Page 62 of Stealing the Rake's Heart
Instead, William had gone on a quest to discover the lady’s identity, with a fervour that bordered on obsession. There was really no way to explain to the lady what he’d done to find her without coming across as unhinged. It was increasingly likely that to return the locket, he would have to simply put it in an envelope and have it sent to her with a brief, disinterested note of explanation.
That idea did not sit well with William, and he had no idea why. He had replayed his meeting with the lady – with Lavinia Brookford, who William hoped was amiss– over and over in his head.
Why had she fascinated him so?
“I hope the locket means something to her,” William found himself saying. “I’ll be disappointed if I’ve gone to all this trouble for a necklace she didn’t even realise was missing.”
Mr. Seeker pursed his lips. “I doubt that very much, your Grace. Was that all you wished to discuss? I assume you wish me to continue my efforts?”
“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you for your hard work.”
Mr. Seeker rose gracefully to his feet, bowed, and showed himself out, leaving William sitting by himself in his study.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. It could have been a few minutes, or much longer – time seemed to slip away from William rapidly these days. He jolted at the sound of footsteps, glancing sharply up.
Mary stood there. She’d chosen to let her hair hang loose around her shoulders, giving her a blowsy, untidy look, and the old-fashioned, ugly white gown she wore seemed almost like a nightgown, and wouldn’t have been out of place on an asylum patient.
William gave himself a shake at the thought of his mother in an asylum.
“Mother,” he said briskly, shuffling some papers to keep his hands busy. “You’re up early. I am rather busy, you know.”
“Don’t you dare be angry with him,” Mary said, gaze fixed on her eldest son.
William’s shuffling hands stilled. “What do you mean?” he asked, voice tight.
“You know what I mean. I am talking about Alex.”
“You mean, the same Alex who brought a drunkard into our home, who smashed a few valuable heirlooms and made your gathering a disaster?” William rapped out, voice tight. “The same Alex who drank half a bottle of brandy last night and collapsed in bed in the early hours? That Alex?”
Mary pressed her thin lips together. “You have always resented him. The others didn’t, but you dislike him.”
“I don’t dislike my brother,” William responded, ignoring the accusation of resentment. “I dislike his lifestyle and his habits, that is all.”
“No, there’s more to it than that,” Mary said, voice absent, almost as if she were talking to herself. “You should not be so cruel.”
William was on his feet before he knew what he was doing.
“I am not cruel, Mother, and I resent that accusation. Do you think I am jealous of Alexander? Is that it? Onlyyouwould see anything to envy inhim.”
Mary rocked back on her feet. William felt a pang of guilt.
“Alexander is spoiled,” he continued, voice softer. “I am not here to scold you for that, but…”
“I would see you looking at him and me,” Mary interrupted, gaze distant. “When Alex and I would go for walks, or arrange flowers together, or read together. Katherine and Henry didn’t mind, but you were always looking angry. I’d see that tight look on your face and know that you were jealous. I suppose I ought to have done something, but you were always your father’s son. That was the deal we made; I think. I had the youngest, the one that we could afford to spoil, and your father had the eldest. You. He would have been dreadfully angry if I gave you too much attention. Besides, you were never soft and sweet like Alex. You’re hard, William. Hard and serious. There’s a great deal of your father in you – he had a core of steel, too.”
William felt breathless, as if somebody had punched him in the gut.
“How dare you,” he gasped. “How dare you compare me to that man!”
Mary was unmoved. She tilted her head to one side, pale gaze raking her eldest son up and down. She sighed, shaking her head just a little.
“Out of us all, he was most pleased with you, I think. You are his creature, after all. Take care about that, William. And don’t abandon Alexander. If he is to improve his life and leave his harmful habits behind, he will need his family. You have all found your own ways to leave your father behind. You have chosen to imitate him, it seems, but Alexander’s way of coping is far more explosive and dangerous.”
Mary did not wait for a response. She turned on her heel and left the room, slippers slapping on the floor.
William stayed where he was for a moment or two, still feeling winded. His hands were planted flat on his desk, supporting his weight, and he stayed in that position until his shoulders began to ache. Abruptly, his strength deserted him, and he collapsed backwards into his seat. Mary had left the door open, and for a moment, William could do nothing but stare out of the doorway, at the stone wall directly opposite.
From here, he swore he could see faint, smooth curves in the wall, worn away from years of children standing there. That was where they had stood, when they were summoned to their father’s study, generally for punishment. He always kept them waiting for a while, generally an hour or two, and woe betide the child who was found sitting on the floor when the door finally flew open without warning.
