, Benedict was dying. Sebastian couldn’t bear to look away from him, for fear of what he would miss.
“I’ve earned the respect of my peers,” Benedict said. “I’m one of the foremost gentlemen in my district because of that. I’ve really accomplished something.”
Sebastian stood up. “People respect me, too,” he said quietly. “I’ve accomplished a great deal.”
Benedict let out a sigh and looked away, dismissing everything Sebastian had accomplished.
“I’m not giving up, Benedict.” Sebastian leaned in. “I told you already—”
“And I told you,” his brother interrupted. “I don’t want you risking everything on foolish speculation. I have enough worry to contend with in my final weeks. Stop trying to prove something to me, Sebastian. Your chances of success are not high, and it isn’t worth the risk.”
Sebastian felt as if he’d been punched in the kidneys.
His brother clapped him on the shoulder—a brotherly gesture of affection—as if he could set aside those harsh words so easily. “Now,” he said, “what do you say we get Harry and go for a walk?”