Page 77 of Forgery, Love, and Other Lies
Zander pushed to sitting, draping his arms along the back of the couch, letting the sculpted wood jab into his flesh and muscle. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and spoke into the darkness above his head. “I have, I hope, finally atoned for my sins. We have the paintings, and you and Maggie can sell yours. Put it toward whatever you like.”
“You don’t sound pleased.”
“There are letters, supposedly. Father not only knew what I’d done, he’d apparently followed me. All the way to Lady Balantine’s home. He spoke with her, convinced her to let him hide letters behind each of the paintings that were to become our inheritances.”
“Letters? What about?” Raph’s voice sounded bright, alert.
Zander shrugged. “You can see for yourself.”
A silence in the darkness, the pause of Raph thinking, no doubt. “Yes. And this forger you spoke of, the one you lied to save…”
“What about her?”
“Why? You put yourself at risk. And for what?”
Zander laughed, a hard bark that bounced off the walls then fell flat and heavy to the floor at his feet. “For love, I suppose.”
“Love?” A caress of a word for a man with a wife he adored. “Do you plan to… marry her?”
Zander fell forward, eyes still closed, braced his elbows on his knees and hung his head. “I’m damn sorry, Raph. I didn’t even try to do things the right way.”
“Right way? You never have done anything the right way. I haven’t expected you to in an age.” His voice held a chuckle that Zander ignored.
“You’re missing the point.” He opened his eyes but kept his gaze trained downward on the rug, thick and busy with curling vines, the shapes of elegant white flowers. Fiona would look best with red flowers in her hair. “I love Miss Frampton. And I can’t stop myself, and I have no idea how I’m going to manage with a wife. How will I support her? But I can’tnotmarry her.” He looked up at his brother. “I’ve mucked up. Again.”
Raph’s brow furrowed. “As always? I can count at least three times you’ve brought the world to ruination.” He stuck out a finger. “When you rented out the paintings.” He added a second finger to the first. “When you had the paintings forged and tried to pass them off as real to Papa who,of course, would know in a breath they were fakes.” He added a third finger. “And that time you poured glue all over poor Typhus Macmillan’s latest watercolor.”
“I was six.”
“And he was the Queen’s favorite watercolorist, and we were all punished for it.”
“It was not solely my idea, if you remember.”
Raph chuckled. “I do.” He pushed out of his chair with a sigh and joined Zander on the couch so they sat elbow to elbow. “The point is you’ve done much to help our family. Your art curation for your clients has helped fill the larder and made it so we did not have to sell off the common lands. I know it appears at times as if we are barely surviving, but it would be worse—so much worse—if you did not do what you do. If you did not put your family’s need before your pride and sell your talents out to greedy men. I have likely never thanked you for that. I am sorry. And I am grateful.”Hell. How did Zander respond? His brother’s speech quite melted his own linguistic capabilities away. “I would like to meet Miss Frampton,” Raph continued. “Though I must say, I hope she plans to use her talents for good in the future.”
Zander laughed, feeling more joy than before. “She hates painting. Never wants to do it again.”
“Excellent. I may have found a kindred soul in her, then.” Raph chuckled. “Does… she love you?”
Hell.He didn’t know. She hadn’t said so, and she’d left the coach earlier so willing to be rid of his helping hand when, in previous days and weeks, she’d pursued him, chased him down, and always, always showed him exactly what she wanted. Wasn’t a woman to keep silent when she wanted something. At least she never had with him. If she loved him, she would have…
Hell.
“Zander,” Raph said, caution in his tone, “I don’t think falling in love can be classified as mucking things up.”
Zander flipped his hands so his palms were open to the ceiling, empty and soft. “I have nothing to give her. I slouch from Maggie’s home to Theo’s rooms. And I do not think I can continue doing what I’ve been doing. Swindling the vulnerable out of the very things that could bring them relief. And doing so for men who already have everything.” He scratched the back of his neck. It felt red and burning. Shame spreading across his skin like a rash.
“Do something different, then. You’re clever. Work for those people you’ve swindled in the past, so they can’t be swindled moving forward.”
Zander laughed, a hard bark that relieved the scratch of shame a bit. “That’s what Fiona said.”
“I knew I’d like her. Matilda will, too. Mother will likely adore her to distraction. Bring her to Briarcliff while you’re working it all out. We don’t have much, but we have rooms, and we will share what we have with those we love. Besides, despite what the entailments say, Briarcliff is as much yours as it is mine. You can never say you have no home. It is your home.”
“How can I return after what I did? After selling our inheritance, then—”
“Finding it? Near killing a man to find it and to keep the woman you love safe? Ha. Well, after all that, you’ll return as a conquering hero. Would you like a parade in your honor?”
Zander shook his head lightly. Difficult to admit such a possibility. Him? A hero. Ha. Finally, he lifted his gaze to Raph’s. “Would you like to see it? Your inheritance? The letter…?”
