Page 72 of Duke of Pride

“Annabelle,” he said, trying to sound more like a human.

He leaned in for a kiss and glanced at her swollen belly fondly. For a moment, all the pain was forgotten. His little sister would soon become a mother.

“How are you feeling, Annie?”

At the nickname he called her while they were children and he was pulling her braided hair, his sister smiled, and her eyes lit up.

Even these simple acts were draining him.

He took his place at the head of the table. Silence fell over them as the first course was served. Victoria would have hated it. She would have laughed at the formality and would have commented on the dullness of the soup just to elicit a reaction from him.

His hands tightened around his spoon. How many lunches did they share? How much lighthearted, clever banter? How many more could they have shared if he wasn’t such an idiot?

Perhaps then his mother wouldn’t look as if she had aged in the span of mere days, her face gloomy, her eyes empty. Perhaps Annabelle wouldn’t play with her food, her appetite gone as she looked between him and their mother with worry. Perhaps he would have been damn happy for once in his worthless life!

The fish was next.Exquisite.Tasted like ash in his mouth. His mother made a pathetic attempt at small talk, and Annabelle pretended to carry it. Stephen wouldn’t insult either of them by pretending he would participate. Frederick’s face darkened even more.

“Oh,” Dorothy breathed, looking around. “Where is Euclid?”

Stephen’s fork paused mid-air. The dog always begged for scraps at meals. Always.

“Pining,” Frederick muttered into his wine glass.

The silence that followed was volcanic. Dorothy’s fork trembled in her hand. Annabelle’s eyes glistened. Frederick glared at his plate as if it had personally offended him. Stephen followed his best friend’s lead and drained his wine glass.

The rest of the lunch was pathetic and miserable. Stephen watched with painful awareness as his mother carefully steered the conversation away from anything that pertained to Victoria. The silence tightened like a noose.

Dorothy opened her mouth three times to say something but then thought better of it. Annabelle kept folding her napkin into smaller and smaller squares, and Frederick’s eyes were drilling holes into Stephen’s skull.

Eventually, dessert was served. It was some variation of an apple pie, and when Dorothy softly said, “Your favorite,” Stephen got up, muttered some sad excuse, and ran off to his study. To loneliness. To brandy.

He had barely closed the door behind him when it flew open. He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.Frederick.

His brother-in-law had apparently reached his limit.

“What exactly are you doing, Stephen?”

“I am busy.”

“I can see that. It must be quite taxing, attempting to drink yourself to death. And you are applying yourself wonderfully to the task.”

“Exactly,” Stephen said dryly. “Now, if you would be so kind as to allow me to finish the job.”

He made to grab the bottle of brandy, but Frederick beat him to it.

“If you think,” Frederick hissed, “I am going to sit back and watch you destroy yourself while Annabelle watches helplessly in her condition, you don’t know me all that well.”

“Get out, Frederick,” Stephen said, turning away.

“No.”

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, spinning him around.

Frederick’s face was thunderous. “Christ, man. I’ve watched you mope for days. Enough. You’re coming with me.”

Stephen laughed bitterly. “To where? Hell?”

“Close. White’s.” Frederick grabbed his arm, hauling him toward the door. “If you’re determined to drink yourself into oblivion, you’ll do it where Annabelle doesn’t have to witness it.”

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