A Duke in the Night(58)

“Is that why you stayed with your father? And didn’t live with your brother?”

Anne shook her head. “August never talks about it. But I know he had nothing, and anything he could spare went to us. I know he endured at least one winter on the streets, though I suspect it was two. And had I been left on the streets with him…” She trailed off, not needing to finish that thought. “After August managed to get my father out of prison, we all lived in a single room just off Fleet. August was barely there, and Father wasn’t well, so I looked after him. There was a woman in our building who took in laundry, and I would do deliveries for her for whatever coin she could spare. We still had nothing to our name in those years that wasn’t begged or borrowed, but I had everything. Everything that mattered.” She looked down. “I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” Clara told her.

“I owe my brother everything,” she said after a moment. “And I know that. And I’m grateful, and I want to make him proud of me. But now that he has power and a title and more money than we could ever spend in five lifetimes, he wants…” Anne stopped.

“He wants you to have all the things you didn’t have before. He wants to make sure that you will never want for anything ever again,” Clara finished for her quietly.

“He wants to put me in a safe cage with golden bars where the unpleasantness of life might never have the chance to touch me ever again. This is what he believes will ensure my happiness.”

Clara ran the tip of her finger along the soft pink petals of the rose in her hand. “Have you told him this? What you just told me?”

“I’ve tried. So many times. He insists he wants me to be happy. I’ve tried to tell him that my happiness cannot be bought with silk gowns and strings of pearls. That my happiness cannot be guaranteed simply because I marry a man with just as much money as August.” She tipped her head back and looked bleakly up at the sky. “He just won’t listen.”

A silence fell between the two women, Clara considering very carefully what Anne had said. “Knowing what I know of your brother, I suspect he feels guilty for every day that you were in that prison.”

“That’s absurd. I don’t blame him. None of it was his fault. He did everything he could and has absolutely nothing to feel guilty for.”

“Did you tell him that?”

Anne straightened and blinked. “I’m not sure.” She was frowning. “But August is one of the smartest people I know. He must know that.”

Clara tipped her head. “What if he doesn’t?”

“I’m not sure it would make a difference.”

“There is a singularly easy way to find out.”

“Perhaps.” Anne sounded thoughtful. “Do you know the funniest part about this all? And by funny, I don’t mean humorous, but ironic. The time I spent in Marshalsea is what taught me about accommodating large quantities of people. How to feed them, how to house them, how to provide the necessities. Granted, it was a cruel and desperate education, driven by corrupt and greedy gaolers, but an education nonetheless. And one I haven’t forgotten. One I want to be able to use. I want to be able to manage a real inn or a hotel, because I love the logistics. And I’m good at it. And the profits can outweigh those of a prison, if one does it right.” She caught Clara’s look. “Prisons are a thriving business that revolves around profit.” She made a face. “I’m surprised August hasn’t bought one.”

“A prison? Surely not.”

“If he thought he could profit from it, he would.” Anne pressed her sketchbook to her chest. “There is no amount of money that will ever make my brother feel worthy. Or safe,” she said a little sadly.

Clara felt her heart ache. “He certainly seems…driven.”

“He’s had to be. And I’m well aware I’ve benefited from all his determination and brilliance and ambition.” Anne glanced around her at the lavish gardens. “But I can’t change who I am simply because our circumstances have altered.”

“Be patient,” Clara said. “Rome wasn’t built in a day. Keep talking to him. Tell him what you’ve told me.”

“Thank you, Miss Hayward.”

“For what?”

“For listening. Not judging. Understanding.”

“You’re welcome.” Clara smiled at her. “Your brother is a good man, and I think he’ll come to understand too.”

Anne opened her mouth to answer, but her eyes suddenly flickered over Clara’s shoulder. “I think you have company,” she murmured.

Clara turned to find Mathias Stilton at the far side of the garden, walking toward them down the manicured path, his step jaunty and his smile wide. He waved, and Clara lifted her hand in greeting.

“Ah. Mr. Stilton. Early as usual, come to collect me for a drive.” Clara tried to drum up some more enthusiasm.

“Why are you going if you would rather not?” Anne asked.

Apparently Clara’s manufactured enthusiasm had failed to convince. She sighed. “Because I promised I would. He’s harmless, if a little long-winded. Though I confess I might have been provoked into accepting Mr. Stilton’s offer by your brother.”

“August has that effect on people,” Anne stage-whispered. “Provoking them, that is.”