Page 1 of The Gentleman Was Right
ChapterOne
LONDON, LATE JANUARY 1816
Edward James Grey had become unnecessary.
It was hard to admit and even harder to accept.
When he’d been younger and desperate to feel less alone, he had written to his elder brother more than once hoping that Sebastian would hear his hinted plea to come home.
It hadn’t happened.
Sebastian had ignored him, and for ten long years Edward had supported and cared for their sisters alone. He’d reassured them, encouraged them, and loved them with everything he had. He’d been the best big brother he knew how to be, and even after he reached his majority, he’d remained in the country—except for that one brief and disastrous sojourn into society—so he could be there for them. He’d made sure his shoulder was always available when they needed to cry and his arms were always open when they needed a hug.
Trying to take the place of their dead father and their distracted mother hadn’t been easy, but he’d been mostly successful, at least with his youngest sisters. Jane and Louisa were lovely and happy and primed to make splendid matches when they came of age.
He’d attempted to be what Belinda needed too.
The fact that she was lovely but unhappy wasn’t his fault.
At least not entirely.
Trying was more than their mother had done. More than Sebastian had done too.
During the years that his brother had been absent, Edward had been lonely, but he’d also been useful and confident in what he was doing. His purpose had been clear, and now that Sebastian had reappeared in their lives, Edward wasn’t prepared for how disgruntled he felt about being replaced.
Jane, Louisa, and even Belinda had started relying on their eldest brother as soon as they arrived in London, leaving Edward adrift. It was impossible to anticipate feelings, and he knew as well as anyone that there was no point in lamenting what wasn’t or wishing things were different, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the loss. He attempted to quiet his spiraling thoughts as he stirred his tea, but when Sebastian’s wife Emmeline spoke, he knew he hadn’t succeeded.
“Edward.” She waved her hand in front of his face as if saying his name wasn’t enough to catch his attention. “Is everything alright?”
“Naturally,” he responded with a smile that was indisputably fake.
Her eyes narrowed and a frown settled upon her face. “Are you quite sure? I don’t think you’ve heard anything I’ve said since you sat down.”
He barely withheld a wince. They took tea together nearly every day, and he was generally quite attentive, so it was only natural that she noticed a difference. Without a doubt, Emmeline was one of the kindest people he knew, and even though he was certain she’d be sympathetic if he told her the truth, herefused to complain to her. She’d been through enough since she had married his brother, and she wasfinally happy.
“Haven’t been sleeping well.”Truth.“London is too noisy.”Lie.
He could tell by the way she kept examining him that he hadn’t fully sold the lie.
“You could move to a different bedchamber,” she suggested.
He wished changing rooms would solve his problem. “There is nothing wrong with my room.”
“If it is noisy?—”
“—it’s fine,” he interrupted. “I’m just adjusting to…” What? What was he adjusting to?
“I haven’t seen you paint since I arrived in London.”
Of course she had noticed he wasn’t painting. She really was too observant. “I don’t have the proper supplies.”
“Really?” She squinted at him. “There are plenty of shops here. You could purchase whatever you require.”
If only it were that simple.
He wasn’t lacking brushes or canvases or paints.
What he required was inspiration and he could admit, at least to himself, that the way his life suddenly chafed was the opposite of inspiring. Painting had always brought him joy. And peace. He’d been able to escape from the demands of his mother and his sisters, and now that his mother had left with her new husband and his sisters were demanding nothing of him, he couldn’t conjure a reason to pick up his brush.
