Page 13 of In a Rake's Embrace
“I walked,” Ronald said proudly, lifting his head. “I remembered the way the carriage took when it brought me here, so I walked from Berkeley Square to my second house.”
Thomas felt his heart tighten and once again asked, “Did Mother know you left?”
Ronald hesitated, then shook his head. “No. I did not tell her.”
“Why not?”
Ronald glided his fingers over the keys. “I was upset.”
Thomas frowned. “Why were you upset?”
His brother’s expression darkened, the usual lightness in his face dimming. “Mother was having dinner with her friends, and I asked for a glass of wine. But one of her friends said ... said only real men drink wine.” His voice cracked, and his round eyes filled with hurt. “He said I am not a real man because I do not drink or attend balls or ride a horse.”
A surge of fury, cold and fierce, welled up inside Thomas. The thought of someone belittling Ronald, of making him feel less than he was, filled him with a sharp, protective rage.
“I see.” Now it made sense why Ronald had asked for the liquor. It wasn’t about the drink but about proving something to himself, about the pain of feeling inadequate. Thomas’s jaw clenched, but he forced himself to remain calm for his brother’s sake.
“You’re more incredible than any of those people,” Thomas said quietly, his voice firm but gentle. “Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise.”
Ronald nodded, leaning on Thomas’s shoulder, his frame relaxing as the tension ebbed away.
“Next time,” Thomas said, “inform a servant to call a carriage for you. Do not walk alone. Don’t leave without telling someone.”
Ronald nodded again, his voice small when he said, “I will, I promise.”
Thomas offered a reassuring smile. “Now, shall we drink?”
His brother brightened immediately. “Mama said no when I asked.”
Of course, there was more to the matter, but Ronald often revealed things in stages. If Thomas asked too many questions at once, his brother might become overwhelmed and retreat into himself. Best to let him share at his own pace.
“We will only have a small amount,” Thomas said, rising from the piano bench. “That way, if our mother asks, we can tell the truth, and she won’t worry.”
Ronald nodded enthusiastically, and Thomas went to the side table, picking up the decanter of brandy. He poured a small amount into a glass and raised it to his lips, deliberately coughing after taking a sip to show Ronald that such a reaction was normal.
He handed the glass to his brother and said, “Just a small sip.”
Ronald took the glass eagerly, but as soon as the liquid touched his tongue, he spluttered, his eyes watering. “It’s ghastly!” he cried, wiping his mouth. “I much prefer hot chocolate.”
Thomas smiled. “Then hot chocolate we shall have.”
Together, they made their way down to the kitchen. Ronald hummed happily the entire way, clearly content now that he had gotten what he had come for—and even more so at the promise of his favorite drink. Once in the kitchen, Thomas waved off a couple of servants awake and set to work himself. He fired up the old earthen stove, placed a saucepan over the flame, and headed to the cold storage room for fresh milk. Next, he retrieved hard chocolate from the pantry and some sugar for sweetness.
As the milk began to heat, Thomas stirred the ingredients together, watching the mixture come to a simmer. Ronald continued to hum, rocking back and forth on his heels, content to be in Thomas’s presence. Once the hot chocolate was ready, Thomas poured it into three cups and set them on the wooden table the servants usually used. Ronald, always curious, leaned forward.
“Who’s the third cup for?” he asked, eyes wide with interest.
Thomas smiled. “You’ll see soon enough.”
As if summoned by his words, footsteps echoed on the stairs, and their mother appeared in the doorway, worry etched into her features. But the moment her gaze landed on Ronald, her expression softened with relief. His brother immediately rushed over, hugging her tightly as if the upset from earlier had been forgotten.
“Oh, my sweet boy,” she murmured, kissing his forehead. “You had me worried.”
“We’re fine, Mama,” Ronald said, beaming up at her. “Thomas made hot chocolate!”
She glanced at Thomas, gratitude and affection clear in her eyes, before making her way to the table. They sat down together, the warmth of the kitchen and the sweet scent of hot chocolate enveloping them. They enjoyed their hot chocolate in silence. The only sound was the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. Thomas sipped from his cup slowly, shifting his gazebetween his brother and their mother, feeling an odd sense of peace settle over him. The only person missing from their gathering was his sister.
“Is Victoria well, Mother?” Thomas asked, noticing a brief sheen of tears in her eyes. He didn’t need to ask the reason—he already knew it was because of the thoughtless, cruel remarks that had upset Ronald earlier.
