After the Wedding (The Worth Saga #2)(7)

“My Henry will give you tips,” his uncle said. “And you won’t need to fool Lassiter for long. You’re so bright—you’ll pick up anything you need to know in no time at all.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“You don’t have faith in your own intelligence?”

“It’s not that. It’s this: I’m not a servant. And I really don’t like lying.”

“Of course you aren’t. I’m not asking you to be one. I’m just asking you to pose as one. Be rational about this, Adrian.”

Rational. It was always rationality with Denmore, and the word was only brought out when his uncle proposed something that left a bad taste in Adrian’s mouth.

“I have business that requires my attention,” Adrian said. It was not a lie. He had four weeks until production had to start on his series of plates, and there were still no designs.

“Isn’t Grayson around now? He can handle it.”

“Yes, but—” But Grayson has no artistic sense, Adrian didn’t say, because it was one thing to make fun of your brother to his face, and another entirely to do it to someone outside the immediate family. “But Grayson is only in England because he’s overseeing the final production of the cable-laying ship and securing the contracts for the business to proceed. He hasn’t time to handle what is going on at Harvil, too.”

“Is your business worth more than knowing that the Church of England is led by men of good character? I know Lassiter’s doing something. I even have some idea as to what it is—he has a little too much money, and he has explained it by claiming excessively lucky investments for too long.”

Adrian shook his head.

Denmore nodded, as if he heard everything Adrian wasn’t saying.

“I know it’s a great deal to ask of you. I know how lowering it must feel for you. But it’s no more than you ask of me. If I could diminish Lassiter’s influence, I could choose to lower myself and accept you.”

Accepting me is not lowering. Adrian took another deep breath. He loved his uncle. He loved his uncle. Still, sometimes he didn’t like him much. For a moment, his emotions rose in his throat.

Years ago, his mother had charged him with changing his uncle’s mind. To bringing him around to the cause. He has influence in the Church, she said, and think what it would mean if he used it properly.

Grayson openly scoffed at his uncle’s claims that someday he would acknowledge their branch of the family—Grayson, who had no trust any longer.

Adrian had always wanted to believe that his uncle—the uncle who had been so kind in private—could become the sort of man who would be kind in public, too. I told you so, he could hear Grayson saying, when he returned with this tale.

“I should hope,” his uncle said, “that you would love me as much as I have loved you.”

“I do,” Adrian said, annoyed, “but—”

But he didn’t have a good argument. Not the kind Denmore could listen to, at any rate. His love felt like a chain wrapped round his neck, yanking him in line.

“If you love me,” his uncle wheedled, “do this one thing for me. Not even for me. Do it for yourself. Do this one thing, and I’ll acknowledge you. I promise.”

“That’s—you should…” But Adrian knew there was no use arguing. There had never been any point in arguing.

Don’t tie these things together, Adrian wanted to say. It makes me feel sick.

But feeling sick was an emotion, not an argument. His uncle wouldn’t listen.

Don’t ask this of me. You’ve hurt me enough. Emotion, not argument.

Don’t use me this way. Don’t use me at all. He had no arguments, only emotions.

Adrian knew his uncle. If he said no now, his uncle would take it as proof that he had never wanted acknowledgement, not really. Adrian could remember lying in bed at the age of fifteen and dreaming that his uncle would take Evans aside and just tell him. Don’t treat him like that. He’s my nephew, not my charity case.

It hurt, what his uncle was asking of him. But Adrian had been hurt so little, and others had been hurt so much. If he could make a difference…

He wanted Grayson to know that people could change, that a little trust would not go amiss. Here was his chance to have that.

He would do anything for his brother. Even this.

“If I do this, you must promise not to back away. Not this time.”

“Of course not.” The bishop looked utterly shocked. “I would never. It will be over before you know it, and we’ll greet the world with joy together.”

“Right.” The word tasted sour on Adrian’s tongue, but this was what he’d wanted. Recognition. Grayson. The part that hurt would be over soon enough, and once it was past, Adrian wouldn’t need to think of it again.

“Joy,” he said carefully. “I look forward to that.”



* * *



Adrian had to tell Grayson something, he thought. Something…short.

Eventually he settled on sending him a letter, one with no return address.

I will be a while, he wrote. A week, possibly more. Will return to Harvil after to finish the designs. I’ll explain when it’s all finished.

He did not know how to end his missive; anything he could add sounded foolish.