Page 2 of Duke of Silver
He glanced at the half-empty glass beside him and then back to her. “Do not flatter yourself that it is the drink that makes me speak this way,” he said, his tone cutting through the air between them. “This has been my stance from the very beginning.”
“After giving you everything, Alexander!” Georgianna’s voice cracked, trembling with her emotion. Her words hung in the air, bitter and sharp.
“Georgianna—” Alexander ground out, forcing himself to hold on to the last shreds of his patience. His temples throbbed as heraccusations sliced through him, but he refused to let his temper rise to match hers.
“No, Alexander.” She cut him off with a shake of her head, dabbing furiously at her tears as she stood abruptly. “We shall have this discussion again when you are sober.” Her voice wavered, yet her determination was clear, her words punctuated by the fierce dabbing of her lavender handkerchief. “No is not your answer.”
“I have never been more sober. Or surer of anything in my life,” Alexander responded, his voice firm, each word measured.
Her eyes narrowed, that maddening look of disbelief crossing her features once again. She turned on her heels with a dramatic swirl of her skirts, making for the door. But at the threshold, she paused, casting a final glance over her shoulder.
“Do not be too sure, Alexander. Of anything.” Her voice held a dark, almost ominous tone. “For only fools remain obstinately confident and sure of the uncertain future.”
With that cryptic warning, she disappeared into the dim hallway, leaving the door half-open in her wake. Alexander stared after her for a moment, then let out a low, exasperated breath. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration brimming beneath his calm exterior. He reached for the decanter once more, ready to pour himself another glass, anything to stave off the lingering irritation.
Just as the amber liquid was about to fill his glass, a familiar voice interrupted his solitude.
“Alex, there you are! I have been looking all over for you, man,” came the voice of Colin Caldwell, the Marquess of Broughton. Colin’s head poked through the half-open door before he strode inside, his usual easy demeanor replaced by something more urgent.
Alexander set the decanter down with a sigh, his reprieve slipping away yet again. “Is everything all right?” he asked, noting the unusual agitation in his friend’s posture.
“I’m afraid there is trouble,” Colin replied, his brow furrowed. “It’s Percy, he?—”
“What happened to Percy?” Alexander shot to his feet, the words barely out of his friend’s mouth before the fear seized him. His hand knocked the decanter in his haste, sending it teetering precariously on the edge of the table. But he paid it no mind. His focus was solely on his younger brother.
A sudden, sharp image flashed through Alexander’s mind, unbidden. The memory struck him with the force of a blow—splintered wood all around him, the coppery scent of blood filling his nostrils. His brother’s desperate cries echoed in his ears, mingling with the haunting rasp of his father’s final words: “Take care of them, Alex. Promise me..."
It was a promise that had lingered, festering in his soul. A promise he had failed to keep.
And now, the thought of anything happening to Percy... God help him, he would be dead before he let history repeat itself.
“Relax, Alex. He is quite well, but I fear a scandal has arisen. He is said to have... compromised a lady,” Colin replied, his words calm, though the gravity of the matter was unmistakable.
Alexander exhaled slowly, relief washing over him at the realization that Percy’s life was not in immediate danger. “At least he lives,” he muttered, though the trouble that now lay before them was no trifling matter. He gestured for Colin to lead on, bracing himself for the inevitable confrontation.
As they entered the powder room, the sight that greeted them was nothing short of disgraceful. Percy lay slumped across a chaise lounge, his face flushed and his eyes glazed over, the unmistakable stench of alcohol permeating the air. His clothes were disheveled, and he reeked of carelessness.
“Oh, hullo there, Sterlin,” Percy mumbled, raising a feeble hand in greeting, though it barely lifted from his thigh. A hiccup escaped him, followed by a soft snicker from a nearby onlooker.
Alexander’s eyes flicked to the small crowd still loitering about, eager for any morsel of gossip the scene could provide. Of course, the lady in question was nowhere to be found—he had expected no less. A woman of any reputation would not linger after such an incident.
“Good heavens, Percy,” Colin muttered, his voice filled with disbelief as he took in the deplorable state of his friend.
“Let us get him out of here,” Alexander said, his tone firm, bordering on cold. He bent down alongside Colin, and together they hauled Percy to his feet, though he swayed precariously, his legs barely capable of supporting his weight. With an arm around each of his shoulders, they guided him, staggering and mumbling, toward the exit.
Once they had reached the waiting Sterlin carriage, Percy all but collapsed inside, his body limp with drunkenness. Alexander turned to Colin, intent on expressing his gratitude, but was surprised when his friend climbed into the carriage behind them.
“Are you coming with us, or do you intend to return to the festivities?” Colin teased lightly, though there was a touch of weariness to his voice.
Alexander shook his head with a faint smile before settling into the carriage. As they made their way back to Sterlin House, Percy continued to fill the confined space with his incoherent mutterings, his words slurred and devoid of sense.
Upon their arrival, Alexander and Colin dragged Percy out of the carriage, supporting his weight as they maneuvered him into the house. The butler appeared at once, his expression fraught with concern, but Alexander waved him off, his voice sharp. “Fetch some tea, if you please. We must sober him up.”
Once inside the study, they deposited Percy into a chair, his head lolling to the side as he groaned softly. Alexander began to pace,his irritation rising with every moment. Finally, he stopped and turned to Colin. “What precisely happened?”
Colin folded his arms across his chest, his face somber. “It is said that Percy was found with a lady in that very powder room.”
“A... a pretty lady,” Percy interjected, his voice thick with intoxication, as if the memory were one of triumph rather than disgrace.
