Page 18 of Dukes Do It Better
Emma poured a cup of coffee and sat. “Calvin, I remember when you refused to leave your room until you were fully dressed and polished to perfection.”
Her brother raised a brow. “That sounds bloody exhausting now. So much effort to appear perfect in my own home.”
“It’s a good change. I like it. Besides, after the night I had, getting coffee and food is more important than vanity.” Emma took her first sip and sighed as the warmth poured through her veins.
“Was Alton restless?” Phee asked as she rose and refilled her plate from the sideboard.
“He’s homesick and ended up in my bed. But it gave me an idea I’d like to discuss with you, brother mine.”
“I’m on my third cup. We can talk whenever you like,” he said.
“I’d like to buy the cottage. I’ve lived frugally off my dowry interest, as you know. Are the funds accessible as one lump sum? I’m not sure where the Eastly fortune stood when Father passed. Honestly, I don’t know the first thing about buying a house.”
Phee resumed her seat, holding a plate loaded with toast, fruit, and bacon. As soon as she sat, Cal swiped a piece of her bacon, then held it out of reach until she gave up and let him have it. “I love the idea, Em, but why now? Why not keep renewing your lease?”
“Alton doesn’t have an inheritance unless we leave him something, and you have your own family to worry about.”
Cal raised a finger and interrupted. “You and Alton are my family.”
Emma continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “If I buy the cottage, at least my son has land and a house when he’s older. Besides, I think maintaining his childhood home would go a long way toward helping him feel secure.”
“Him, or you?” Phee speared a strawberry off her husband’s plate, ignoring the pile of fruit on her own.
Damn Phee’s observant nature. Emma blew out a frustrated breath. “Fine, not just Alton. I want to buy the cottage.” To have someplace safe to return to if being in London was an unmitigated disaster. To belong somewhere, when it sometimes felt like she didn’t fit in anywhere except her little house on the cliff.
Phee nodded and didn’t push further. After years of friendship, Emma knew the intent was never to harm, but to shove Emma toward admitting the truth. For her own good, naturally.
Cal sat back, cradling his cup between his hands. “As you often remind me, you’re an adult and make your own decisions. If you’re sure about buying the house, the capital for your dowry is untouched. I protected it from Father when I took over the accounts a few years ago. Do you want to go through this process yourself, would you like my advice, or would you rather I handle all of it?”
Phee reached over and laid a hand on her husband’s arm, then squeezed. A silent look passed between them, and Emma knew enough of their history to interpret it. Cal wanted to take over and fix the situation, but he was trying to give her options, and Phee was praising him without words.
“It’s tempting to throw the whole thing in your lap. But I need to do this. It’s my house, after all. If you won’t mind a bit of hand-holding, I’d appreciate you advising me through each step.”
“When would you like to begin?” he asked.
“As soon as possible. I imagine the first thing would be to contact the leasing agent, Mr. Williams, and make an offer, correct?”
Cal smiled. “We can write a letter this morning and make our initial offer. If your landlord is willing to sell, they’ll likely counteroffer, and then we’ll see where we stand. But you aren’t using your dowry to pay for it.”
The cup rattled on the table when Emma set it down. “That dowry is my money. I should be allowed to spend it how I wish.”
“You live off the interest of the dowry, so I’d rather not touch it. We will pay for it out of Father’s estate.” A protest rose from deep within her, but Cal cut it off with a hand in the air. “Father was a horse’s arse and we both know it. He didn’t fund your debut. He didn’t even pay for your fancy finishing school—I did. Let him pay for your house. The man owes you.”
Silence sat heavily on the table between them, a tangible thing.
“He’s dead. He doesn’t owe me anything.” Now would be a brilliant time to find tears for her father, but besides a tightness in her throat, Emma’s eyes remained dry. Goodness, she truly was an unfeeling daughter.
“Let him do this one thing right by you,” Cal said. Phee smoothed the groove between his brows with one finger. He caught her hand and kissed her fingertip, then visibly relaxed.
Emma stared down into her cup to avoid the intimacy across the table. The chances of finding what they had were nil, especially for her. Unable to look away for long, Emma peeked through her lashes at her brother and her best friend. They held hands and continued to eat, completely confident in their place with each other.
When she let herself dream and write to her imaginary lover in her journals, that was what she imagined. The comfort and acceptance.
Since Calvin had found it, Emma knew such a thing was possible despite their upbringing. One difference between them held her back from outright hope: Calvin was a moral person. If anything, he put too much effort into helping others. Fixing their problems.
Fixing her problems. Because she wasn’t the upright person her brother was. But she was trying to be.
Their parents hadn’t been good for much. It was her brother who had always taken care of her—financially, emotionally, socially. Cal cleared the way, ensuring Emma had every opportunity.
