The Heiress Effect (Brothers Sinister #2)(78)

Decades had passed since his mother had sat in that square, insisting on recognition.

Still, the sight of her bench shouted out to him. Your place isn’t here.

Oliver sighed, looked upward, and then left his room and its unsettling view.

His brother’s suite of rooms was in the other wing of the house, separated from his by a wide staircase. He made his way there, held his breath and contemplated the door to Robert’s chambers.

Behind the thick wooden planks, he could hear Minnie laughing. “No,” she was saying, her voice an indistinct murmur, “not like that. I—”

There was nothing for it. He would be interrupting no matter what he did. He knocked.

All of Minnie’s bright laughter disappeared. There was a pause, then, “Come.”

Oliver opened the door.

His brother and his wife were sitting on a sofa together, looking as if they’d put inches between them just a few seconds before. Minnie’s hand was curled in Robert’s, and her cheeks were flushed. Oliver was clearly interrupting.

Oliver had grown up knowing he had a brother, but the discovery of Robert Blaisdell, the Duke of Clermont, in the flesh had been something of a revelation. Robert had been like a baby bird that left its nest too early. Nobody had ever taught him anything important. He didn’t know how to make a fist or duck a blow, how to tie a lure or where to cast his line so that the fish might choose to nibble.

He hadn’t known how to write a proper letter, either. He was technically three months older than Oliver, but Oliver had always felt like the elder.

Look, Robert, this is how you do it. This is how you behave like a proper human being.

In turn, Oliver knew how important he was to Robert. Oliver had sisters and a father and a mother. Robert had…well, he had Oliver and Minnie.

Oliver was an ass for thinking that he should lay something as foolish as his inchoate feelings before his brother. Robert had other things to worry about.

“Oliver,” Robert said. He paused and tilted his head. “What is it?”

Robert had an uncanny ability to figure out when someone was upset. He was terrible at guessing why someone was upset, as a general rule—but he could tell when something was wrong. It was an extremely annoying skill.

“Robert, I…”

He didn’t know how to have this conversation. He only knew that he had to say something. He paced across the room and then turned to face the couple.

“I don’t feel like I belong here,” Oliver finally said.

If his brother was excellent at knowing when others were upset, it was almost impossible to tell when he was hurt. Oliver had learned to look for those tiny signs—the slight tensing of his muscles, the way Robert drew himself back. The way his wife’s hand curled around his.

“I don’t want you to feel that way,” Robert finally said. “What can I do?”

Oliver shook his head. “It’s not anything that you’re doing or not doing. I don’t know why things have changed. I just… I need to be…” If he knew how to complete that sentence, he wouldn’t even be here. He wanted to go back to a time when he’d belonged. Back to the time when he still had Jane ahead of him. “I don’t feel like I belong anywhere.”

Robert nodded and took a deep breath. “How long have you been feeling this way? Maybe we can determine the cause of it.”

Since January, he wanted to say. But then he remembered Jane. That late, fateful night, when he’d convinced her to trust him by spilling out his own wants and ambitions. He’d tasted bitterness, knowing what he didn’t have, and had recognized in her a kindred spirit.

Oliver looked away. “I think I have always felt this way.”

This time, he didn’t have to try to see his brother’s flinch. He knew, damn it, he knew what Robert was like. So hesitant, so careful, always afraid that someone was going to walk away from him.

“It’s not you,” Oliver told him. “You’ve always made me feel welcome. Whatever you think, don’t doubt that. You’re my brother and you always will be. I just… I just don’t know. And I hate not knowing.”

“Is there something that precipitated this?” Minnie looked at him. “You’ve seemed…distant since you returned from Cambridge.”

Cambridge. That word tightened around him like a fist clenching, gripping him with a bitter nostalgia. Cambridge. There was a word that whispered of walks along a green in the day and in a park at night. Of a woman who didn’t flinch at anyone’s proclamations.

Jane was the most fearless woman Oliver had ever met. Sometimes, Oliver thought that society was like an infant trying to shove a square, colored block through a round hole. When it didn’t go, the child pounded harder. Oliver had been shoved through round holes so often that he’d scarcely even noticed that his edges had become rounded. But Jane…Jane persisted in being angular and square. The harder she was pushed, the more square—and the more colorful—she became.

It was a good thing Oliver wasn’t in love with her. If he had been so foolish as to admire her that much, he wasn’t sure how he could ever find his way out.

“Did something happen with Sebastian?” Robert asked.

“Yes,” he said. “But…not what you think.” He sat down on a chair across from them. “I don’t know what it is,” he finally said. “You always know who you are and what you want. And right now, I’m a total muddle.”